Chapter 5 - The Sister Vincent Never Knew ExistedVincent Moretti had survived assassination attempts, federal investigations, betrayal, and his father’s funeral.
Nothing prepared him for discovering he had a sister.
They drove for forty minutes before anyone spoke.
Vincent sat in the passenger seat.
Carlo drove.
Naomi and Alessandra sat behind them.
No one seemed willing to be the first person to break the silence.
Finally Vincent said, “Name.”
His mother looked at him.
“What?”
“My sister’s name.”
“Isabella.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“How old?”
“Thirty-two.”
Vincent was thirty-nine.
Seven years younger.
He remembered his mother disappearing occasionally when he was a child.
Long trips.
Ill relatives.
Health retreats.
Lies, apparently.
“Same father?”
“No.”
Carlo glanced toward Vincent.
Bad choice.
Vincent noticed.
“Keep your eyes on the road.”
Carlo complied.
Vincent looked back at his mother.
“Who?”
Alessandra hesitated.
“Michael Romano.”
The car went silent again.
Naomi whispered, “Romano.”
Vincent laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because reality had become absurd.
“My sister is half Romano.”
“Yes.”
“And this happened while you were married to my father.”
Alessandra looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
“Did he know?”
“No.”
“Did Michael?”
“Yes.”
Vincent turned forward.
“Of course.”
Naomi touched his shoulder from behind.
He did not pull away.
“What happened?”
Alessandra spoke quietly.
“I met Michael before I married Antonio.”
Vincent looked back.
“You loved him?”
“Yes.”
The admission came without hesitation.
“Then why marry Dad?”
“My father arranged it.”
Vincent frowned.
Alessandra’s family had been wealthy.
Banking.
Real estate.
Respectable crime done through paper instead of guns.
“The marriage ended a financial feud.”
She continued.
“I thought I could make peace with it.”
“Did you?”
“For years.”
“And then?”
“Michael and I met again.”
Naomi said nothing.
Vincent asked, “Isabella was born.”
“Yes.”
“How did Dad not notice you were pregnant?”
“I left New York for seven months.”
Vincent remembered.
He had been seven.
His mother supposedly suffered a nervous condition and stayed in Europe.
When she returned, she was thinner.
Sad.
She held Vincent for an hour.
He had forgotten that.
Now he understood.
“What happened to the baby?”
“Michael raised her.”
“His wife?”
“Knew.”
Vincent stared.
“So everyone knew except me and Dad.”
“Yes.”
“Excellent family tradition.”
Alessandra flinched.
Naomi spoke gently.
“Why does Isabella hate you?”
Alessandra looked out the window.
“Because I chose Vincent.”
He stiffened.
“What does that mean?”
“When Antonio became suspicious of Michael, I ended contact.”
Her voice trembled.
“Michael asked me to leave Antonio.”
“You stayed.”
“Yes.”
“For me.”
“Yes.”
Vincent hated the immediate guilt.
Alessandra saw it.
“Do not.”
“What?”
“Do not make my choice your responsibility.”
Naomi glanced at Vincent.
He noticed.
“She tells me that frequently.”
Alessandra almost smiled.
“Then listen.”
Vincent ignored that.
“Michael?”
“Died fifteen years ago.”
“How?”
“Car bombing.”
“Dad?”
“No.”
“Matteo?”
“No.”
“Who?”
Alessandra’s face tightened.
“Antonio believed Romano did it internally.”
“And you?”
“I never found proof.”
Naomi asked, “Isabella thought Alessandra abandoned her?”
“Yes.”
“She was twelve when Michael died.”
Vincent felt sick.
A child.
Half-sister.
Raised inside a rival family.
Believing their mother chose another son.
“Where is she now?”
Alessandra answered.
“With Elena.”
Vincent’s head turned.
“Elena is?”
“Isabella’s wife.”
That was unexpected.
Naomi blinked.
Carlo almost missed a turn.
Vincent sat back.
“Elena married my sister.”
“Yes.”
“And Isabella’s wife was shot last night while helping me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because despite everything, Isabella believed you deserved to know the truth.”
Vincent stared.
“She doesn’t hate me?”
Alessandra looked sad.
“She did.”
“Past tense?”
“Ask her.”
They arrived at a secluded property in Westchester.
Small compared with Vincent’s estate.
Hidden behind trees.
No visible security.
Which meant excellent security.
A woman opened the front door before they knocked.
Thirty-two.
Dark hair.
Blue eyes.
Vincent’s eyes.
He stopped.
Isabella looked at him.
Neither moved.
Vincent saw traces of himself in her face.
The jaw.
The eyebrows.
The expression that suggested trust was expensive.
“You look like Mom,” she said.
Vincent almost laughed.
“So do you.”
“No.”
She stepped aside.
“I look like Michael.”
Inside, Elena lay on a sofa with her arm in a sling.
Alive.
Vincent recognized her instantly.
The missing memory slammed into place.
Hotel corridor.
Elena meeting him.
Telling him his mother was alive.
Gunmen arriving.
Elena firing.
A bullet entering her shoulder.
Vincent taking her gun.
Naomi screaming because Vincent had suddenly collapsed as the drug took stronger effect.
He had not shot Elena.
Relief moved through him so hard his knees almost weakened.
Elena smiled faintly.
“You remembered.”
“Yes.”
“Eventually.”
Isabella hugged Elena carefully.
Then looked toward Alessandra.
“You brought him here.”
Alessandra nodded.
“You said he needed the truth.”
“I didn’t say I wanted you here.”
Alessandra accepted it.
Vincent saw the pain.
He had questions.
Hundreds.
But Naomi touched his sleeve.
Not yet.
He understood.
Another lesson in not forcing everything immediately.
Vincent looked at Isabella.
“Did you poison me?”
She stared.
“No.”
“Elena said my mother—”
“I said your mother constructed the mythology around Matteo,” Elena corrected.
“Not that she drugged you.”
“Then who did?”
Isabella walked toward a cabinet.
She removed a laptop.
“We have an idea.”
Video.
Another camera angle from Vincent’s office hallway.
At seven fourteen, the Naomi look-alike entered.
At seven seventeen, another person appeared.
A man.
One of Vincent’s private security officers.
Marcus Vale.
Vincent recognized him.
“He works residential.”
Isabella nodded.
“Look closer.”
The man removed an earpiece.
Silver M-circle cufflink.
Romano.
Vincent’s face hardened.
“He’s Romano?”
“Not exactly.”
Elena said quietly, “He works for Carlo.”
Every eye turned toward Carlo.
Carlo froze.
Vincent’s pistol appeared in his hand.
Naomi stepped back.
Carlo raised his hands.
“That’s not true.”
Isabella tapped the keyboard.
Financial records appeared.
Payments from a company tied to Carlo.
To Marcus.
Over three years.
Vincent’s expression became empty.
Carlo stared.
“That company isn’t mine.”
“It has your signature.”
“Forged.”
Vincent stood.
Carlo looked at him.
“You know me.”
Vincent laughed once.
“That sentence has become meaningless.”
Naomi watched Carlo carefully.
Isabella continued.
“Marcus poisoned the drink.”
“Why?” Vincent asked.
“We thought Carlo ordered it.”
Carlo shook his head.
“No.”
Vincent pointed the gun.
“Convince me.”
“I paid Marcus.”
Silence.
Naomi whispered, “For what?”
Carlo’s face tightened.
“Information.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“On whom?”
“Matteo.”
“Why use private security?”
“Because he could watch you, your uncle, everyone.”
Vincent stepped forward.
“Did Marcus know you were spying on Matteo?”
“Yes.”
“Then somebody turned him.”
“Apparently.”
“Who?”
Carlo looked toward Alessandra.
“No idea.”
Vincent followed his gaze.
His mother stared back.
“I did not.”
Isabella laughed bitterly.
“That should reassure everyone.”
Alessandra looked hurt.
Vincent hated that he cared.
Naomi asked, “Where is Marcus now?”
Isabella clicked.
Phone location.
Manhattan.
Moretti Tower.
Vincent’s office.
Everyone stared.
“What is he doing there?” Naomi asked.
Vincent knew.
“Cleaning.”
He checked the clock.
Nine forty.
Staff would arrive soon.
Matteo would arrive at ten.
“Marcus expects me missing.”
Naomi nodded.
“Or dead.”
Vincent looked at Isabella.
“Can you control building security remotely?”
She smiled.
“Who do you think taught Daniel?”
Vincent almost laughed.
“You.”
“Yes.”
“Then lock Marcus inside.”
She typed.
“Done.”
Carlo looked at Vincent.
“We need him alive.”
“Yes.”
Naomi frowned.
“Why?”
“Because Marcus knows who paid for the poison.”
Vincent took his coat.
Isabella stopped him.
“You cannot go back yet.”
“My building.”
“Exactly.”
“Marcus is trapped.”
“For now.”
Vincent looked at his sister.
“You have known me ten minutes and you’re already giving orders.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Family resemblance.”
Naomi smiled.
Vincent noticed.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Very much.”
For a few seconds, despite the conspiracy, the room became strangely human.
Then Elena’s phone rang.
Unknown.
She answered.
Her expression changed.
She handed it to Isabella.
Speaker.
A distorted male voice.
“You have something that belongs to us.”
Isabella said nothing.
“Daniel’s files.”
Vincent looked toward the laptop.
The voice continued.
“Give them back, and Marcus walks away.”
Vincent frowned.
Why would they bargain for Marcus?
Unless Marcus was more important than a disposable security officer.
“Who are you?” Isabella asked.
The man laughed.
“Ask your brother.”
Vincent’s pulse changed.
He knew the cadence.
Not voice.
Habit.
Three words.
Short pause.
Controlled exhale.
Someone who had spoken across his dinner table for years.
Vincent whispered, “Matteo.”
Silence.
Then the voice answered normally.
No distortion.
“Hello, nephew.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“Uncle.”
“You’ve had a difficult morning.”
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere sensible.”
Vincent glanced at Alessandra.
She looked genuinely shocked.
Matteo continued.
“Your mother is alive, I assume.”
“Yes.”
“Tell her I’m disappointed.”
Alessandra stepped toward the phone.
“You murdered Daniel.”
“No.”
“Evan?”
“No.”
“Antonio?”
Matteo laughed.
“Interesting question coming from you.”
Vincent tightened his grip.
“Who poisoned me?”
“Marcus.”
“I asked who ordered it.”
A pause.
“You did.”
Everyone froze.
Vincent stared at the phone.
Matteo continued.
“Last night, nephew, you told Marcus to put the compound in your drink.”
Naomi whispered, “No.”
Matteo laughed.
“Ask your secretary.”
Vincent looked at her.
Naomi’s face went pale.
“You made sure she was out of the room.”
Vincent’s heartbeat pounded.
“Why would I poison myself?”
“Because you wanted to forget.”
Vincent could barely hear the room around him.
Matteo continued.
“You discovered something you couldn’t live with.”
“What?”
“Your own order.”
Vincent’s mouth went dry.
“What order?”
Matteo paused.
“The order to kill Daniel Reyes.”
Naomi stared at Vincent.
Matteo’s voice softened.
“And according to Marcus, nephew…”
May you like
Another pause.
“You gave it three days ago.”
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