Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCHBianca Moretti was seventy-one years old and had spent most of her life convincing people she was harmless.
She wore pearls to breakfast.
She attended Mass every Sunday.
She funded libraries, children’s hospitals, and scholarships.
At family dinners, she complained about salt and asked everyone whether they were sleeping enough.
Aleandro had loved her since childhood.
When his mother died, Bianca had become the closest thing he had left to a parent.
Which was why he did not accuse her when he returned to Greystone.
He invited her to tea.
Bianca entered the library at four in the afternoon wearing a gray wool dress.
“You look terrible,” she told him.
“Good afternoon to you too.”
“You aren’t sleeping.”
“Neither are you.”
She paused.
The game began.
Aleandro poured tea.
Bianca sat.
“You wanted to see me?”
He placed the silver locket on the table.
For the first time in Aleandro’s memory, Bianca Moretti lost complete control of her face.
Her eyes widened.
Her hand trembled.
Only once.
Then the mask returned.
“Where did you find that?”
“Do you recognize it?”
“You know I do.”
“Rose Donnelly.”
Bianca lowered her gaze.
“She was my friend.”
“Friend?”
“Many years ago.”
“How many?”
“Before you were born.”
Aleandro sat across from her.
“You never mentioned her.”
“There are many people from my past I haven’t mentioned.”
“Rose believed you knew what happened to Isabella.”
Bianca stopped breathing.
Aleandro watched her.
“Tell me she was wrong.”
Bianca looked toward the windows.
“Aleandro—”
“Tell me.”
She closed her eyes.
“I can’t.”
The answer broke something inside him.
He stood.
Bianca looked up.
“I tried to protect you.”
“Do not say that.”
“It’s true.”
“My daughter may have been alive.”
“I know.”
The room seemed to shrink.
Aleandro gripped the mantel.
“You knew?”
“Not at first.”
“How long?”
“Aleandro—”
“How long?”
“Four years.”
He turned.
His expression was so cold that Bianca looked frightened.
“You let me visit a grave for four years while knowing she might be alive.”
“I didn’t know where she was.”
“You knew enough.”
“I knew enough to understand that if I told you too soon, they would kill her.”
“Who?”
Bianca’s eyes filled.
“Your father.”
Aleandro stopped.
Vittorio Moretti had died three years earlier after a stroke.
For most of Aleandro’s life, Vittorio had been the unquestioned head of the family.
Brutal.
Traditional.
Controlling.
But Aleandro had never believed his father capable of harming Isabella.
“Choose your next words carefully.”
Bianca laughed sadly.
“You still defend him.”
“He adored Isabella.”
“He adored what she represented.”
“What does that mean?”
Bianca stood.
“Your father spent his life obsessed with bloodlines.”
“I know.”
“No. You know the version he allowed you to see.”
She walked toward the window.
“Decades ago, Vittorio and Samuel Vale financed genetic testing for members of powerful families. Quietly. They were searching for hereditary illnesses, compatibility, paternity questions—anything that could become leverage.”
Aleandro felt disgust rise.
“Blackmail.”
“Sometimes.”
“And Isabella?”
“Her blood showed something unexpected.”
“What?”
Bianca turned.
“She wasn’t simply your daughter.”
Aleandro stared.
“What kind of ridiculous statement is that?”
“Her DNA showed a maternal connection to Samuel Vale’s family.”
Aleandro frowned.
His late wife, Sofia Romano Moretti, had no known connection to the Vales.
Bianca continued.
“Samuel became obsessed with understanding why. He discovered Sofia’s mother had given birth to twins.”
Aleandro’s pulse quickened.
“One child was Sofia.”
“And the other?”
“Adopted secretly.”
“Who?”
“Daniel Vale’s mother.”
The pieces aligned.
Daniel and Sofia had been first cousins.
Sophie and Isabella therefore shared inherited maternal ancestry.
The birthmark was merely the visible clue.
“But why kidnap Isabella?”
“Because Samuel discovered something else.”
Bianca’s voice dropped.
“Your father had been laundering enormous portions of the Moretti fortune into secret trusts. Hundreds of millions. Ownership passed according to a biological succession clause written by your grandfather.”
Aleandro knew about the old family trusts.
He had never studied the ancient terms.
“Isabella became the primary beneficiary?”
“Not exactly.”
Bianca looked at him.
“Two living descendants from both branches were required to unlock control.”
“Isabella and Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“And later Sophie.”
“Yes.”
Aleandro understood.
Samuel had needed Isabella alive.
Perhaps Daniel too.
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I know Samuel operated a private medical facility under a shell corporation. Your father funded it.”
“Where?”
“I never learned.”
“You had four years.”
“I tried.”
“You should have come to me.”
“Your father had people watching you.”
“My father was dying.”
“His network wasn’t.”
Aleandro stared at the woman who had helped raise him.
“Did you help fake Isabella’s death?”
“No.”
“Did you know before the funeral?”
“No.”
“Did you know the body wasn’t hers?”
“I suspected only later.”
“What made you suspect?”
Bianca reached into her handbag.
She removed an old photograph.
It showed Isabella sitting in a wheelchair.
Alive.
Older.
The timestamp was three years after the accident.
Aleandro staggered backward.
He took the photograph with shaking hands.
Isabella.
There was no mistake.
Her hair was longer.
Her face thinner.
But it was his child.
His daughter.
Alive.
“Where did you get this?”
“Rose mailed it to me anonymously.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
Two years.
Aleandro pressed the photograph to his chest.
“You had this for two years.”
“I was trying to locate her.”
“Without telling me.”
“If Vittorio’s people learned I had contacted you, Isabella would have disappeared again.”
Aleandro looked at her with genuine hatred.
“You don’t get to decide whether a father deserves to know his child is alive.”
Bianca began crying.
“I was afraid.”
“So was she!”
His shout echoed through the library.
“Isabella was a child!”
Silence followed.
Bianca wiped her eyes.
“There’s one person who may know the facility.”
“Samuel?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“Vincent Caruso.”
Aleandro’s attorney.
His father’s former attorney.
The man sitting in the dining room yesterday when Sophie was discovered.
Aleandro remembered Vincent’s face.
Had there been recognition?
Fear?
“Why Vincent?”
“He created several shell companies for Vittorio.”
“Proof?”
“Rose gave me ledger numbers.”
Bianca handed him a folded slip.
Aleandro read the names.
One stood out.
Northstar Pediatric Research Foundation.
He had never heard of it.
Bianca continued.
“Northstar purchased an abandoned rehabilitation hospital in Vermont five years ago.”
“Still operating?”
“Officially, no.”
Aleandro called Marco immediately.
“Get the helicopter ready.”
Bianca grabbed his arm.
“No.”
He stared at her hand.
“If Northstar is theirs, they may be expecting you.”
“I hope they are.”
“Aleandro, rage will get Isabella killed.”
He pulled away.
“You had four years for caution.”
He headed toward the door.
“You no longer get a vote.”
Then the estate alarm screamed.
Aleandro stopped.
A second later came the unmistakable crack of gunfire from the east courtyard.
His blood turned cold.
“Sophie.”
He ran.
The nursery corridor was chaos.
Guards rushed toward the stairs.
Teresa stood outside a room screaming.
“Elena!”
Aleandro reached her.
“Where’s Sophie?”
Teresa’s face crumpled.
“They took her.”
Aleandro’s world stopped.
“What?”
“A man came through the service hall. Elena fought him. He had a gun.”
“Where is Elena?”
Teresa pointed inside.
Elena lay on the carpet with blood running from her temple.
Aleandro dropped beside her.
Her eyes opened.
“Sophie.”
“I know.”
“He took her.”
“Who?”
Elena gripped his sleeve.
“He said something.”
“What?”
Her voice shook.
“He said, ‘Tell Moretti to bring the girl from the grave.’”
Aleandro stared at her.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A man’s voice spoke.
Older.
Calm.
Familiar.
“Hello, Aleandro.”
Aleandro had heard that voice hundreds of times throughout his childhood.
Dr. Samuel Vale.
“You have Sophie.”
“Yes.”
“If you hurt her—”
“I won’t. I need her.”
“For what?”
“To save Isabella.”
Aleandro could not breathe.
Samuel continued.
“If you want to see your daughter alive, come alone.”
“Where?”
“You’ll receive instructions.”
“Let me speak to Sophie.”
A pause.
Then a frightened little voice came through.
“Mr. Aleandro?”
His eyes closed.
“Sophie. Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Listen to me. I’m coming to get you.”
“Mommy?”
“She’s safe.”
Sophie sniffled.
“The old man says he knows Button.”
Aleandro’s heart stopped.
Samuel returned to the line.
“Six hours, Aleandro.”
“Why Sophie?”
“Because your daughter is dying.”
The call ended.
Aleandro slowly lowered the phone.
May you like
Five years ago, he had failed to protect one little girl.
He would not fail two.
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