Chapter 5 - THE BROTHER I MOURNED WAS MURDERED FOR AN HEIR
I did not race back to Manhattan.
That would have been the old Alessandro.
The man who believed urgency meant speed.
Instead, I called law enforcement counsel.
Independent security.
Sophia’s attorney.
Dante.
Then I called Sophia.
“Where are you?”
“Safe.”
“Emma?”
“With me.”
“Lorenzo knows.”
Silence.
“I know.”
“How?”
“Isabella called.”
Interesting.
“She called you too?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“That Lorenzo demanded the photograph and any DNA records.”
“Do you have them?”
“My attorney does.”
Good.
Not Moretti.
“Stay where you are.”
Sophia’s voice hardened.
“Don’t order me.”
I closed my eyes.
“Would you please stay somewhere secure until we understand the threat?”
Pause.
“Yes.”
Progress.
My Manhattan house went into security lockdown, but I instructed Dante not to detain Isabella.
She was free to leave.
She chose not to.
When I returned with two attorneys and independent investigators, she sat in the east drawing room wearing the same cream coat.
The wedding rehearsal should have started in three hours.
Flowers had already arrived.
Staff were quietly removing them.
Isabella watched.
“I suppose the rehearsal is canceled.”
“Yes.”
“The wedding?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
I felt something.
Not enough to change the answer.
“You spoke to Gabriel.”
“Yes.”
“He hates me.”
“He doesn’t trust you.”
“Same.”
“No.”
I sat opposite.
“Tell me about Lorenzo.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Where should I begin?”
“Seven years ago.”
Isabella stared at the floor.
Sophia had been her closest friend.
When Sophia told her about Matteo, Isabella thought it was romantic.
Secret Moretti prince.
Ordinary clinic worker.
Then pregnancy.
Isabella told Lorenzo because her younger brother owed money to dangerous lenders connected to a casino operation.
Lorenzo offered to clear it.
One piece of information.
Was Sophia actually pregnant?
Isabella said yes.
Her brother’s debt disappeared.
Six days later Matteo died.
“I knew.”
Her voice broke.
“Not before.”
“After?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Lorenzo told me to stop asking questions about Sophia if I didn’t want my family next.”
“Did you help Sophia escape?”
“Yes.”
That part was true.
She arranged clinic records under another name.
Gave Gabriel access to a back entrance.
Provided cash.
Then spent seven years living with the knowledge that the secret she sold helped put Matteo in a grave.
“Why come near me later?”
I asked.
That mattered.
Isabella and I met three years ago at a museum benefit.
Was it arranged?
“Yes.”
The word hurt.
“By Lorenzo?”
“Initially.”
My face became cold.
“He wanted access to me.”
“He wanted someone close.”
“And you volunteered.”
“He reminded me what happened to Matteo.”
Not answer.
“I agreed.”
There.
“But I did not expect…”
“What?”
“You.”
She cried.
I hated tears because sometimes they were sincere.
“I didn’t expect to love you.”
I looked away.
Eight months of pregnancy.
Two years together.
A wedding tomorrow.
Could someone love and deceive at the same time?
Unfortunately, yes.
“When did the affair with Lorenzo continue?”
Isabella flinched.
“Once.”
“While we were together?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“About nine months ago.”
That fit.
The child.
“Why?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t have an answer that makes it better.”
Good.
“Were you forced?”
“No.”
“Threatened?”
“Not that night.”
“Then own it.”
“I am.”
She told me she learned pregnancy six weeks later.
Dates were ambiguous initially.
She hoped the baby was mine.
At twelve weeks, she obtained a private prenatal paternity screen using a sample from my hairbrush without permission.
Result excluded me.
Lorenzo was then tested.
Confirmed.
“What did he say?”
“He laughed.”
My hands tightened.
“He said now everything could be fixed.”
“What does fixed mean?”
“Marry you.”
“Pass his child as mine.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“He said once the baby was born, I would have legal protection.”
“For him?”
“For myself.”
She looked at me.
“Lorenzo said if I refused, he would expose everything about Matteo and tell you I had betrayed Sophia.”
“He was correct.”
“Yes.”
“You still could have told me.”
“I was afraid.”
“Fear is explanation.”
I paused.
“Not innocence.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
Then came the darker part.
Vittorio’s current plan.
Not murder, at least not according to anything Isabella knew.
Corporate removal.
If I married Isabella and publicly acknowledged the baby as mine, certain family trust rights would be registered around the child.
Vittorio and Lorenzo planned to challenge my mental competence if later evidence of criminal decisions surfaced.
They had been collecting records of my past violence.
Including Gabriel’s ordered death.
Including other actions from the criminal years.
Real actions.
If I were removed from trust control through court or board process, Isabella as mother of my presumed child could become a temporary fiduciary participant.
Lorenzo believed he could control her.
“How much?”
“Enough to swing the board.”
The baby was not only camouflage.
It was access.
“And Emma?”
Isabella wiped her face.
“Emma destroys the math.”
Because Matteo’s biological daughter would revive Matteo’s branch and dilute Vittorio’s contingent reserve control.
“Does Vittorio know DNA confirmed?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Lorenzo?”
“Not yet.”
Then why coming for records?
Suspicion.
I asked:
“What did Lorenzo tell you tonight?”
Isabella handed me her phone.
Messages.
Lorenzo:
GET THE PHOTO.
Then:
SOPHIA CANNOT TALK.
Not kill.
Silence.
Stop exposure.
Ambiguous.
Then:
IF ALESSANDRO LEARNS ABOUT MATTEO’S GIRL BEFORE TOMORROW WE LOSE EVERYTHING.
There.
Wedding deadline.
The rehearsal.
Marriage.
Trust.
Tomorrow was never merely romantic.
Isabella looked at me.
“I was going to tell you tonight.”
“After the paternity report?”
She froze.
“You knew I tested?”
“No.”
“Then what triggered conscience?”
“Sophia.”
She had seen Sophia downstairs.
Emma nearby.
Realized Vittorio’s plan would place another child inside Moretti machinery.
“I couldn’t do it twice.”
That sentence mattered.
Not absolution.
Evidence of a line.
“What do you want now?”
“To keep my baby safe.”
“From Lorenzo?”
“Yes.”
“Will you testify?”
She stared.
“You mean cooperate.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll protect me?”
I thought carefully.
“I will not promise you immunity.”
She flinched.
“I will pay for independent security until authorities determine a plan.”
“And my baby?”
“Your child is innocent.”
Her face broke.
For the first time that evening, she looked less like my traitorous fiancée and more like a frightened pregnant woman.
I hated that both could exist.
Then Dante entered.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“Lorenzo is downstairs.”
I stood.
“With who?”
“Two attorneys.”
Not gunmen.
Attorneys.
More dangerous in this context.
“He says Isabella is being unlawfully detained and wants access to personal property.”
I looked at Isabella.
“Do you want to leave with him?”
“No.”
Immediate.
Dante nodded.
Then:
“He also brought a court petition.”
“For what?”
Dante handed it over.
Emergency motion seeking to freeze Moretti family trust changes pending investigation into “fraudulent late assertion of an illegitimate descendant.”
Emma.
He was already attacking a six-year-old’s identity.
And attached to the petition was an affidavit.
Signed by Vittorio Moretti.
It claimed Matteo had been medically infertile.
I read it twice.
Sophia whispered through the phone when I told her:
“That’s impossible.”
The DNA said so.
Then my attorney found the medical document attached.
A seven-year-old fertility report.
Matteo Moretti.
Zero viable sperm.
I stared.
If authentic, it contradicted the DNA.
Which meant one of our records had been manipulated.
May you like
Again.
And suddenly Emma’s father was back in question.
