Chapter 2 - Luca Told Me His Missing Sister Had Worn the Same Birthmark, and Then He Revealed the One Detail That Made My Blood Run ColdLuca did not leave the hospital.
Not for dinner.
Not for meetings.
Not even after midnight.
His men guarded the nursery.
Nurses whispered.
Doctors avoided looking directly at him.
And I spent the night beside my daughter trying to understand how a tiny crescent on her skin could frighten the most feared man in Chicago.
At 2:17 a.m., Luca returned to my room.
“You should sleep.”
“I have a newborn.”
“So do I.”
I looked at him.
He almost smiled.
“Figuratively.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then his expression became serious.
“There's something you need to know.”
I sat up.
“My sister Alessandra disappeared seventeen years ago.”
“I know.”
“She was pregnant.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She was twenty-two. She was secretly seeing a man from outside our family.”
“Who?”
Luca looked at me.
“Your grandfather.”
My chest tightened.
“I don't understand.”
“Your mother died when you were young?”
“Yes.”
“She was Alessandra's closest friend.”
I stared.
“My mother knew your sister?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“They grew up together.”
I shook my head.
“My mother never mentioned her.”
“Because she was told not to.”
“By whom?”
“My father.”
I felt the pieces shifting.
Luca continued.
“Alessandra vanished shortly after she discovered she was pregnant.”
“And the baby?”
“We were told the baby died.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No.”
He handed me the photograph again.
“Because my father kept this.”
It showed Alessandra holding a newborn.
The baby was wrapped in white.
Only part of the face was visible.
But beneath the left ear was the same crescent mark.
I couldn't speak.
“That photograph was taken three days after the baby was born,” Luca said.
“Where?”
“Here.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“This hospital?”
He nodded.
“Your hospital.”
I looked toward the nursery.
My daughter had been born in the same building.
Three days ago.
Three days after the anniversary of Alessandra's disappearance.
My stomach tightened.
“What happened to the baby?”
“Gone.”
“Do you know where?”
“No.”
“Then why do you think my daughter is connected?”
“Because the mark isn't random.”
He leaned closer.
“It's hereditary.”
I stared.
“Your family has it too.”
“My family?”
“Your mother's side.”
I shook my head.
“I've never seen it.”
“You have.”
He pulled out another photograph.
My mother.
Young.
Smiling.
The same crescent mark.
My heart stopped.
“She had it,” Luca said.
I touched my neck.
I had never noticed.
“How?”
“Because it fades with age.”
Then he showed me a photograph of me as a newborn.
My mother was holding me.
Beneath my tiny ear was a faint crescent.
I stared.
My daughter had inherited it.
So had my mother.
And Alessandra.
Three generations.
Luca whispered:
“That mark belongs to the Moretti bloodline.”
I looked at him.
“But I'm not a Moretti.”
He hesitated.
“You might be.”
My breath caught.
“What?”
“Your mother may have been Alessandra's half-sister.”
I couldn't move.
The story I knew about my family had been a lie.
My mother had always told me her parents died before she met my father.
She had never talked about siblings.
She had never talked about Italy.
She had never mentioned the Moretti family.
But Luca was standing in front of me with evidence that suggested my mother's identity had been erased.
Then he said:
“Your daughter's birth certificate lists you as Emma Carter.”
“Yes.”
“Your maiden name?”
“Bell.”
“Your mother's maiden name?”
“Bell.”
He looked at me.
“That isn't the original name.”
“What?”
“Your mother's birth records show the surname Moretti.”
I stopped breathing.
My baby girl was not simply carrying a strange birthmark.
She was carrying a family legacy someone had spent decades hiding.
Then the hospital doors opened.
A man in a white coat approached.
Dr. Michael Grant.
He looked at Luca.
Then at me.
“Ms. Bell, I need a word about your daughter.”
Luca stepped between us.
“No.”
The doctor stopped.
“I am her physician.”
“You requested her genetic sample.”
“Standard procedure.”
“No.”
His tone was quiet.
“You requested permission before anyone asked you to.”
The doctor swallowed.
“I received an order.”
“From whom?”
He hesitated.
“Derek.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why would Derek request genetic testing?”
The doctor looked at me.
Then at Luca.
Finally, he whispered:
“He said the baby might be a Moretti heir.”
Luca's face became completely still.
The doctor realized his mistake.
But it was too late.
Because all three of us understood the truth.
Derek hadn't been doubting paternity.
He had been afraid that the baby was his wife...
May you like
and secretly something far more valuable.
A Moretti heir.
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