Chapter 7 - The Mother Everyone Believed Was Dead Was Waiting for Her SonSebastian's mother was alive.
She had been hidden in a private psychiatric facility for seventeen years.
The official diagnosis was severe dementia.
It was false.
She remembered everything.
When we arrived, she was sitting by a window.
She looked older.
But her eyes were clear.
She saw Sebastian.
He froze.
“Mom?”
She stood.
Her legs shook.
Then she walked to him.
Sebastian couldn't move.
She touched his face.
“My boy.”
He fell against her.
For a moment, the most feared man in Chicago was simply a son.
He cried silently.
His mother held him.
“I told them you were dead.”
“I know.”
“They said it would keep you safe.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
Sebastian pulled away.
“My father?”
She nodded.
“He believed power required sacrifice.”
She looked at me.
Then stopped.
“Claire.”
My throat tightened.
“You know me?”
“I remember you.”
“What happened to my memory?”
“You asked them to erase it.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“You found the children.”
“What children?”
“The ones Victor was experimenting on.”
I remembered more.
I had discovered altered medical records.
I had confronted Victor.
I had threatened to expose everything.
Then my mother had arrived.
She had begged me to run.
Days later, my memory had been suppressed through medication and trauma conditioning.
I had been told I was suffering from exhaustion.
Then I left the hospital.
And forgotten.
Until now.
Sebastian's mother continued.
“Your father wanted to use the research to create soldiers who could heal.”
Sebastian looked sick.
“What happened?”
“The treatment worked.”
Everyone stared.
“But it had consequences.”
“Which were?”
“Memory instability.”
“Pain.”
“Neurological damage.”
“Psychological deterioration.”
I looked at Sebastian's legs.
She nodded.
“The bombing was supposed to hide the side effects.”
Sebastian whispered:
“My father did this.”
“Yes.”
“Why would he cripple me?”
“Because he wanted you dependent on the organization.”
The room went silent.
“He believed a walking son could become independent.”
“A wheelchair-bound son would need the family.”
Sebastian closed his eyes.
His entire life had been a prison.
Not because he couldn't walk.
Because someone had made sure he believed he couldn't.
Then his mother looked at me.
“You saved him.”
“I don't know how.”
“You reminded his body that it belonged to him.”
Sebastian looked at me.
The room disappeared.
For a second, there was only silence between us.
Then he took one step toward me.
Then another.
No cane.
No bars.
No wheelchair.
He stopped inches away.
“I can walk.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Because of you.”
I shook my head.
“Because your body was never dead.”
His hand touched my cheek.
“Neither was my hope.”
Then he kissed me.
It was brief.
Soft.
Almost hesitant.
Nothing like the ruthless man Chicago feared.
When we separated, Gabriel cleared his throat.
“Unfortunately, we have a problem.”
Sebastian looked at him.
“What?”
“Victor has taken control of three of your major companies.”
“How?”
“Through your father’s old trust.”
Sebastian's expression hardened.
“My father left a contingency.”
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
Gabriel handed him the documents.
“If Sebastian Lombardi dies or becomes permanently incapacitated, control transfers to the next blood heir.”
“Victor.”
“Yes.”
Sebastian stared.
Then smiled.
“He wanted me dead.”
“Or disabled.”
“But now I'm walking.”
Gabriel nodded.
“Which changes everything.”
Sebastian folded the papers.
“Then let him come.”
But that night, the first attempt came.
A sniper fired through the hotel window.
Sebastian pushed me down.
The bullet struck the wall.
Another hit the door.
Gabriel returned fire.
We escaped through a service tunnel.
At the end of it, I found a folded note.
YOUR SON IS SAFE. FOR NOW.
Then beneath it:
BUT HE WAS NEVER THE TARGET. YOU WERE.
Sebastian read it.
His expression changed.
“Why me?”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Why you?”
I shook my head.
“I don't know.”
He took my hand.
“We'll find out.”
May you like
Behind us, a gunshot echoed.
And someone whispered my name.
Related Stories
