Chapter 4 - The Warehouse Where My Grandmother Died Held the First Clue to My Father's Real IdentityThe warehouse was empty when we arrived.
Too empty.
That was what frightened me.
Alessandro's men moved through the building.
Dominic signaled.
Clear.
We entered.
My grandmother's body was gone.
Only blood remained.
I felt dizzy.
“Where is she?”
Alessandro didn't answer.
He knew.
She had been moved.
Maybe alive.
Maybe dead.
I refused to accept either.
Then I saw something on the floor.
A piece of white fabric.
My grandmother's scarf.
I picked it up.
Inside the seam was a folded note.
The fourth room.
We searched.
Four doors.
The fourth was locked.
Alessandro opened it.
Inside stood an old desk.
A photograph of my father.
And a wall covered with names.
Moretti.
Rossi.
Vale.
Carranza.
Families.
Companies.
Politicians.
I stared.
“What is this?”
“A network.”
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“Why would my father be listed beside them?”
“He wasn't.”
Alessandro pointed.
There was a separate column.
Witnesses.
My father's name was there.
Below it:
Elena Moretti — protected.
My blood ran cold.
I stepped backward.
“He planned to protect me before I was born.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because something happened.”
“What?”
Alessandro pointed toward another document.
PROJECT NIGHTFALL
I opened it.
The project involved financial records, political blackmail, and evidence of organized corruption.
At the bottom was a list of people.
My father.
Alessandro's father.
Theodore Vale.
And someone else.
A woman.
Sofia Moretti.
My mother.
I stared.
“My mother was involved.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
Alessandro didn't answer.
A gunshot came from the hallway.
We ducked.
Men entered.
Alessandro returned fire.
I crawled behind the desk.
The room exploded into violence.
Then one man shouted:
“Get the girl!”
I froze.
Alessandro shot him.
Another rushed me.
I grabbed a heavy book and struck his face.
He fell.
I stared at the blood on the book.
“I hit someone with Shakespeare.”
Alessandro almost smiled.
“Macbeth?”
“Yes.”
“Appropriate.”
We escaped.
Outside, I confronted him.
“You knew my mother.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She worked with my father.”
“As what?”
“A courier.”
“That doesn't sound important.”
“She carried information.”
“Important information?”
“The most important.”
“What?”
“Names.”
“What names?”
“The names of everyone involved in Nightfall.”
I understood.
The black box contained evidence.
Names.
Money.
Proof.
And my father had hidden it.
But why had he given me the key?
Why was I the only person who could open it?
The answer appeared when we returned to the estate.
I placed the brass key on the table.
Alessandro noticed an engraving.
E.M.
“Elena Moretti.”
“No.”
“Your birth name.”
I stared.
“My grandmother changed it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To hide you.”
“From Vale?”
“From everyone.”
I looked at him.
“Does the Moretti family know I exist?”
“Some do.”
“Who?”
“Very few.”
“And you?”
“I suspected.”
“Before today?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Two months.”
I felt betrayed.
“You knew?”
“I suspected.”
“You watched me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To make sure no one else knew.”
I stared.
“That isn't protection.”
“It is in my world.”
I looked away.
Then he said:
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“When I knew who wanted you.”
“And now?”
“Vale.”
I turned.
“You're certain?”
“Yes.”
“Where is my grandmother?”
“Alive.”
My heart jumped.
“You know?”
“We found a vehicle.”
He handed me a photograph.
My grandmother sat inside.
Alive.
But beside her stood a man.
Theodore Vale.
And behind him—
my mother.
May you like
I stopped breathing.
My mother was alive too.
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