Chapter 3 - THE BROTHER WHO NEVER DIED
Alessandro did not sleep.
Neither did I.
By dawn, the cottage windows had been boarded, security doubled, and every employee on the Moretti estate had been confined to assigned areas until Marco’s team completed interviews.
Emma slept beside me.
One tiny hand tucked beneath her cheek.
Alessandro sat in the armchair across the room staring at her.
He had been doing that for twenty minutes.
“You’re making it weird,” I whispered.
He looked at me.
“She has Gabriel’s mouth.”
“I know.”
“How did I not see it?”
“You weren’t looking.”
That hurt him.
I could tell.
“Tell me everything.”
I had avoided this story for four years.
Now there was nowhere left to hide it.
I met Gabriel in Queens.
He never used his last name.
To me, he was Gabriel Martin.
A contractor who repaired old apartment buildings.
Funny.
Restless.
Always watching doors.
I thought he had anxiety.
Months later, I learned he had enemies.
“He told you he was a Moretti?”
“Eventually.”
“When?”
“After someone followed us home.”
Alessandro’s expression darkened.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“Gabriel confronted him in the alley.”
“Did you see the man?”
“Only from the window.”
“Description?”
“Tall. Heavy coat. Bald.”
Alessandro looked toward Marco.
“Victor had hair then.”
“Could have been anyone.”
Continue.
Gabriel told me the Moretti family was dangerous.
Not because Alessandro would hurt me.
Because someone was trying to manipulate a coming leadership transition.
Their father, Salvatore Moretti, was sick.
Both brothers had different supporters.
Gabriel wanted no part of succession.
Alessandro was already taking control.
That made Gabriel useful leverage.
“He said someone wanted him to turn against you.”
Alessandro’s jaw tightened.
“Who?”
“He never told me.”
“Why?”
“He thought the less I knew, the safer I was.”
Alessandro gave a bitter laugh.
“Family tradition.”
The night Gabriel died, he kissed me goodbye at 11:00 p.m.
Said he had to meet someone.
Two hours later, police reported his car went through a guardrail and burned.
No body was shown.
The Moretti family confirmed his death privately.
I was not invited to the funeral.
Nobody knew I existed.
Two weeks later, I discovered I was pregnant.
“I called the number Gabriel gave me for emergencies.”
“What number?”
“His family attorney.”
“Name?”
I hesitated.
“Victor Hale.”
Alessandro stood so quickly the chair scraped the floor.
“Victor knew.”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That Gabriel was dead.”
“What else?”
“That contacting the Moretti family would put my child in danger.”
My voice shook.
“He told me Alessandro Moretti would never permit Gabriel’s illegitimate child to live openly.”
Alessandro stared at me.
“He said I would hurt Emma?”
“Yes.”
Rage moved across his face.
Slow.
Controlled.
Worse than shouting.
“Why did you apply here?”
“I didn’t know Victor worked for you.”
That surprised him.
“The household listing went through an employment agency. The employer name was Moretti Holdings, but I thought—”
“You thought it was coincidence.”
“Yes.”
“When did you realize?”
“First day.”
“And you stayed.”
“I had forty-three dollars and a two-year-old.”
He looked away.
Fair.
I continued.
“Victor recognized me three weeks later.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing.”
“That should have scared you.”
“It did.”
“He never threatened you?”
“No.”
“Never mentioned Gabriel?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“What did he say?”
“That some graves are safer unopened.”
Marco entered carrying a laptop.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We traced the laundry receipt.”
Prestige Cleaners was real.
The receipt number was real.
But the shirt had never been processed there.
Someone duplicated the ticket.
Security footage from the cleaners showed Victor meeting a man.
The man wore a baseball cap.
His face appeared once.
Alessandro froze.
I leaned closer.
Dark beard.
Older.
Thinner.
But unmistakable.
Gabriel.
Alive.
My hands went numb.
Emma’s father.
Standing in a Queens laundromat three weeks earlier.
“He’s alive,” I whispered.
Alessandro stared.
His eyes filled.
Then hardened immediately.
“Why didn’t he come here?”
Marco answered.
“Maybe he couldn’t.”
The footage continued.
Gabriel gave Victor an envelope.
Victor handed him something in return.
They spoke for eleven minutes.
Then Gabriel left.
“Can we get audio?” Alessandro asked.
“No.”
“Track him.”
“Already trying.”
I stood too quickly.
The room tilted.
Alessandro caught my arm.
“You’re still sick.”
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
I hated when powerful men said no like gravity might enforce it.
“My daughter’s father is alive.”
“And you passing out helps?”
He had a point.
I sat.
Marco opened another file.
“We traced Victor’s offshore transfers.”
“How much?”
“Three million over four years.”
“From Rossi?”
“Some.”
“Other sources?”
“Unknown.”
Then one account stood out.
Payments labeled G.M.
Gabriel Moretti?
No.
The direction was wrong.
Victor had been sending money to G.M.
Not receiving it.
“Maybe he was funding Gabriel,” I said.
Alessandro looked unconvinced.
“Or paying him.”
“For what?”
No answer.
Then Emma woke.
She rubbed her eyes.
“Mommy?”
“I’m here.”
Her gaze found the laptop.
Gabriel’s face remained frozen on screen.
Emma stared.
Then climbed out of bed.
She approached.
“Daddy.”
The room stopped.
I looked at her.
“What?”
She pointed.
“That Daddy.”
Alessandro crouched.
“Emma, where have you seen him?”
She looked confused.
“Park.”
My stomach dropped.
“What park?”
“The one with ducks.”
There was a small public park near the estate where I sometimes took her on Sundays.
“When?”
She shrugged.
“Lots.”
My heart broke.
Gabriel had seen her.
Repeatedly.
“How close?”
“He sits far.”
“Does he talk to you?”
She shook her head.
“Once he gave duck bread.”
I covered my mouth.
He had been alive.
Close enough to watch his daughter grow.
Not close enough to hold her.
Alessandro looked furious.
Not at Emma.
At Gabriel.
“He doesn’t get to do this.”
I stared.
“You don’t know why.”
“He watched his child from a bench.”
“You just spent a night staring at her from a chair.”
“That is not the same.”
“No.”
I lowered my voice.
“But maybe he’s afraid.”
Alessandro looked at me.
“Fear is becoming very expensive in this family.”
His phone rang.
This time, the caller ID displayed a name.
GABRIEL.
Alessandro stopped breathing.
He answered.
Neither spoke.
Then a voice I had not heard in four years came through.
“Hello, brother.”
My eyes filled instantly.
Alessandro’s jaw tightened.
“You’re alive.”
“Technically.”
“Where are you?”
“Not safe.”
“Where?”
“You still give orders before greetings.”
“You let us bury you.”
“I know.”
“You let me think I failed you.”
“I know.”
Alessandro’s voice broke.
“Don’t say that.”
Silence.
Then Gabriel asked:
“Is Elena there?”
I couldn’t speak.
Alessandro handed me the phone.
“Gabriel?”
His breath caught.
“Elena.”
I cried immediately.
Not graceful.
Not quiet.
Four years collapsed.
“Why?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Did you know about Emma?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Since she was born.”
I closed my eyes.
“Then why?”
“Because everyone who helped me disappeared.”
“You watched us.”
“Yes.”
“You let me think you were dead.”
“If I returned, they would use you.”
“They did anyway.”
Silence.
Then:
“That’s why I sent the receipt.”
Alessandro leaned forward.
“You arranged Emma in the laundry room?”
“No.”
“What?”
Gabriel sounded alarmed.
“I arranged for the receipt to reach you.”
“Then who arranged the child?”
Silence.
Alessandro’s face changed.
“Gabriel.”
“I never told anyone to involve Emma directly.”
I felt cold.
If Gabriel did not arrange for Emma to be discovered—
someone else had.
“Who knew she was going into the laundry room?” Alessandro asked me.
I thought.
Nobody.
Then remembered.
That morning, Emma had found the stained shirt outside my cottage door.
Not inside the mansion.
I had assumed another housekeeper left it because I was sick.
“Someone brought the shirt to her.”
Alessandro stood.
“Who?”
I closed my eyes.
One person had checked on me that morning.
Brought soup.
Asked whether Emma needed anything.
A woman I trusted.
“Teresa.”
“Who?”
“Your head housekeeper.”
Alessandro went still.
Teresa Romano.
Thirty-one years with the Moretti family.
She had helped raise both brothers.
Gabriel’s voice came through the phone.
“Alessandro.”
“What?”
“Get away from Teresa.”
Too late.
The cottage door opened.
Teresa stood there holding a tray.
She smiled at Emma.
Then looked at Alessandro.
“Good.”
Her voice was calm.
“You finally figured out where to look.”
Behind her stood two armed men.
May you like
And for the first time in thirty-one years, Teresa Romano stopped pretending she belonged to the Moretti family.
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