Chapter 2 - The Secret My Mother Kept for Twenty-Eight Years
By sunrise, my marriage was broken, my husband’s mistress was pregnant, a Mafia boss had threatened us, and I had discovered my mother once knew Adrian’s father.
I had thought betrayal would be the worst thing that happened to me that night.
I was wrong.
Adrian refused to let me travel alone.
I refused to travel with him.
We compromised by hating each other from separate cars.
His security team drove ahead of me while I followed in a black sedan with Marco DeLuca, Adrian’s head of security, behind the wheel.
Marco had been with Adrian since we started dating.
He was forty, broad-shouldered, permanently serious, and one of only three people in Adrian’s world I trusted completely.
Or at least I had trusted him yesterday.
Now I wasn’t sure I trusted anyone.
“Did you know?” I asked.
His hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“About what?”
“Don’t insult me.”
He was silent.
“That answers my question.”
“Mrs. Moretti—”
“Claire.”
“Claire, I knew Adrian was spending time with Sofia.”
My chest tightened.
“You knew they were sleeping together?”
“No.”
“Would you tell me if you did?”
“Yes.”
“Why should I believe you?”
Marco met my eyes in the mirror.
“Because I warned him he was playing with fire.”
My breath caught.
“So you did know.”
“I knew she was too close.”
“That’s a nice Mafia euphemism.”
“He told me it ended months ago.”
I stared out the window.
Ended.
Past tense.
That detail mattered more than I wanted it to.
“When?”
“January.”
Six weeks ago.
“Did it?”
“I thought so.”
I laughed quietly.
“Apparently Sofia disagreed.”
Marco’s jaw worked.
“I’m sorry.”
“Everyone is sorry after they’re caught.”
His eyes flicked toward me again.
“I’m not defending him.”
“Good.”
“I’m saying I watched that man survive shootings, federal investigations, betrayals, and funerals without losing his head. I have never seen him look the way he looked when you walked out.”
I turned sharply.
“Do not make his pain my responsibility.”
“I’m not.”
“Because if Adrian is devastated, he can call Sofia.”
Marco said nothing after that.
The drive to my mother’s house took less than an hour.
Adrian arrived thirty seconds before we did.
He stepped from his vehicle as mine stopped.
I didn’t wait for Marco to open the door.
My mother was already outside.
She wore a blue robe beneath a winter coat, her silver-streaked hair loose around her shoulders.
When she saw Adrian, every trace of sleep disappeared from her face.
“What is he doing here?”
“Good morning to you too, Margaret,” Adrian said.
“Don’t Margaret me.”
Despite everything, a hysterical laugh almost escaped me.
My mother pointed at him.
“You stay away from my daughter.”
“I intend to.”
“Excellent. Start now.”
“Mom.”
Her eyes snapped to me.
Then softened immediately.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
That nearly undid me.
She crossed the driveway and wrapped her arms around me.
For the first time since Sofia’s call, I cried.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
I simply folded against my mother and let tears soak into her coat.
Behind me, no one spoke.
When I finally lifted my head, Adrian was staring at the ground.
My mother noticed.
Her expression hardened.
“I hope it was worth it.”
“No,” he said.
Just one word.
No excuses.
No argument.
My mother looked surprised.
Then angry all over again.
“Inside,” she told me.
I followed her.
Adrian remained by the door.
“Claire.”
I turned.
His eyes moved to the photograph in my hand.
“Ask her.”
My mother froze.
He saw it too.
Whatever color remained in her face disappeared.
“Where did you get that?”
“Someone sent it to me.”
Her gaze moved to Adrian.
For one second, something passed between them.
Recognition.
Fear.
Adrian entered the house without being invited.
My mother did not stop him.
That frightened me more than anything.
We gathered in the dining room where I had eaten Thanksgiving dinners since childhood.
The normality of the setting felt surreal.
Same oak table.
Same framed family photographs.
Same vase of artificial white roses my mother refused to replace even though I had hated them since I was twelve.
But now Adrian Moretti stood near the window with armed men outside, while my mother stared at a photograph of herself and Carlo Moretti.
“Tell me,” I said.
She sat.
“I knew Carlo.”
“How well?”
“Very well.”
Adrian’s expression sharpened.
“My father never mentioned you.”
“He wouldn’t have.”
“Why?”
My mother looked at me.
“Because your father would have killed him.”
I stopped breathing.
“My father?”
Thomas Bennett had died when I was sixteen.
He had been a quiet accountant who loved crossword puzzles, baseball, and taking me for pancakes on Saturday mornings.
He had not been the kind of man who killed Mafia bosses.
Or so I thought.
“Dad knew Carlo Moretti?”
My mother nodded.
“Your father worked for him.”
The room tilted.
“No.”
“Claire—”
“No. Dad worked for a freight company.”
“Moretti Freight.”
I stared at her.
She continued carefully.
“Thomas handled books for several Moretti companies. Legitimate books and other books.”
Adrian went very still.
“How high was his access?”
My mother looked at him.
“Higher than Carlo should have allowed.”
I sat down because my knees no longer worked.
“Why did nobody tell me?”
“Because your father left that world before you were born.”
“But you knew Carlo before Dad?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
She looked down at the photograph.
“I was twenty-one. Carlo was twenty-six. We were in love.”
The silence afterward felt enormous.
Adrian looked like someone had punched him.
“My father and your mother?”
“For almost two years,” she said.
“Did my mother know?”
“No.”
“Did Thomas?”
“Yes.”
I pushed back from the table.
“So Dad married you after you dated a Mafia boss?”
“It wasn’t that simple.”
“It seems pretty simple.”
“Carlo wanted me to marry him.”
Adrian laughed once without humor.
“That sounds like him.”
“I refused.”
“Why?”
“Because I saw what his world was becoming.”
Her voice shook slightly.
“He was ambitious. Brilliant. Dangerous. He told himself he could control the violence. Then his older brother was killed, and Carlo changed.”
Adrian stared at her.
“My father became boss in 1998.”
“I know.”
“That’s when you left him.”
“Yes.”
A cold thought struck me.
“When was I born?”
My mother looked at me.
Adrian looked at her.
I felt the air leave the room.
“Mom.”
She closed her eyes.
“No.”
“No what?”
“No, Claire. Carlo was not your father.”
Relief came so sharply it embarrassed me.
Adrian exhaled too.
Then my mother added, “But someone wanted people to believe he might be.”
“What does that mean?”
She folded her hands.
“Years ago, Victor Russo discovered my history with Carlo. He tried to use it to create problems between Carlo and your father.”
Adrian’s face hardened.
“Russo knew Thomas Bennett handled the books.”
“Yes.”
“And he knew Margaret had been with my father.”
“Yes.”
“Christ.”
I looked between them.
“What am I missing?”
Adrian walked to the table.
“Your father didn’t just leave the organization.”
He looked at my mother.
“He stole something.”
She said nothing.
That was answer enough.
“What?”
“A ledger,” Adrian said.
My mother looked furious.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know Carlo spent fifteen years searching for a missing financial archive.”
“He never found it.”
Adrian’s eyes met mine.
“Because Thomas Bennett took it.”
I stood.
“My father was not a thief.”
“No. If I’m right, he was protecting himself.”
My mother’s shoulders dropped.
“He was protecting us.”
My heart pounded.
“From whom?”
“Everyone.”
She stood and walked to a cabinet.
From the bottom drawer, she removed a small brass key.
“I prayed I would never have to give you this.”
She placed it in my hand.
“What is it?”
“A deposit box.”
“Where?”
“First Lake Bank.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed.
“That branch closed ten years ago.”
“The boxes were transferred.”
“To where?”
My mother looked at me.
“Your father made me promise I would only tell you if the Morettis and Russos ever went to war again.”
I almost laughed.
“Apparently adultery has excellent timing.”
Adrian flinched.
My mother looked at him.
“You deserve every second of that.”
“I know.”
I gripped the key.
“What’s inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never opened it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Thomas said knowing would put me in danger.”
I stared at the key.
Outside, one of Adrian’s guards shouted.
Then came the sound of tires.
Marco rushed into the room.
“Boss.”
Adrian turned.
“What?”
“SUV approaching fast.”
Adrian moved instantly.
The husband disappeared.
The Mafia boss remained.
“Claire, get down.”
I hated that I obeyed.
Marco pulled my mother behind the wall as Adrian drew a handgun from beneath his jacket.
The SUV stopped outside.
No gunfire came.
Instead, someone opened the gate and shoved a man onto the driveway.
He landed face-first on the frozen pavement.
The vehicle sped away.
Marco’s men surrounded him.
Adrian walked outside.
Against everyone’s orders, I followed.
The man was young.
Maybe twenty-five.
Blood covered one side of his face.
His hands were bound.
A piece of paper had been pinned to his jacket.
Marco tore it free.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He handed it to Adrian.
Adrian read it.
Then looked at me.
“What does it say?”
He didn’t answer.
I grabbed it.
One sentence.
GIVE US BENNETT’S LEDGER, OR THE BABY DIES FIRST.
My eyes went to Adrian.
His face had become terrifyingly calm.
“What baby?”
Before he could answer, the injured man groaned.
Marco rolled him carefully onto his back.
His eyes opened.
He looked directly at Adrian.
“Boss…”
Adrian crouched.
“Who did this?”
“Russo.”
“Victor?”
The man shook his head.
“No.”
He coughed blood.
“His son.”
Adrian’s expression changed.
“Luca?”
“Yes.”
I knew Luca Russo only by reputation.
Sofia’s older brother.
Violent.
Unstable.
Exiled from Chicago three years earlier after allegedly killing two men during a territorial dispute.
Adrian stood slowly.
“Luca came back.”
The injured man grabbed his coat.
“He never left.”
A chill ran through me.
“What does the note mean?” I demanded.
The man looked at me.
His eyes filled with panic.
“Mrs. Moretti?”
“Yes.”
He tried to sit up.
“Get her out.”
“Why?”
“Because Sofia’s pregnancy isn’t the only one they know about.”
My blood turned cold.
Adrian stared at him.
“What are you talking about?”
The man looked at me again.
“I heard Luca talking.”
He swallowed.
“He said there are two Moretti babies now.”
Silence.
I almost laughed.
“That’s impossible.”
Then I remembered something.
My period.
Late.
Not dramatically late.
Eight days.
Stress, I had told myself.
Work.
Travel.
Nothing unusual.
Adrian looked at me.
I saw the exact moment he understood.
His face lost all color.
“Claire.”
“No.”
My mother grabbed my arm.
“When was your last period?”
“Mom, stop.”
“Claire.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Adrian took one step toward me.
I backed away.
His face twisted.
I hated him for looking hopeful.
I hated myself for being afraid.
“Get a test,” my mother said.
“No.”
“We need to know.”
“I said no.”
Adrian’s voice was almost inaudible.
“Please.”
I turned on him.
“You do not get to say please.”
He lowered his head.
“You’re right.”
But twenty minutes later, I was standing in my childhood bathroom holding a pregnancy test.
My mother waited outside.
Adrian waited downstairs.
I watched the second line appear.
Clear.
Immediate.
Unmistakable.
My knees gave out.
I sat on the edge of the bathtub and covered my mouth.
Three years.
Three years of Adrian saying it was too dangerous.
Three years of imagining children with his dark eyes and my stubbornness.
Three years of believing we had time.
Now I was pregnant.
And another woman was carrying what might also be his child.
There was a soft knock.
“Claire?”
My mother.
I opened the door.
She saw my face.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
I handed her the test.
She closed her eyes.
Then hugged me.
I didn’t cry.
Not yet.
When we went downstairs, Adrian stood the moment he saw us.
His eyes went to the test.
He stopped breathing.
For one second, pure joy transformed his face.
Then guilt crushed it.
He sat down slowly.
“You’re pregnant.”
I folded my arms around myself.
“Yes.”
He looked away.
His jaw shook.
“I’m sorry.”
I had expected excitement.
Questions.
Maybe even tears.
Instead, the most feared man in Chicago bowed his head into his hands.
“I’m so sorry.”
That broke something inside me.
Because I knew exactly what he meant.
Not sorry about the baby.
Sorry that he had poisoned what should have been one of the happiest moments of our lives.
I whispered, “So am I.”
His phone rang.
Marco answered before Adrian could.
His expression darkened.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“It’s Sofia.”
Adrian’s head lifted.
Marco put the call on speaker.
Sofia was sobbing.
“Adrian?”
His face became stone.
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“They took me.”
My skin prickled.
“Who?”
“My brother.”
She began crying harder.
“Adrian, Luca knows everything.”
“Everything about what?”
There was a pause.
May you like
Then Sofia whispered four words that changed the war completely.
“The baby isn’t yours.”
