Chapter 4 - My Mother’s Worst Secret
We locked Moretti House down before two in the morning.
Every exterior gate closed. Staff assembled in the ballroom. Security teams searched guest rooms, storage areas, service passages, attic corridors, wine cellars, garages, and the tunnels beneath the east wing my grandfather had built during Prohibition and which I had always considered absurd.
Marcus Vale was gone.
One service door had been opened for ninety seconds.
The electronic lock showed a master credential.
Only six people had access.
Me.
Enzo.
My mother.
The household director.
The head of security.
And Carlo Vitale.
Carlo had been given temporary master clearance years earlier during a family medical emergency.
Nobody had removed it.
My father's house remained full of old permissions nobody had thought to question.
Another inheritance.
Lily fell asleep again with Sophia beside her.
I remained outside the bedroom.
At nearly three, my mother joined me.
“You should sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“You haven't slept.”
“Neither have you.”
Victoria looked toward the closed bedroom door.
“Is she really yours?”
“We’ll test.”
“She looks like you.”
“That isn't enough.”
My mother smiled sadly.
“You looked exactly like that at three.”
I turned.
“You would know.”
She closed her eyes.
There was something different in her face.
Not merely guilt about hiding Sophia.
Something deeper.
“What else haven't you told me?”
“Dominic.”
“How many secrets are left?”
She sat on the bench outside the bedroom.
“Your father didn't merely threaten Sophia.”
I remained standing.
“What did he do?”
Victoria’s hands trembled.
“After I learned Sophia was pregnant, I confronted Lorenzo.”
My chest tightened.
“You told him?”
“No.”
“He guessed.”
“How?”
“You had asked him for access to one of the family residences in Connecticut.”
I remembered.
I planned to surprise Sophia with a weekend away.
“I never took her.”
“Because she disappeared first.”
“Yes.”
“Lorenzo investigated her.”
Of course.
“He discovered medical appointments.”
My stomach turned.
“He knew about the baby.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Victoria looked at me.
“He ordered me to bring Sophia to him.”
My entire body went cold.
“Did you?”
“No.”
One mercy.
“I went to her instead.”
“And told her to run.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Victoria's voice cracked.
“Because your father told me if the pregnancy continued, he would make sure the child was raised inside the Moretti family.”
Sophia's baby.
My child.
“He planned to take Lily?”
“He believed any Moretti heir belonged to the family before the mother.”
I laughed with disbelief.
“He couldn't legally—”
“Lorenzo did not think laws applied to him.”
That was true.
“He said Sophia could leave alone.”
My hands curled into fists.
“And if she refused?”
Victoria looked away.
I already knew.
“You saved her.”
“Yes.”
“Then why lie to me?”
“Because Lorenzo threatened you too.”
I stared.
“He said if you chose Sophia over the family, he would remove you from every business, every trust, every protection.”
“I wouldn't have cared.”
“At thirty-four?”
“Yes.”
“You say that now.”
“I loved her.”
“I know.”
My mother's tears began.
“I was afraid you would try to fight him.”
“I would have.”
“That was exactly what frightened me.”
She stood.
“You think you were powerful four years ago? Lorenzo still controlled half the men who carried your name. Carlo controlled the financing. Your father could have started a war inside the family.”
“So you made the decision for me.”
“Yes.”
“You stole my child.”
“I protected her.”
The words cracked something.
“Don't use that word.”
Victoria flinched.
“You protected everyone by taking away their choice.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
My voice rose.
“You watched me search.”
“Yes.”
“You watched me stop sleeping.”
She cried silently.
“You watched me convince myself Sophia had decided I wasn't worth saying goodbye to.”
“I know.”
“And every Christmas, every birthday, every Sunday dinner, you sat across from me knowing I had a daughter.”
Victoria covered her mouth.
“I know.”
I stepped away before anger became cruelty.
Then a quiet voice came from the bedroom.
“Dominic.”
Sophia stood at the door.
She had heard enough.
My mother looked at her.
“Sophia.”
“No.”
Sophia walked into the hallway.
“You don't get to cry until you answer one thing.”
Victoria nodded.
“Did Dominic ever tell you to make me leave?”
“No.”
Sophia’s face broke.
“Did he ever say he didn't want the baby?”
“No.”
“Did he know?”
“No.”
Sophia closed her eyes.
Four years of pain rearranged itself inside her.
Victoria whispered:
“I am sorry.”
Sophia laughed bitterly.
“I built an entire life around believing he chose power over us.”
“I know.”
“You sent me a letter.”
I turned.
“What letter?”
Sophia stared at Victoria.
“The letter supposedly from Dominic.”
My blood went cold.
Victoria’s face became gray.
“What letter?”
Sophia looked at me.
“Three days after I left, your mother sent a letter. It said you understood why I had gone and that it was better for everyone.”
“I never wrote that.”
“I know.”
We both looked at Victoria.
My mother shook her head.
“I didn't send it.”
Silence.
Sophia frowned.
“You didn't?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Victoria stepped closer.
“I gave you an envelope with money, apartment papers, and a phone number.”
“Yes.”
“No letter.”
Sophia went completely still.
“Someone else knew where I was immediately.”
Carlo.
Marcus.
Or somebody we had not identified.
The false letter had been designed not only to separate us but to keep Sophia from reaching back.
Enzo appeared from the staircase.
“Dominic.”
“What?”
“We found something.”
He handed me a small plastic evidence bag.
Inside was an old key card.
Moretti family office.
Registered to:
Carlo Vitale.
Found beneath the service entrance window Marcus had used.
Enzo continued.
“There's more.”
“What?”
“Marcus didn't come here to take Lily.”
Sophia clutched the doorframe.
“How do you know?”
“He entered the archive room first.”
I looked at him.
“What was taken?”
“One file.”
“Which?”
Enzo handed me the inventory sheet.
LORENZO MORETTI — PERSONAL CORRESPONDENCE, 2019–2021.
My father’s final letters.
May you like
Someone believed there was something inside worth risking entry to recover.
And if Carlo wanted it badly enough to send Marcus into my home on Christmas Eve, then whatever Lorenzo had written might finally explain why my family had spent four years keeping Sophia and Lily buried.
