Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
I woke to shouting.
Not loud shouting.
Aleandro never needed volume.
His anger had always been quieter than that.
I stepped into the hallway and saw him holding his phone against his ear.
"Say it again."
His expression was terrifying.
Marco stood nearby.
"What happened?" I asked.
Aleandro looked at me.
"My mother may be alive."
I blinked.
"What?"
"My mother."
He ended the call.
I remembered the portraits in the Vitali penthouse.
A beautiful woman with dark hair.
The only person Aleandro had ever described with tenderness.
"Your mother died."
"That's what I was told."
"By who?"
"My father."
The room went quiet.
Aleandro sat down.
"My father said she died in a car bombing."
"Do you believe him?"
"I did."
"Until tonight."
He nodded.
"The caller claims she survived and has been hidden for eleven years."
"By whom?"
"Vincent."
Everything clicked into place.
Vincent hadn't simply betrayed Aleandro.
He had been working around the family for years.
Perhaps protecting someone.
Or controlling them.
"What does your mother have to do with Rafael?"
"We don't know."
"Then we find her."
Aleandro looked at me.
"You don't have to be involved."
"I'm already involved."
"No."
"I've been photographed, followed, lied to, and almost used as bait."
"Exactly."
"I'm not running anymore."
He studied me.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
That was how we found ourselves driving north before sunrise.
The caller had sent coordinates to a farmhouse in Connecticut.
The property looked abandoned.
But the kitchen lights were on.
Marco knocked.
No answer.
Aleandro forced the door open.
A woman was standing beside the window.
Older.
Thin.
Dark-haired.
I knew her instantly from the portraits.
She turned.
"Aleandro."
He stopped breathing.
"Mom?"
She smiled.
Then began to cry.
He crossed the room in three steps.
He wrapped his arms around her.
I had never seen him hold anyone like that.
Not gently.
Not carefully.
Desperately.
Like a man reclaiming a piece of himself he'd buried long ago.
His mother held his face.
"You became just like your father."
Aleandro stiffened.
"That's not a compliment."
"No."
She smiled sadly.
"It's a warning."
She told us the truth.
Her name was Sofia Vitali.
She had survived the bombing.
But she had been forced into hiding after discovering that Aleandro's father had built an alliance with Rafael DeLuca.
When she tried to expose it, she was threatened.
Vincent had helped her escape.
"Then why did he betray Aleandro?"
"He didn't."
Aleandro frowned.
"What?"
Sofia looked at him.
"Vincent never betrayed you."
"But the evidence—"
"Was planted."
Silence.
"By whom?"
Sofia's eyes filled with regret.
"Your father."
Aleandro's jaw tightened.
"My father is dead."
"Yes."
"Then how?"
Sofia reached for a box.
Inside were photographs.
Documents.
Letters.
Bank transfers.
One photograph showed Rafael shaking hands with an older man.
Aleandro's father.
The date was five years after his supposed death.
Aleandro stared.
"No."
"He lived."
"Where?"
"Europe."
"And Vincent?"
"He was protecting me from both of them."
Aleandro's eyes closed.
For the first time, I understood how much of his world had been built on lies.
His father had faked his death.
Rafael had manipulated both sides.
Vincent had secretly protected Sofia.
The missing ledger wasn't just evidence against Rafael.
It contained proof of Aleandro's father's survival.
Which meant the most dangerous man in the story wasn't dead.
He was waiting.
That evening, Sofia told us something even worse.
"Your father knows about Emma."
My blood chilled.
"How?"
"Because I told Vincent about her."
Aleandro looked at me.
Sofia lowered her voice.
"Your father believed Emma knew too much."
I remembered the night I'd left.
The whispers.
The documents.
The woman crying.
Maybe someone had known I was there.
Maybe I'd been targeted long before I understood why.
Aleandro walked outside.
I followed.
He leaned against the car, staring at the dark road.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't."
"I should have protected you."
"You tried."
"Not enough."
I stood beside him.
"Aleandro."
He looked at me.
"Your world is full of men who lie."
"Yes."
"But you can't lie to yourself anymore."
His brow furrowed.
"What do you mean?"
"You keep blaming yourself for everything."
He looked away.
I took his hand.
"I'm not asking you to become someone you're not."
He looked down at our joined hands.
"I'm asking you to choose who you want to be."
His eyes softened.
"I want to be someone you don't have to run from."
My heart broke.
Because that was exactly what I'd wanted six months ago.
And now, standing beside him beneath a cold Connecticut sky, I realized I might still want it.
Before I could answer, gunfire erupted.
The windshield exploded.
Aleandro pulled me down.
Marco returned fire.
Sofia screamed.
We ran toward the house.
More shots cracked through the darkness.
Someone shouted from outside.
"Vitali!"
Aleandro froze.
The voice was older.
Colder.
And horribly familiar.
A figure stepped from behind the trees.
"You have something that belongs to me."
Aleandro's face became expressionless.
"Dad."
May you like
The man smiled.
"Hello, son."
