Chapter 6 - THE MAN AT THE FUNERALAleandro had imagined seeing Isabella again thousands of times without admitting it to himself.
In dreams she always ran toward him.
She always shouted, “Daddy!”
He always lifted her into his arms.
Reality was crueler.
Isabella stared at him like he was a stranger.
Her body trembled beneath the oversized coat.
Vincent kept the pistol near her temple.
“You brought an army,” Vincent said.
“You stole my daughter.”
“Your father stole your daughter.”
“And you kept her.”
Vincent smiled faintly.
“Technical distinctions.”
Aleandro wanted to kill him.
But Isabella stood between them.
“Let her go.”
Vincent shook his head.
“Bring Sophie.”
“No.”
“Then Isabella dies.”
Aleandro heard cars stopping behind him.
Marco emerged.
Samuel followed.
Vincent’s smile vanished when he saw the doctor.
“You should have stayed dead, Samuel.”
Samuel stepped forward.
“You can’t use Isabella anymore.”
“I don’t need her much longer.”
Isabella looked weak.
Samuel whispered to Aleandro, “She needs treatment.”
Vincent heard.
“She does. Which means we’re going to make an exchange.”
Aleandro’s blood ran cold.
“Sophie for Isabella.”
“No.”
“Interesting.”
Vincent looked at the girl beside him.
“Five years mourning this one, and you won’t trade another man’s child for her?”
Aleandro stared.
Years earlier he might have done anything for Isabella.
Burned cities.
Killed strangers.
Now Sophie’s tiny voice echoed in his head.
Then we help her.
He lowered his weapon.
“No child gets traded.”
Something changed in Isabella’s face.
Not recognition.
But attention.
Vincent laughed.
“How noble.”
“Let her go, Vincent.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t escape.”
Vincent glanced toward the forest.
“You underestimate how many men still belong to me.”
Gunshots erupted from the trees.
Marco shoved Aleandro behind the SUV.
Chaos exploded.
Vincent dragged Isabella toward the ambulance.
Aleandro fired at two men emerging from the woods, then ran after him.
Samuel shouted, “Aleandro!”
The ambulance moved.
Aleandro grabbed the rear handle.
His shoes slid across icy pavement as the vehicle accelerated.
He hauled himself onto the bumper.
Vincent saw him through the open rear doorway.
He fired.
The bullet tore through Aleandro’s coat.
Aleandro climbed inside.
He struck Vincent before the man could fire again.
The gun skidded beneath a stretcher.
Isabella screamed.
The driver swerved.
Aleandro and Vincent crashed against cabinets.
Vincent hit him repeatedly.
“You always were sentimental!”
Aleandro drove a fist into his stomach.
Vincent stumbled.
The ambulance hit a patch of ice.
Everything tilted.
The vehicle smashed through a barrier and rolled onto its side.
Metal screamed.
Glass shattered.
Aleandro lost consciousness for several seconds.
When his eyes opened, he tasted blood.
“Isabella.”
He crawled.
She was pinned between a seat and overturned medical equipment.
Vincent was gone.
Aleandro pulled the equipment away.
Isabella recoiled.
“Don’t touch me!”
He stopped immediately.
“It’s okay.”
“Who are you?”
The question nearly destroyed him.
“My name is Aleandro.”
“I know.”
Her eyes were terrified.
“Mr. Caruso told me about you.”
“What did he say?”
“That you’re dangerous.”
Aleandro almost laughed from the pain of it.
“He wasn’t completely wrong.”
“You killed my family.”
“No.”
“He said my parents died because of you.”
Aleandro slowly sat on the floor several feet away.
“Your mother did die.”
Isabella’s expression changed.
“Sofia?”
He froze.
“You remember her name.”
The girl touched her temple.
“Sometimes.”
Aleandro swallowed.
“What else?”
“A piano.”
She closed her eyes.
“A garden. Someone reading to me when it rained.”
Aleandro couldn’t speak.
He had read The Secret Garden to her during thunderstorms because she hated thunder.
“What did he read?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Was it about a girl who found a locked garden?”
Isabella’s eyes opened.
Something flashed.
A tiny memory.
“Mary.”
Aleandro nodded.
“Yes.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I was the one reading.”
She stared.
Aleandro touched his chest.
“I’m your father.”
Isabella stopped breathing.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Your name is Isabella Sofia Moretti. You were born March eighth. You hated tomatoes but loved tomato soup, which never made sense. You used to steal the marshmallows out of Teresa’s pantry and blame Marco.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“You had a rabbit named Button. When you were five, his left ear tore and I sewed it back on terribly.”
Isabella began shaking.
Aleandro reached into his coat.
He carried no photographs.
Then he remembered his wallet.
Behind his license was a tiny picture he had kept for years.
He slid it across the ambulance floor.
Isabella picked it up.
The photograph showed a younger Aleandro holding a laughing six-year-old Isabella on his shoulders.
She stared at it.
Her fingers moved to her own face.
“That’s me.”
“Yes.”
“And you.”
“Yes.”
Her lips trembled.
“Daddy?”
Aleandro’s entire body broke.
He crawled toward her.
This time she didn’t pull away.
He wrapped his arms around the daughter he had buried five years earlier.
Isabella sobbed against his chest.
Aleandro pressed his face into her hair.
“I’m sorry.”
He repeated it over and over.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Outside, footsteps approached.
Aleandro grabbed the fallen gun.
“Moretti!”
Marco.
Aleandro lowered it.
Marco reached the ambulance.
Then saw Isabella.
His face collapsed.
“Bella?”
She looked at him.
“I don’t remember you.”
Marco laughed through tears.
“Yeah, well, you used to call me Uncle Monkey, so maybe forgetting me is an improvement.”
Something in Isabella’s expression softened.
Then she suddenly convulsed.
Samuel pushed past Marco.
“Move!”
They carried Isabella to another vehicle.
Her pulse was dangerously unstable.
Samuel injected medication.
“She needs specialized care.”
“Where?”
“Not Northstar.”
Aleandro called a private medical center in Manhattan whose chief surgeon owed him no criminal favor, only an old friendship.
“Prepare an ICU.”
As the convoy raced south, Marco received another call.
“Vincent escaped,” he said.
Aleandro sat beside Isabella.
“Find him.”
“We will.”
“No.”
Aleandro looked down at his daughter.
“Find him alive.”
Marco understood.
Aleandro no longer wanted revenge first.
He wanted answers.
At dawn, Isabella was admitted under maximum security.
Elena arrived with Sophie.
The moment Sophie entered the room, Isabella stared at her neck.
“The mark.”
Sophie touched it.
“You have one too?”
Isabella nodded.
Sophie smiled.
“Then we match.”
For the first time, Isabella smiled.
Small.
Fragile.
But real.
Aleandro stood in the doorway watching the two girls.
Elena came beside him.
“She’s beautiful.”
“Yes.”
“You found her.”
His expression darkened.
“I found part of her.”
Elena understood.
Five years could not be restored in one night.
There would be therapy.
Memories.
Fear.
Questions.
And Vincent remained free.
Samuel approached with test results.
“Sophie may be a donor match.”
Elena immediately stiffened.
Samuel raised a hand.
“No one is doing anything without your consent.”
Good.
He was learning.
Aleandro asked, “Is there another option?”
“Possibly.”
Samuel hesitated.
“There is one person more likely to match than Sophie.”
Aleandro already knew.
“Daniel.”
Samuel nodded.
“If he’s alive.”
Elena stared at him.
“You said Vittorio’s men found him.”
“They did.”
“Then how could he be alive?”
Samuel reached into his coat.
“I lied about one thing.”
Aleandro’s eyes hardened.
Samuel produced a postcard.
No return address.
On the back were six words.
You took my life. Not all.
“The handwriting is Daniel’s.”
“When did you receive it?” Elena whispered.
“Three months ago.”
Her face filled with anger.
“You knew?”
“I didn’t know where he was.”
“You still should have told me.”
“Yes.”
Samuel looked ashamed.
“I should have.”
Aleandro examined the postmark.
Boston.
Marco immediately began making calls.
Two hours later, they had a possible lead.
A man matching Daniel’s description had been working under another name at a boat-repair yard outside Gloucester.
Elena wanted to go.
Aleandro looked toward Isabella.
“I can’t leave her.”
“Then don’t.”
Elena took the address.
“This one is mine.”
Aleandro stopped her at the door.
“Take Marco.”
“I don’t need—”
“Yes, you do.”
She started to argue.
Then remembered Sophie had already been kidnapped once.
“Fine.”
As Elena left, Isabella woke.
She looked around the room.
Then found Aleandro.
“Dad?”
One word.
Quiet.
Uncertain.
But it was enough.
Aleandro moved to her bedside.
“I’m here.”
“Are you going away?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
Aleandro took her hand.
“I promise.”
His phone vibrated.
An anonymous message.
A photograph loaded.
Vincent Caruso stood beside a grave.
Isabella’s grave.
Beneath it was a message:
Ask yourself whose daughter you really buried.
Aleandro stared at the screen.
May you like
Five years ago, another family had lost a child.
And he had never even known her name.
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