Chapter 3 - My Mother Was Supposed to Be Dead—Then a Stranger Sent Me a Photograph Proving She Had Been Alive the Entire TimeI didn't sleep.
Neither did Sloan.
By dawn, I had every record of my family's history spread across the dining table.
Birth certificates.
Death certificates.
Bank transfers.
Old photographs.
Everything.
There was one photograph I couldn't explain.
My mother standing outside a hotel in Monaco.
Taken eight months ago.
Alive.
My hands trembled.
“Vincent?”
I turned.
Sloan stood behind me.
“That's your mother?”
“Yes.”
“But she's dead.”
“I know.”
“Then…”
“I don't know.”
I called my oldest source.
An eighty-year-old former detective named Arthur.
He answered after one ring.
“You saw the photograph.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I sent it.”
My blood ran cold.
“Where are you?”
“Nowhere safe.”
“What happened to my mother?”
“Your mother never died.”
“Why?”
“Because your father ordered her disappearance.”
I stared at the phone.
“Why?”
“Because she betrayed him.”
“How?”
“She discovered what he was planning.”
“What was he planning?”
Arthur paused.
“To kill his own bloodline.”
I looked toward Willa's room.
“Why?”
“Because he believed the Moretti name was cursed.”
I almost laughed.
“My father was insane.”
“No.”
Arthur's voice became quiet.
“He was terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Your daughter.”
I froze.
“How could he know about her?”
“He didn't.”
Arthur paused.
“Not Willa.”
“Then who?”
“You.”
The line went dead.
I stood there in silence.
Sloan touched my arm.
“What did he say?”
Before I could answer, a black car stopped outside the building.
A woman stepped out.
She looked older than the photograph.
But I knew her instantly.
My mother.
She walked into the lobby.
Security raised their weapons.
I ordered them to lower them.
She looked at me through the glass.
“Hello, Vincent.”
My entire childhood returned in one second.
The perfume.
The green eyes.
The cold smile.
I opened the door.
“You're alive.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you let me believe you were dead?”
“Because your father wanted you to.”
“Why?”
She looked toward Sloan.
Then Willa.
“Because your daughter was never supposed to exist.”
Sloan tightened her arms around the baby.
My mother's face softened.
“I'm not here to hurt her.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To warn you.”
“About what?”
She looked directly at me.
“Marcus Vale.”
I knew that name.
“He's alive.”
“I know.”
“He's coming for Willa.”
“Why?”
“Because your father left him an order.”
“What order?”
My mother whispered:
“Finish what he started.”
Then she handed me a small key.
“This opens the room where your father kept his secrets.”
“Where?”
She smiled sadly.
“Under the old Moretti church.”
Then she turned to leave.
I stopped her.
“Mother.”
She looked back.
“Did you know about Sloan?”
“No.”
“Did you know I loved her?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't you stop me from leaving her?”
“Because sometimes people only understand what they had after they lose it.”
She walked away.
I stood there.
Sloan looked at me.
“What now?”
May you like
I looked at the key.
“Now we find out what my father was hiding.”
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