Chapter 6 - THE DAUGHTER OF A DUCA
Ranata laughed.
It was the wrong sound.
Too sharp.
Too empty.
The laugh of someone whose mind had reached the edge of what it could accept and decided disbelief was safer.
“No.”
Isabella held the photograph.
“Your father's name was Gabriel.”
“No.”
“He was Carlo's son from a relationship before he married me.”
“No.”
Ranata backed away.
Mila stirred on the sofa.
Pino lifted his head.
Ranata lowered her voice immediately.
“My father was Thomas Russo. He repaired elevators. He died of a heart attack.”
“Thomas Russo raised you.”
Isabella's words were careful.
“He wasn't your biological father.”
Ranata's face hardened.
“Stop.”
Lorenzo moved between them slightly.
“Mother.”
“No, she deserves—”
“She deserves to choose when she hears it.”
Ranata looked at Lorenzo.
“I want to hear it.”
He studied her.
Then stepped aside.
Isabella placed the photograph on the table.
“Gabriel Duca was Carlo's son.”
Lorenzo stared at the man in the photograph.
He had seen him before.
Family albums.
Always labeled as a business associate.
Never family.
“Why hide him?” Lorenzo asked.
“Because Carlo's father refused to accept Gabriel's mother. She wasn't Sicilian. She wasn't wealthy. She wasn't anyone the family considered appropriate.”
Ranata whispered, “So they erased him.”
“Yes.”
Isabella nodded.
“Carlo secretly supported Gabriel for years. Eventually Gabriel worked for Duca Shipping under another name.”
“What happened?”
“He discovered Vittorio had been stealing.”
Of course.
Everything returned to Vittorio.
“He threatened to expose him.”
Lorenzo's jaw tightened.
“And the poison?”
“Carlo wanted Gabriel sedated long enough to move him somewhere safe.”
Lorenzo stared at his mother.
“That is the story you're giving me?”
“It was a tranquilizer. Vittorio replaced it with something stronger.”
“And you drank it?”
Isabella nodded.
“The cups were switched.”
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
This family could turn breakfast into attempted murder.
“What happened to Gabriel?”
“He disappeared.”
Ranata whispered, “My mother told me my real father died before I was born.”
“Your mother was told he died.”
“Did he?”
Isabella looked at Lorenzo.
“No one knows.”
Ranata walked to the window.
Her arms folded around herself.
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Then Mila woke.
“Mommy?”
Ranata turned immediately.
She wiped her face.
“I'm here.”
Mila climbed down.
Pino followed.
The child ran into her mother's arms.
Ranata held her.
Lorenzo watched.
Whatever blood ran through Ranata meant almost nothing compared to that.
She was still the woman who had worked twelve-hour shifts cleaning a house belonging to relatives who did not know she existed.
Still the widow who sold everything to keep her daughter fed.
Still the woman who had nearly been thrown into the street because someone hid a golden clock in her locker.
But the legal consequences were enormous.
If Gabriel had been Carlo's firstborn son—and if blood succession documents existed—Ranata might possess rights to shares in Duca family holdings.
Legitimate holdings.
Possibly substantial.
Bianca saw it too.
“Vittorio knew.”
Everyone looked at her.
“He had to.”
She stepped closer to the photograph.
“My father said something last month. He said the marriage needed to happen before the ‘old branch surfaced.’ I thought he meant your mother.”
She looked at Ranata.
“He meant you.”
Ranata laughed bitterly.
“I clean toilets.”
“That doesn't change your DNA.”
“Apparently DNA changes depending on whether rich people find it convenient.”
Lorenzo almost smiled.
She wasn't wrong.
Marco entered with a folder.
“We found Vittorio's backup files.”
Lorenzo took them.
Inside were scanned birth certificates.
Trust amendments.
A sealed letter written by Carlo.
One document identified Gabriel Duca as Carlo's acknowledged biological son.
Another showed Carlo had created a trust for Gabriel's descendants.
The trust had never been activated.
Because no descendants had ever been legally identified.
Until now.
Ranata stared at the estimated value.
She looked almost offended.
“Twenty-eight million dollars?”
“Potentially,” Bianca said.
Ranata pushed the papers away.
“I don't want it.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“Don't decide tonight.”
“I don't want blood money.”
“Most of it is legitimate.”
“Most?”
He almost corrected himself.
Didn't.
Ranata gave him a look.
“Excellent argument.”
Mila climbed onto the chair.
“Mommy, are we rich?”
Everyone froze.
Ranata stared at her daughter.
“No.”
Mila considered.
“Okay.”
Then she asked for cereal.
Lorenzo walked away before anyone saw him smile.
Two hours later, a call came from Emilio Valenti.
Bianca's father.
He wanted a meeting.
Bianca refused.
Lorenzo accepted.
The meeting took place at noon in an old private club downtown.
Public enough that nobody would start shooting.
Private enough that nobody would ask why three men at one table had enough security outside to protect a diplomat.
Emilio Valenti sat opposite Lorenzo.
Vittorio was not with him.
“Where is my daughter?”
“Safe.”
“Bring her home.”
“She doesn't want to.”
Emilio's expression tightened.
“She doesn't know what she wants.”
“Interesting philosophy for a father.”
Emilio ignored that.
“The marriage should proceed.”
Lorenzo laughed.
“The marriage is dead.”
“You need the alliance.”
“I needed an honest alliance.”
“You need protection.”
“From you?”
“From what comes next.”
Lorenzo leaned forward.
“What comes next?”
Emilio slid a photograph across the table.
A man stepping off a private plane.
Late sixties.
Gray hair.
Scar along his jaw.
Ranata's eyes.
Lorenzo's father's posture.
Lorenzo stared at the picture.
“Who is this?”
Emilio smiled.
“Gabriel Duca.”
Lorenzo's pulse changed.
“Alive?”
“Very.”
“Where?”
“Yesterday? Montreal.”
Lorenzo gripped the photograph.
“Why reveal him now?”
“Because Vittorio has already contacted him.”
That made no sense.
“Vittorio tried to erase his family.”
“Gabriel doesn't know that.”
Lorenzo looked up.
Emilio's smile widened.
“He thinks your father stole his inheritance.”
Lorenzo said nothing.
“And he believes you continued the theft.”
Lorenzo leaned back.
“So Vittorio found him and fed him a story.”
“Yes.”
“What does Gabriel want?”
Emilio's smile disappeared.
“Everything.”
That evening Lorenzo returned to the safe house.
Ranata was in the kitchen cutting an apple for Mila.
Lorenzo placed the photograph on the counter.
She stared.
The knife stopped.
“Who is that?”
“Your father.”
Her hand began shaking.
“He's alive.”
Ranata sat slowly.
Lorenzo told her everything.
When he finished, she asked one question.
“Does he know about me?”
“I don't know.”
Her eyes filled.
“And Mila?”
“I don't know.”
The doorbell rang.
Marco checked the security feed.
Then swore.
“What?”
He turned the monitor.
The man from Emilio's photograph stood at the gate.
Alone.
Gabriel Duca.
Ranata's father.
In one hand he held a small leather suitcase.
In the other, a photograph of Ranata as a newborn.
And when the intercom opened, Gabriel said:
May you like
“Tell my daughter I have been looking for her for thirty-four years.”
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