Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be My Dead Mother
We left the tailor shop before sunrise.
Noah drove.
I sat beside him with the box on my lap.
He had three bodyguards following in another car.
I kept staring at the letters.
“My mother is alive.”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw her.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
My head turned.
“You saw my mother two years ago?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“I didn't know whether she wanted you to know.”
“That isn't your decision.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“But your father asked me to wait.”
“Why?”
“He believed telling you would put you in danger.”
I stared through the window.
Everything about my childhood suddenly felt artificial.
My mother's funeral.
The flowers.
The condolences.
The photographs.
The certificate.
All lies.
We arrived at a private house outside the city.
Inside was a woman sitting by the fireplace.
She stood when she saw me.
Her hand went to her mouth.
“Maya.”
My knees nearly collapsed.
“Mom?”
She cried.
I couldn't move.
Then I ran to her.
She held me so tightly it hurt.
For several minutes, neither of us could speak.
Then I pulled away.
“You're alive.”
“Yes.”
“You let me mourn you.”
“I thought I had to.”
“You watched me grow up without you.”
“I watched from a distance.”
“Why?”
She looked at Noah.
Then away.
“Because your father asked me to.”
I turned to Noah.
He said nothing.
My mother took my hand.
“Your father found something.”
“The ledger?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Proof.”
“Of what?”
“That the Moretti family wasn't responsible for the worst things people blamed them for.”
I stared.
“What?”
“My husband discovered that someone had been using the Moretti organization as a cover for a larger criminal network.”
“Who?”
“My brother.”
I blinked.
“Your brother?”
She nodded.
“Your uncle.”
I didn't remember him.
“Why?”
“Because your father erased him from our lives.”
“What was his name?”
“Gabriel Bell.”
The room seemed colder.
Noah's expression changed.
“You're certain?”
My mother nodded.
“He was the mastermind behind the network.”
Noah sat down.
“My father trusted him.”
“Everyone did.”
“And my brother?”
“Gabriel arranged his disappearance.”
I looked at Noah.
“Your brother was killed?”
“No.”
My mother's face became pale.
“He was recruited.”
“By Gabriel?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To destroy the Moretti family from inside.”
Noah stood.
“So my brother may be alive.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“We have to find him.”
“Why?”
“Because Gabriel needs a Moretti to finish what he started.”
I looked down at the box.
“What does that have to do with me?”
My mother took one of the letters.
She opened it carefully.
“Your father believed you inherited something.”
“What?”
“His memory.”
I laughed.
“That's impossible.”
“He trained you without telling you.”
“How?”
“Patterns.”
She pointed toward me.
“Numbers. Fabrics. Colors.”
I remembered my childhood.
My father had taught me to sew before I knew how to write.
He would hide tiny mistakes in patterns.
He would ask me to find them.
I thought they were games.
They had been lessons.
“What did he teach me?”
“How to see what other people don't.”
Noah looked at me.
“That's why you're the key.”
I stared at him.
“The key to what?”
My mother reached into a drawer.
She removed a small leather book.
Inside were pages of fabric sketches.
Each one looked ordinary.
But when I examined them, I saw tiny differences.
A missing thread.
A reversed stitch.
An extra button.
Suddenly numbers appeared in my mind.
“It's a code.”
My mother nodded.
“Your father created the final key using your childhood pattern exercises.”
I traced one pattern.
A sentence appeared.
DO NOT TRUST THE MAN WHO SAYS HE LOVES YOU.
I looked at Noah.
His eyes narrowed.
“I didn't write that.”
“I know.”
The next pattern contained another sentence.
THE TRAITOR WILL COME FROM THE FAMILY.
Noah stared.
“Which family?”
“Both.”
My mother looked at me.
“Bell and Moretti.”
Then the house lights went out.
My mother whispered:
“They found us.”
Noah moved instantly.
“Down.”
Gunfire erupted outside.
His men returned fire.
I grabbed my mother's hand.
We moved toward the basement.
A man appeared in the doorway.
He wore a gray coat.
I had seen him before.
Across the street.
At the tailor shop.
He smiled.
“Hello, Maya.”
I froze.
“Who are you?”
He looked at my mother.
“Ask her.”
My mother stared at him.
“Gabriel.”
Noah raised his gun.
“You're supposed to be dead.”
Gabriel laughed.
“So is your brother.”
Then he disappeared into the smoke.
Noah chased him.
I held onto my mother's hand.
“Tell me everything.”
She looked at me.
“I can't.”
“You don't have a choice anymore.”
She cried.
“No.”
“What?”
“You don't understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
She looked toward the hallway.
“Gabriel isn't the person you need to fear.”
“Who is?”
May you like
She whispered:
“Your father.”
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