Chapter 5 - MY MOTHER’S LIE
For several seconds, I thought I had misunderstood her.
“My mother is dead.”
Maria Santos stared back at me.
“No, Mr. Moretti.”
I lowered the gun by an inch.
“My mother died eighteen months ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
She looked genuinely confused.
“Then the woman I saw last night was not your mother.”
Dominic stepped beside me.
“Describe her.”
Maria swallowed.
“Late fifties. Dark hair with silver near the temples. Tall. Expensive coat. Italian accent.”
My stomach twisted.
That description fit half a dozen women in my extended family.
“What did Mateo call her?”
Maria’s expression softened.
“Nonna.”
Grandmother.
I almost stopped breathing.
“My mother was the only grandmother Mateo knew.”
“What was her name?”
“Teresa.”
“Yes.”
Maria slowly lowered herself into a chair.
“Then I don’t understand.”
Neither did I.
I had buried Teresa Moretti eighteen months earlier after pancreatic cancer.
Unlike Mateo, I had seen her body.
Held her hand when she died.
There was no possibility she had walked into a Hudson Valley farmhouse last night.
Unless Mateo had been taught to call someone else Nonna.
“Who brought him here originally?” I asked.
Maria looked toward the window.
“Dr. Bellini.”
“How long ago?”
“Almost three years.”
My rage returned.
“And you never questioned why a supposedly dead child was in your house?”
“I didn’t know he was dead.”
She looked offended now.
“I was told his mother had been murdered and his father was responsible.”
Dominic exhaled sharply.
The same story.
Again.
Maria continued.
“Dr. Bellini said the boy needed a safe place until federal authorities could arrange permanent protection.”
“You never saw federal agents?”
“No.”
“You never searched my name?”
“I was told doing that could expose him.”
“And you believed them.”
“For a while.”
Her eyes hardened.
“Then I started noticing things.”
“What?”
“Men watching the property. Different doctors examining Mateo without explanation. Bellini refusing to let me register him for preschool.”
She looked at the home video still playing.
“Then I saw that.”
I turned toward the screen.
It was my recording.
“How did you get it?”
“It appeared in a box of his things about two years ago.”
“From where?”
“Bellini said storage.”
Maria stared at me.
“But I watched it. I heard your voice. I saw how that child reacted to you.”
She looked directly at me.
“That was not a frightened boy with an abusive father.”
My throat tightened.
“What did you do?”
“I confronted Bellini.”
“When?”
“Eight months ago.”
The timing hit me.
“That’s when Mateo went to Bright Horizons.”
She nodded.
“The next morning, they took him.”
“Why did they bring him back here last night?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who brought him?”
“Two men.”
“Names.”
“I only knew one.”
“Who?”
“Anthony Carbone.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
I knew Anthony.
Salvatore’s driver.
The evidence pointed back to my uncle.
“Did he say where Mateo was going next?”
“No.”
Maria hesitated.
“But Mateo heard them talking.”
My heart lurched.
“What did he say?”
“He kept repeating something after they left the room.”
“What?”
Maria’s voice dropped.
“Red boats.”
Dominic glanced at me.
Moretti Shipping owned three docks painted red in our company colors.
One in Brooklyn.
One in Newark.
One near New Haven.
Lorenzo moved toward the stairs.
“We should check them.”
“Wait.”
I kept my eyes on Maria.
“You said a woman came last night.”
“Yes.”
“What did she do?”
“She sat with Mateo for nearly an hour.”
“What did they talk about?”
“I stayed downstairs.”
“Did she threaten him?”
“No.”
Maria smiled faintly.
“He seemed happy to see her.”
That hurt in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
My son had relationships I knew nothing about.
People he trusted.
People who had held him when I should have.
Then Maria said, “She gave him something.”
“What?”
“A wooden airplane.”
The photograph.
“What did she look like exactly?”
Maria described the woman again.
The voice.
The posture.
A scar along the right thumb.
Dominic suddenly went still.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“Caterina Bellini.”
My wife’s godmother.
The woman who had supposedly been at Valentina’s funeral sobbing in the front pew.
The woman who had held my mother’s hand at Mateo’s burial.
I laughed without humor.
“Of course.”
Maria frowned.
“You know her?”
“Yes.”
I turned toward the door.
“Find Bellini and his wife.”
Dominic made the calls.
I remained upstairs.
Mateo’s room was small.
Blue walls.
Books.
A race-car bed.
His entire stolen childhood fit inside one ordinary room.
I opened a drawer.
Tiny shirts.
Socks.
A dinosaur pajama set.
I touched everything.
A father inventorying absence.
There were drawings taped to one wall.
Stick figures.
One woman.
One small boy.
And one tall black figure standing far away.
Above it, in shaky letters someone had helped him write:
DAD.
My eyes burned.
Maria appeared behind me.
“He asked about you.”
I didn’t turn.
“What did you tell him?”
“That I didn’t know where you were.”
“Did he believe I killed Valentina?”
“No.”
I faced her.
“How do you know?”
“Because one night he had a fever.”
She smiled sadly.
“He woke up asking for his mother. I told him she was gone.”
My throat closed.
“He cried for an hour.”
Maria continued.
“Then he asked if his daddy was gone too.”
I couldn’t speak.
“I told him I didn’t know.”
“And?”
“He said, ‘Daddy not gone. Daddy comes.’”
I sat down on the edge of the bed.
The most feared man in New York.
Reduced to pieces by four words from a child who wasn’t even in the room.
Dominic returned.
“Bellini’s Manhattan apartment is empty.”
“Caterina?”
“Gone.”
“Clinic?”
“Bellini resigned six months ago.”
“Salvatore?”
“At his estate.”
I stood.
“Good.”
Dominic blocked the doorway.
“You’re not going there alone.”
“I didn’t say alone.”
“Luca, this is exactly what he wants.”
“I want him to look me in the eye.”
“And if he lies?”
“Then I decide which bone to break first.”
Maria looked horrified.
I ignored it.
We returned to New York just before six.
Elena met me at the mansion entrance carrying Leo.
I didn’t realize how desperately I needed to see him until I did.
The baby spotted me.
His face lit up.
He leaned out of Elena’s arms.
My son.
I took him.
Leo grabbed my tie and laughed.
Elena studied my face.
“You found something.”
“Mateo is alive.”
She covered her mouth.
Tears appeared immediately.
“Are you sure?”
“I saw current photographs.”
Her knees weakened.
I caught her elbow with my free hand.
She whispered, “Valentina was right.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll find him.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I will.”
Leo rested his forehead against mine.
For one small moment, everything inside me quieted.
Then Dominic entered.
“We identified the man who came after Leo.”
“Who?”
“His name is Gabriel Voss.”
“I know it.”
Salvatore used Voss for sensitive work.
“Did he talk?”
“No.”
“He will.”
Dominic shook his head.
“He can’t.”
I looked at him.
“What happened?”
“He bit down on a cyanide capsule during interrogation.”
Elena went pale.
A man had killed himself rather than explain why he came for my baby.
The conspiracy was bigger than family pride.
Bigger than money.
I handed Leo back to Elena.
“Lock the nursery wing.”
She nodded.
“No one enters without Dominic’s approval.”
“What about you?”
“Especially not me if I’m being followed.”
Elena understood.
“Luca.”
I stopped.
“Bring Mateo home.”
My chest tightened.
“I will.”
Salvatore’s estate sat in Westchester behind iron gates and stone walls.
I had eaten Christmas dinners there.
Played chess with my uncle there.
Buried two family dogs behind the garden.
Tonight, I entered with twelve armed men.
Salvatore sat at the dining table alone.
Two plates.
Two glasses of wine.
He looked at the army behind me and sighed.
“You always did overreact.”
I crossed the room and punched him.
He fell sideways.
Dominic closed the doors.
Salvatore touched his split lip.
Then smiled.
“That make you feel better?”
“Where is Mateo?”
“You know he’s alive now.”
“Where?”
“Safe.”
I grabbed his collar.
“FROM WHO?”
His smile vanished.
“From you.”
I hit him again.
Salvatore’s chair crashed to the floor.
He laughed through blood.
“You still don’t understand.”
“Explain.”
He looked up at me.
“Valentina found out what your father built beneath the legitimate Moretti companies.”
My pulse changed.
“What are you talking about?”
“Human trafficking routes.”
The words turned my stomach.
“My father never—”
“He did.”
“Liar.”
“Ask Lorenzo why those pediatric centers existed.”
I looked toward Dominic.
Salvatore continued.
“Your father helped powerful men disappear children. Custody cases. Witnesses. Illegitimate heirs. Sometimes worse.”
I wanted to kill him for saying it.
Then Lorenzo’s discovered records flashed through my memory.
Fake identities.
Hidden children.
Private residences.
Salvatore slowly stood.
“Valentina discovered the network.”
My hand tightened.
“She was going to expose it.”
“Yes.”
“Did you kill her?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Salvatore’s eyes moved toward the doorway.
Then back to me.
“Your mother tried to stop her.”
My blood went cold.
“She loved Valentina.”
“She loved the Moretti name more.”
I grabbed him again.
“She was dying of cancer.”
“Not then.”
“Did Teresa order the accident?”
Salvatore’s face softened.
“No.”
“Then who?”
He whispered the answer.
“Your father.”
My father had been dead five years.
Two years before Mateo disappeared.
I stared at him.
“That’s impossible.”
Salvatore smiled sadly.
“Dead men leave instructions, Luca.”
He reached slowly into his jacket.
Dominic aimed instantly.
Salvatore removed a key.
Small.
Brass.
He placed it on the table.
“Your father created contingencies.”
I stared at the key.
“For what?”
“For the day one of his children tried to destroy the empire.”
“I was his only child.”
Salvatore gave me a long look.
“No.”
I stopped breathing.
He pushed the key toward me.
“Go to Grand Central. Locker 417.”
My voice barely worked.
“What’s inside?”
“The reason Valentina died.”
May you like
Then he said something that changed the war completely.
“And the name of your sister.”
