Chapter 2 - The Medical Record That Proved My Son Might Never Have Been in That CoffinBy sunrise, I had made a decision.
Nobody was leaving my house.
Not until I knew the truth.
I summoned Nico first.
He walked into my office wearing an expensive gray suit and the same calm expression he had worn at Mateo's funeral.
That expression suddenly made me sick.
“Brother.”
I watched him sit.
“You slept well?”
He smiled.
“Of course.”
I pushed the hospital photograph across the desk.
His smile disappeared.
For three seconds.
Only three.
Then it returned.
“You've been digging into old records?”
“I asked you a question.”
“What question?”
“Why did you sign the authorization transferring Mateo's body?”
Nico leaned back.
“I was helping you.”
“You weren't authorized.”
“I was your brother.”
“You were not his father.”
Silence.
His jaw tightened.
I stood.
“Where was Mateo's body?”
“In the morgue.”
“Then why did the record say identity verification was pending?”
He looked away.
That was enough.
I knew he was lying.
But I needed him to speak.
So I used the one weapon men like Nico feared more than a gun.
Time.
I simply waited.
Eventually, he sighed.
“You don't want to reopen this.”
“Why?”
“Because you're finally functioning again.”
I stared at him.
“You think I'm functioning?”
He didn't answer.
“I buried my child.”
“I know.”
“No.”
My voice broke.
“You watched me bury my child.”
His eyes lowered.
“And you stood beside me.”
Nico whispered, “I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
“From what?”
His eyes met mine.
“From Isabella.”
My entire body went still.
My ex-wife.
Mateo's mother.
The woman who had told me not to open the coffin.
The woman who had disappeared from my life after the funeral.
The woman who had never once asked where the medical records were.
I suddenly understood something.
I had been looking in the wrong direction.
That afternoon, I found Isabella.
She was living under another name in a quiet coastal town.
When I entered the café, she looked up.
Her coffee cup fell from her hand.
She whispered my name.
“Marco.”
I sat across from her.
“Where is my son?”
She went pale.
“What?”
“Where is Mateo?”
Her lips trembled.
“I don't understand.”
“You do.”
She shook her head.
I placed the photograph of the hospital record on the table.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“You shouldn't have found that.”
My blood turned cold.
“What does that mean?”
She looked around.
Then whispered,
“Because if you know the truth, they will come for you.”
“Who?”
She closed her eyes.
“Everyone who helped hide him.”
I leaned forward.
“Is Mateo alive?”
She didn't answer.
That silence was enough.
I stood.
She grabbed my wrist.
“Marco, please.”
“Is he alive?”
She began crying.
“Yes.”
The word destroyed me.
I couldn't breathe.
Three years.
Three years believing my son was dead.
Three years grieving an empty coffin.
Three years becoming a monster because I thought the world had stolen him.
And now his mother had just told me he was alive.
I whispered,
“Where is he?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I haven't seen him in years.”
“Then why do you know he's alive?”
She looked at me.
“Because I helped save him.”
That night, Elena disappeared.
Her room was empty.
Leo was gone.
My security team found the back door open.
On the floor was a single envelope.
My name was written across it.
Inside was one sentence.
If you want your son back, stop looking for the dead and find the man who wears Mateo's ring.
I read it twice.
Then I noticed something else.
A photograph.
A man standing beside a black SUV.
His face was blurred.
But on his right hand was a silver ring.
The same ring I had given Mateo when he turned sixteen.
The ring had a tiny lion engraved on it.
There was only one in existence.
I had made it myself.
I stared at the photograph.
Then Dominic entered.
“Boss.”
I turned.
“Find that man.”
“Who is he?”
I handed him the picture.
“I don't know.”
Dominic studied it.
Then his expression changed.
“I've seen this ring.”
“Where?”
He looked at me.
“At the Moretti estate.”
My heart stopped.
“Whose hand?”
May you like
Dominic hesitated.
“Nico's.”
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