Chapter 4 - THE MOTHER BURIED TWICEFor fifteen years, Dante Moretti had brought white roses to his mother's grave.
Every September 14.
Rain or shine.
Even during the bloodiest years of his family's war with rival organizations, he had never missed the anniversary.
And now he was staring at a photograph that suggested every visit had been a lie.
"No," he whispered.
Marco stood silently.
Isabella watched her husband with heartbreaking concern.
"Dante?"
He shook his head.
"That isn't possible."
He brought the photograph closer.
His mother's hands rested on the windowsill.
Her left wrist bore the thin gold bracelet Dante had given her for her forty-second birthday.
He had saved money for six months to buy it.
The bracelet had three tiny emeralds.
One for each member of their family.
His mother had worn it until the day she supposedly died.
Dante remembered identifying her jewelry after the accident.
He remembered the closed coffin.
He remembered his uncle telling him the injuries had been too severe for an open-casket funeral.
Suddenly, every detail he had accepted without question became suspicious.
"Where was this taken?"
Marco examined the photograph.
"There's a building reflected in the glass. We can identify it."
"Do it."
Dante turned toward Dr. Ruiz.
"Can Isabella travel?"
The doctor's answer was firm.
"To a hospital. Not into another dangerous situation."
Dante nodded.
"Then take her."
Isabella caught his wrist.
"You're not coming?"
He looked down at her.
His expression softened immediately.
"I'm coming."
"But your mother—"
"Can wait another hour."
Isabella stared.
Dante touched her cheek.
"I already lost my family once because I didn't understand what was happening around me. I'm not losing you because I'm too busy chasing ghosts."
Her tears returned.
He kissed her forehead.
Then helped her into the waiting wheelchair.
As they left the private lounge, Dante looked back at the abandoned ballroom.
The chandeliers still sparkled.
Champagne glasses remained untouched.
A million-dollar floral arrangement stood beside an empty dance floor.
The gala had been designed to celebrate saving children.
Instead, someone had used it to threaten his unborn child.
Dante made a silent promise.
This time, he would discover the truth before anyone else paid the price.
At 10:42 p.m., Isabella arrived at St. Catherine's Medical Center.
The emergency department had prepared a private examination room.
Dr. Ruiz arranged blood tests, an ultrasound, and assessments of Isabella's chest injuries.
Dante sat beside her throughout.
He held her hand so tightly that she finally smiled.
"You're going to break my fingers."
He immediately loosened his grip.
"Sorry."
She studied him.
"You haven't blinked in five minutes."
"I'm counting."
"Counting what?"
"Every time you take a breath."
Her smile disappeared.
"Dante..."
He shook his head.
"I should have noticed."
"You couldn't have known."
"I sleep beside you."
"I hid the dressings."
"You stopped letting me hold you at night."
Isabella looked away.
He remembered now.
For more than a week, she'd turned toward the edge of their bed.
When he reached for her, she complained about being tired.
He had assumed she was exhausted from gala preparations.
Now he understood.
Every embrace had hurt.
"I thought you were angry with me," he admitted.
Her head turned.
"What?"
"You barely let me touch you."
"Oh, Dante."
She began crying.
He kissed her knuckles.
"I was afraid you were pulling away."
"I was afraid you'd find out."
"Why?"
"Because I know what happens when someone threatens your family."
He looked at her quietly.
She continued.
"Your father knew that too. He said if you discovered what happened, you'd start a war. He wanted that war."
Dante absorbed her words.
"He wanted me distracted."
"Yes."
"So he could take the company."
"Not just the company."
Before she could explain, the ultrasound technician entered.
A screen lit up beside Isabella's bed.
Dante stood closer.
The technician moved the probe carefully.
For several moments, the room was silent.
Then a tiny flicker appeared on the monitor.
A heartbeat.
Fast.
Steady.
Alive.
Dante stared.
The technician smiled.
"There's your baby."
He covered his mouth.
Isabella began sobbing.
"Is everything okay?"
"The heartbeat is present and the pregnancy appears consistent with the dates you've given us," the technician answered. "The doctor will review the full findings."
Dante couldn't stop watching the screen.
He had built skyscrapers.
He had survived assassination attempts.
He had watched powerful men surrender with a single glance.
But nothing had ever made him feel as small and grateful as that tiny heartbeat.
"Our baby," he whispered.
Isabella nodded.
He lowered his forehead against hers.
"Thank you."
She laughed through her tears.
"For what?"
"For giving me a future I never thought I deserved."
At midnight, Dr. Ruiz returned with the results.
Isabella had significant rib bruising and a small fracture that appeared stable. There were no immediate signs of internal bleeding, though the doctor emphasized that continued observation and follow-up were necessary.
For the moment, the pregnancy appeared viable.
Dante finally exhaled.
Dr. Ruiz looked directly at him.
"She needs safety, rest, and time to recover. Stress won't help either of them."
"You have my word."
Isabella gave him a meaningful look.
"That includes not disappearing into a revenge mission."
Dante managed a faint smile.
"Yes, ma'am."
When the doctor left, Marco entered with a laptop.
"We identified the building."
Dante straightened.
"Where?"
"A private medical facility outside Lake Geneva, Wisconsin."
Dante frowned.
"Name?"
"Rosewood Behavioral Institute."
He recognized it immediately.
His mother had supposedly spent three months there after his father's death.
The family said she'd been hospitalized for grief.
Dante had been forbidden to visit.
Then, several years later, when he began asking questions about her treatment, his uncle claimed the medical records had been destroyed in a fire.
"Who owns Rosewood?" Dante asked.
Marco hesitated.
"That's the problem."
"What?"
"The original owner died nineteen years ago. The property has changed hands several times. But the current controlling trust is registered to a woman named Lucia Romano."
Dante's breathing stopped.
Lucia.
His mother's first name.
Romano.
The name his father had used to approach Isabella.
He turned toward the window.
"She's alive."
Marco nodded slowly.
"Looks that way."
Then he opened another document.
"There's something you need to see."
A scanned legal form appeared.
It was dated fourteen years earlier.
The document authorized the transfer of a patient into indefinite private custody.
Patient: Lucia Moretti.
Authorizing family representative: Salvatore Moretti.
Dante stared at his uncle's signature.
For fifteen years, Salvatore had comforted him.
Advised him.
Helped him manage the family business.
And every September, Salvatore had accompanied him to his mother's grave.
Dante felt physically sick.
"He knew."
Marco said nothing.
"He stood beside me while I buried an empty coffin."
The hospital room grew quiet.
Isabella reached for him.
"Dante, please."
He turned toward her.
The look on his face made her heart ache.
He wasn't the feared mafia boss anymore.
He was the boy who had lost his mother.
And just discovered that someone had stolen her from him.
Then Marco's phone buzzed.
He glanced down.
His expression changed.
"Boss."
"What?"
"We received a message from Rosewood."
Dante stepped closer.
Marco read aloud.
"Mr. Moretti, your mother has requested an immediate meeting."
Dante closed his eyes.
"Then arrange it."
"There's one condition."
Dante opened them again.
"What condition?"
Marco hesitated.
"She says you must not bring your uncle."
Dante gave a bitter laugh.
"That won't be a problem."
Marco continued.
"And she says you should ask Isabella what happened to her first child."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Dante slowly turned toward his wife.
Isabella's face had gone completely white.
"Isabella?"
She stared at the bedsheet.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
May you like
Then she whispered:
"Your mother knows."
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