Chapter 7 - The Mother Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Valentina's mother had died eleven years earlier.
That was what she had been told.
That was what everyone believed.
Her name was Miriam Bell.
Official cause of death: cancer.
Buried in a private cemetery.
No open casket.
No autopsy.
Another death nobody had questioned.
Another body nobody had seen.
I was beginning to hate sealed coffins.
We traveled to the cemetery at dawn.
Valentina stood in front of the grave.
“She used to sing when she cooked.”
“Do you remember her face?”
Valentina looked at me.
“Of course.”
“Then why are you shaking?”
“Because if she's alive…”
“You're afraid.”
“Yes.”
We opened the grave.
The coffin contained only clothing.
No body.
Valentina collapsed.
“My father knew.”
I nodded.
“So did mine.”
She stared at me.
“They were connected.”
“Yes.”
The mystery woman with the red scarf wasn't a stranger.
She was Miriam.
Valentina's mother.
The woman who had been manipulating the events from the shadows.
We found her that evening.
She entered our house willingly.
No guards stopped her.
She walked into the library wearing the same red scarf from the photographs.
Valentina stared.
“Mom?”
Miriam smiled.
“You look exactly like you did at sixteen.”
Valentina began crying.
“Why did you let me believe you were dead?”
“Because your father wanted you controlled.”
“My father?”
“Daniel.”
She looked at me.
“Your father and mine built the program together.”
I asked:
“Why?”
“Money.”
“Only money?”
“Power.”
She sat down.
“Children were the perfect currency.”
I clenched my fists.
“Who was Elena Varela?”
“A woman who discovered what they were doing.”
“And Lucia?”
“My husband's daughter.”
“So my father had an affair with Elena?”
“Yes.”
“And your husband?”
“He helped hide the child.”
“Why?”
“Because Lucia proved my husband wasn't the only man betraying his family.”
“What does that mean?”
Miriam looked at Valentina.
“Your mother wasn't Elena.”
Valentina froze.
“What?”
“I was.”
Silence.
I looked at her.
Miriam continued.
“Your father wasn't your biological father either.”
Valentina took a step back.
“No.”
“You were born during the program.”
“Stop.”
“Your birth records were changed.”
Valentina's hands trembled.
“Who am I?”
Miriam looked at her.
“You are a Moretti.”
I felt the world stop.
Valentina's biological mother was Miriam.
Her biological father was my father.
That meant Valentina and I were related.
My wife was my father's daughter.
My family had been poisoned from the beginning.
She covered her mouth.
“No.”
Miriam cried.
“I tried to tell you.”
I couldn't breathe.
Valentina stared at me.
“Oh God.”
She stepped backward.
“We can't…”
Her voice broke.
“We can't be married.”
I didn't answer.
Legally, we needed to separate immediately.
But the baby was innocent.
None of this was his fault.
We had to protect him.
Miriam handed me another file.
“Your father planned this years ago.”
Inside were genetic records.
He had deliberately arranged our marriage.
Not because he loved us.
Because he wanted the family bloodline concentrated.
Powerful.
Controlled.
Unbreakable.
I stared at the records.
My father had turned our lives into a chessboard.
We were pieces.
Our child was a prize.
The person who had once been my wife was now someone I could never safely remain married to.
She cried.
“I loved you.”
I swallowed.
“I loved you too.”
“I still do.”
“I know.”
“But we can't.”
“No.”
For the first time, there was no anger between us.
Only grief.
Miriam looked at us.
“I am sorry.”
“You should have told her.”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“The night you were born.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Because Daniel threatened to kill you.”
Valentina looked toward her.
“You chose fear.”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
Miriam stood.
“Now I choose truth.”
She handed me a final envelope.
Inside was a legal document.
The original inheritance contract.
My father's signature.
Matteo's signature.
Miriam's.
And one clause.
The heir must be a direct male descendant of Daniel Moretti.
If no surviving heir exists, control passes to Matteo.
If Matteo is incapacitated, control passes to Daniel.
I stared.
My father never planned to lose.
Even if I died, he would reclaim everything.
Unless my son lived.
The baby was the key.
Not because he was a male heir.
Because his survival voided the contingency.
I looked at Valentina.
“I'm going to protect him.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
“What will you do?”
“Help you.”
“You're part of this.”
“So are you.”
She wiped her tears.
“But the baby deserves better.”
I agreed.
That night, we filed for legal separation.
The next morning, I transferred every asset into a protective trust.
The empire was no longer mine to control alone.
My son would inherit only legal assets.
No criminal businesses.
No dirty money.
Nothing tied to my father's network.
I dismantled everything.
Warehouses.
Casinos.
Shipping routes.
Secret accounts.
The entire machine.
My father would lose everything.
But he wasn't finished.
At midnight, the security system sounded.
Enzo shouted:
“Boss!”
I grabbed my weapon.
“What?”
“The nursery.”
I ran.
The door was open.
The crib was empty.
Again.
On the floor was a red scarf.
And beneath it, a note.
YOU STILL THINK THE CHILD IS THE TARGET.
HE'S NOT.
YOU ARE.
I looked up.
The mansion lights went out.
A gunshot echoed.
Then another.
May you like
And from the hallway came my father's voice.
“Let's finish what we started.”
