Chapter 3 - The Daughter Hidden for Twelve Years
Matteo's confession should have been impossible.
Instead, it was the only thing that explained why he was afraid.
We locked every exit.
St. Helena was surrounded.
My men searched every ambulance, every service tunnel, every maintenance shaft.
Nothing.
My son was gone.
Again.
I had held him for only a few hours.
That was all fate had allowed me.
I sat in the empty nursery staring at the overturned crib.
The blanket still smelled like him.
My fingers touched the mattress.
I imagined the tiny body lying there.
Warm.
Alive.
Then I imagined another black bag.
Another coffin.
No.
Not again.
I stood.
“Matteo.”
He entered under guard.
“Tell me about Lucia.”
He didn't answer.
“Every detail.”
“She was born twelve years ago.”
“To Elena Varela.”
“Yes.”
“And my father was her biological father.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Matteo looked ashamed.
“My father had a relationship with Elena.”
I felt disgust move through me.
“My father was married.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew?”
“I found out after her death.”
“How did Elena die?”
“Officially? Heart failure.”
“And reality?”
“She was murdered.”
“By whom?”
“I don't know.”
“Who raised Lucia?”
“St. Helena.”
I stared.
“A hospital raised your sister?”
“She was kept there as part of the program.”
“Why?”
“Because they wanted leverage over my father.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It does if you know him.”
Matteo explained.
My father had built a network where information mattered more than money.
Lucia was a secret he didn't want exposed.
Elena had discovered financial records linking him to illegal adoptions.
When she threatened to speak, she disappeared.
Lucia was moved into a private facility under another identity.
Years later, Matteo found out.
“He promised to protect her,” Matteo said.
“Did he?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“He used her.”
“For what?”
“To control me.”
My chest tightened.
“How?”
“If I disobeyed, he threatened to expose her identity.”
I stared at him.
“So all these years you served him because of a little girl.”
“Yes.”
“And when Father died?”
“He didn't die.”
“I know.”
Matteo shook his head.
“You don't understand.”
“He survived the poisoning.”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“I thought he was dead.”
I went still.
“You didn't know?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Matteo looked at the floor.
“Lucia.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“She found out.”
“How?”
“She was twelve when she discovered the records.”
“She was a child.”
“She was the smartest person in that hospital.”
“You're telling me a twelve-year-old uncovered all this?”
“Yes.”
“And now she's eighteen?”
“No.”
“What?”
He looked at me.
“She was twelve when they disappeared.”
My blood ran cold.
“She's still twelve.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why did you say her name?”
“Because whoever took your son knows who she is.”
I turned toward Enzo.
“Search the archives for every mention of a girl named Lucia.”
Three minutes later, he came back.
“Nothing.”
“Try Elena.”
“Nothing.”
“Try Varela.”
“Nothing.”
Matteo spoke.
“She won't be under any of those names.”
“What name?”
“Isabella Moretti.”
I stared.
“What?”
“She was registered under a dead woman's identity.”
The second bracelet.
Elena Varela's number.
Valentina's name.
A woman who died twelve years ago.
Everything suddenly connected.
Lucia had been erased by replacing her identity with a dead patient's.
The same system was being used again.
The same system that had erased my son.
We found Isabella's records.
A woman who had died at St. Helena twelve years earlier.
No surviving relatives.
No children.
No history.
Yet the records contained photographs.
A young girl.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
She looked around twelve.
Under the photo:
ISABELLA RIVERA.
I stared.
“That's Lucia.”
Matteo nodded.
“Where is she?”
He pointed at the photograph.
“Look at the necklace.”
A tiny silver cross.
I remembered it.
Sophia had seen a woman with a red scarf.
The same woman might have worn that cross.
Then we heard a crash downstairs.
Gunshots.
Enzo ran to the door.
“Boss!”
I grabbed a weapon.
“Where?”
“East corridor.”
We rushed down.
Four guards were down.
A masked woman stood near the rear exit.
She held my son.
I raised my gun.
“Put him down.”
She turned.
A red scarf covered the lower half of her face.
The baby was crying.
“Take one more step,” she said, “and he dies.”
I froze.
Matteo came behind me.
“Lucia?”
She looked at him.
“You remember.”
Her voice was young.
Much younger than I expected.
She removed the scarf.
A twelve-year-old girl's face stared back at us.
Matteo collapsed to his knees.
“Lucia.”
She looked at him with hatred.
“You let them take me.”
“I tried to save you.”
“You disappeared.”
“I was protecting you.”
“You left me in that hospital.”
He cried.
“I was a coward.”
She looked at me.
“So are you.”
I didn't deny it.
“I believed the hospital.”
“You believed what you were told.”
“Yes.”
“That was enough.”
She held my son tighter.
“Please don't hurt him.”
She seemed surprised.
“Why would I hurt him?”
“Because you took him.”
“I didn't.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Then who did?”
She whispered:
“The same people who took me.”
I stared.
“Who?”
“Your father.”
My blood froze.
“He's alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
She shook her head.
“He knows you're looking.”
“Then why bring my son here?”
“I didn't.”
She looked at the baby.
“They put him in the trash because he was evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
She stared at Matteo.
“Your brother isn't the person who organized this.”
Matteo looked up.
“Then who?”
Lucia answered.
“Valentina.”
The room went silent.
My wife stepped into the corridor.
She had followed us.
Her face was blank.
Lucia looked at her.
“You remember me.”
Valentina whispered:
“Yes.”
I turned toward my wife.
“You know this girl.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
Lucia smiled sadly.
“You held me twelve years ago.”
Valentina broke down.
“I thought they told me you were dead.”
Lucia's eyes hardened.
“You believed them too.”
I looked at Valentina.
“Start talking.”
She couldn't.
Then my son's crying stopped.
He fell silent.
Lucia looked down.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She lowered him.
I reached forward.
Lucia handed my son to me.
I pressed him against my chest.
“Why did you bring him?”
She looked at me.
“Because your son is the last piece of the puzzle.”
“What puzzle?”
She reached into her jacket.
Pulled out a folded page.
And gave it to me.
It was a birth certificate.
My son's name had been crossed out.
Underneath, someone had written:
HEIR NUMBER TWO.
I looked at Matteo.
“What does that mean?”
Lucia's answer was barely audible.
“It means they never wanted him to inherit.”
May you like
She stared at Valentina.
“They wanted a replacement.”
