Chapter 5 - My Mother Had Been Alive All AlongI couldn't speak.
My mother.
Alive.
Older.
Standing beside the man everyone believed was dead.
Alessandro looked at me.
“You're okay?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
We studied the photograph.
My grandmother was seated.
My mother stood beside her.
Vale was smiling.
There was no fear on my mother's face.
That confused me.
“Maybe she's helping him.”
Alessandro shook his head.
“I don't think so.”
“How do you know?”
“Your mother is looking at the camera.”
“Meaning?”
“She knew the photo was being taken.”
“And?”
“She wanted you to find it.”
The clue was hidden in the photograph.
A clock behind them.
The time.
11:17.
A painting.
Three roses.
A door marked seven.
We searched old records.
11:17 was the number of a shipping container.
The three roses belonged to a hotel in Manhattan.
Room seven.
We went there.
Inside was my grandmother.
Alive.
She was weak.
But alive.
I cried when I saw her.
“Grandma.”
She hugged me.
“You found me.”
“Mom is alive.”
“I know.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because you were too young.”
“I’m twenty-three.”
“Now you're old enough.”
She looked toward Alessandro.
“You brought him.”
I stared.
“You know him?”
“I knew his father.”
Alessandro stepped forward.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
My grandmother looked at him.
“Your father loved my daughter.”
I froze.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“Loved?”
She nodded.
“Then why did they separate?”
“Because your father threatened to kill them.”
I turned to Alessandro.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he thought my mother was betraying him.”
My grandmother shook her head.
“He was wrong.”
She reached for my hand.
“Your mother and Alessandro's father were trying to expose Vale.”
“And my father?”
“He joined them.”
“So why did he die?”
“He didn't.”
Silence.
I stared.
“He lived.”
“For how long?”
“Until last year.”
My chest tightened.
My father had been alive for years.
Why hadn't he found me?
“He stayed away because Vale believed he was dead.”
“Then where was he?”
“Europe.”
“What was he doing?”
“Protecting the archive.”
“The black box?”
“Yes.”
“Why give it to me?”
“Because only you could open it.”
“Why?”
My grandmother smiled sadly.
“Because your father taught you the story.”
I frowned.
“What story?”
“The one you think was about books.”
My grandmother had taught me literature.
But she had also taught me something else.
She'd given me riddles.
Symbols.
Sequences.
Stories with strange endings.
I suddenly understood.
She had trained me.
My father had trained me through her.
The books.
The symbols.
The tragedies.
The box wasn't encrypted.
It was designed for someone raised on the same language.
Me.
I began crying.
“I thought they were bedtime stories.”
“They were instructions.”
Alessandro stared at my grandmother.
“What is in the box?”
She looked at him.
“Everything.”
“What does that mean?”
“Evidence.”
“Of what?”
“Who killed your father.”
Alessandro froze.
“My father was killed?”
“Yes.”
“By Vale?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
My grandmother looked at me.
“Your father.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Marco killed Alessandro's father.”
Alessandro stepped backward.
“Why?”
“To save you.”
I stared.
My grandmother explained.
“Vale had threatened your mother.”
“He said he would kill Elena.”
“Marco made a deal.”
“What deal?”
“He would take the blame.”
“And?”
“He shot Alessandro's father.”
“But why?”
“Because Alessandro's father was about to reveal Elena's identity.”
Alessandro's face turned cold.
“So my father died protecting her.”
“Yes.”
“But Marco became the killer.”
“Yes.”
“And Vale used that to control both families.”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
Everything was twisted.
There had never been a simple villain.
There had been people making impossible choices.
My father had sacrificed his reputation.
Alessandro's father had sacrificed his life.
My mother had disappeared.
My grandmother had hidden me.
All to protect me.
And now the black box contained the proof.
I asked:
“Where is my father?”
My grandmother's eyes filled with tears.
“He died three months ago.”
My heart shattered.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because he died believing you were safe.”
I cried.
Alessandro stood silently.
Then he came closer.
He didn't touch me.
He simply stood there.
For once, the feared mafia boss looked helpless.
A phone rang.
Dominic.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Vale knows we're here.”
“How?”
“He has cameras.”
Alessandro looked toward the ceiling.
Then my grandmother said:
“He always does.”
We left through a service tunnel.
Back at the estate, the black box was still open.
But the letter remained sealed.
I finally understood.
It wasn't meant for Alessandro first.
It was meant for me.
I broke the black wax carefully.
Inside was a single page.
My father's handwriting.
Elena,
If you're reading this, you have reached the end of the first story.
Now you must choose whether to begin the second.
Below was an address.
And one final sentence:
Trust Alessandro Moretti, even when he has every reason to hate you.
I looked at him.
He read the note.
Then laughed bitterly.
“He knew.”
“What?”
“That we'd meet.”
Before I could answer, the lights in the estate turned off.
A voice came through the speakers.
Theodore Vale.
“Congratulations, Elena.”
His laugh echoed.
May you like
“You opened the box.”
“Now open the door.”
Related Stories
