Chapter 8 - THE BROTHER WHO CAME BACK FROM THE DEADNico didn't speak for almost a minute.
He stood beside the window with the photograph of Matteo on his phone.
His little brother.
The boy he had believed dead for eighteen years.
The child whose funeral he had attended.
The brother whose empty bedroom he had refused to enter until he turned twenty.
Alive.
And once again in the hands of Edmund Ashford.
I watched the color drain from Nico's face.
Then he whispered:
"I failed him twice."
I approached carefully.
"Nico."
He shook his head.
"I was supposed to protect him."
"You were sixteen."
"I left him alone."
"You didn't know."
He turned toward me.
His eyes were red.
"I heard him screaming that night. I heard him calling my name from inside the house. The firefighters wouldn't let me go back."
His voice broke.
"I fought them. I begged them. Then someone told me they'd found his body."
I reached for his hand.
He gripped mine.
"I buried him, Nora."
A tear rolled down his cheek.
"I stood beside a coffin and promised him I'd make the people responsible pay."
My chest tightened.
Nico stared at the photograph.
"And while I was building an empire to avenge him, he was suffering somewhere I never thought to look."
I moved closer.
"You didn't abandon him."
He looked at me.
"You didn't know he was alive."
"I should have."
"How?"
He couldn't answer.
I placed my hand against his cheek.
"Your father hid the truth from you. My father hid the truth from me. They stole our childhoods and our families."
I swallowed.
"But we know now."
Nico closed his eyes.
"We know now," he repeated.
Then he pulled me into his arms.
For a long moment, he simply held me.
I could feel the weight of eighteen years collapsing between us.
And I understood something.
For all his power, all his wealth, all the fear his name inspired, Nico Ferrara had been carrying the same wound I carried.
The belief that he'd failed someone he loved.
By sunrise, the investigation had accelerated.
Federal agents obtained medical records connecting the facility to the false identity of Daniel Vale.
They discovered that Edmund Ashford had repeatedly authorized changes to his treatment.
Some of those changes appeared medically unjustified.
Isabella explained the findings in Nico's study.
"Matteo suffered neurological injuries after the fire, and his medical history suggests prolonged isolation and inappropriate sedation."
I stared at the file.
"Can he speak?"
"We don't know how well. The records mention periods of confusion and memory impairment."
Nico looked grim.
"Did they deliberately keep him from remembering?"
"That needs to be investigated by independent doctors."
I looked at Matteo's photograph.
He seemed so fragile.
So far removed from the little boy in the red sweater.
"Where is he now?" I asked.
Isabella opened a map.
"Investigators traced a transport vehicle from St. Catherine's to a private property in the Hudson Valley."
Nico leaned forward.
"Who owns it?"
She looked directly at him.
"Victor Santoro."
He swore.
I moved closer.
"Emma could be there too."
Isabella nodded.
"We've shared the information with the federal team. They're working to secure the property."
Nico looked toward Adrian.
"Prepare the cars."
Isabella shook her head.
"No."
He turned.
"Isabella—"
"You can't charge onto the property with armed men. That's exactly what Santoro wants."
Nico's eyes narrowed.
"My brother is in there."
"And if you start a gunfight, you could get him killed."
The words stopped him.
Isabella stepped closer.
"You have the resources to help. Use them properly. Surveillance. Information. Legal cooperation. We need the victims alive and the evidence preserved."
Nico stared at her.
Then slowly nodded.
"Fine."
He looked at Adrian.
"Coordinate with the investigators. Nobody acts independently."
I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
At noon, I received an unexpected visitor.
A woman in her late fifties.
Elegant.
Silver-haired.
Wearing a navy-blue dress and pearl earrings.
She introduced herself as Margaret Ferrara.
Nico's mother.
I had met her briefly at our wedding.
She'd barely acknowledged me.
Now she stood in the living room holding a small velvet box.
"Nora," she said.
I rose.
"Mrs. Ferrara."
She looked uncomfortable.
"Please. Margaret is fine."
I nodded.
She sat opposite me.
For a moment, she simply studied my face.
Then she said:
"I owe you an apology."
I blinked.
"For what?"
"For the way I treated you at the wedding."
I looked down.
"You didn't really speak to me."
"Exactly."
Her mouth tightened.
"I assumed you knew what your father had done. I thought you had agreed to the marriage as part of some arrangement."
I stared at her.
"You thought I wanted to marry Nico?"
She looked ashamed.
"I did."
I almost laughed.
Instead, tears filled my eyes.
Margaret leaned forward.
"I know now that you had no choice."
I nodded.
Her eyes moved to the faint scars visible above my collar.
She looked away quickly.
Not in disgust.
In sorrow.
"I knew your mother," she whispered.
My breath caught.
"What?"
"Evelyn was a beautiful person. Brave. Stubborn. She never looked at people as though they mattered less because they had less money."
I leaned forward.
"Tell me about her."
Margaret smiled sadly.
"She loved gardening. Terrible at cooking. She used to burn toast and claim it was French cuisine."
A surprised laugh escaped me.
Margaret continued.
"She sang constantly. In the kitchen. In the car. While she worked."
Tears spilled down my face.
"She sang to me."
"I know."
Margaret opened the velvet box.
Inside was a bracelet.
Delicate gold.
Tiny sapphire stones.
"Your mother gave this to me before the fire. She said she wanted me to keep it safe."
I stared at the bracelet.
"Why?"
Margaret swallowed.
"Because she was afraid Edmund would take everything she owned."
She placed the box in my hands.
"She asked me to give it to you when you turned eighteen."
I looked up.
"Why didn't you?"
Margaret's eyes filled.
"Because your father told me you'd died from complications after the fire."
The room went silent.
I stared at her.
"He told you I was dead?"
She nodded.
"He said the burns were too severe. That you'd passed away at a private hospital."
My stomach twisted.
The lies.
The endless lies.
"He kept me locked away," I whispered.
Margaret covered her mouth.
"I had no idea."
I opened the bracelet clasp.
Tiny letters were engraved inside.
To Nora, who made me a mother.
I began crying.
Margaret moved closer.
"May I?"
I nodded.
She wrapped her arms around me.
And for a brief moment, I imagined what my life might have been if someone had rescued me years earlier.
At four that afternoon, a message arrived from Sofia.
I THINK I FOUND HIM.
Below the words was a photograph.
Matteo sat in a wheelchair beside a window.
His face was pale.
One hand rested on a blanket.
But he was awake.
Looking directly at the camera.
I rushed toward Nico.
"Look!"
He took the phone.
His entire body went still.
Then the second message appeared.
HE REMEMBERS YOU.
Nico's lips parted.
He typed with trembling fingers.
WHERE ARE YOU?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then Sofia replied.
THE OLD ORCHARD HOUSE. VICTOR'S PEOPLE ARE HERE. I CAN'T GET OUT.
Nico looked at Isabella.
"Send this to the investigators."
She was already moving.
A third message arrived.
MATTEO KEEPS SAYING A NAME.
I typed.
WHAT NAME?
The response came instantly.
NORA.
I stared at the screen.
Tears blurred everything.
Then another message appeared.
HE SAYS NORA PROMISED SHE WOULD COME BACK.
My knees weakened.
And suddenly I remembered.
After the blood tests.
After my father had hurt him.
I'd returned to the basement with a glass of water.
Matteo was sitting on the floor.
He was crying.
He looked at me.
"Will you help me?"
I remembered kneeling beside him.
Taking his little hand.
And whispering:
"I promise I'll come back."
But my father found me.
He dragged me upstairs.
Locked me in my bedroom.
And the next morning, the fire began.
I had spent eighteen years believing I'd abandoned Matteo.
But he remembered my promise.
He was still waiting.
An hour later, federal agents approached the property.
The orchard house stood behind stone walls, surrounded by wooded hills.
Investigators had obtained emergency authorization to enter and protect the suspected victims.
Nico and I waited at a secure location several miles away.
He paced the room.
I sat beside Margaret.
Every minute felt like an hour.
At 5:43 p.m., Isabella's phone rang.
She answered immediately.
"Yes?"
We watched her face.
"Understood."
A pause.
"How many?"
She looked at Nico.
"Both victims have been located."
He stopped pacing.
"What?"
Isabella nodded.
"Matteo and Sofia. They're alive."
I began crying.
Nico gripped the back of a chair.
"Are they hurt?"
"Matteo needs medical attention. Sofia appears shaken but physically stable."
He closed his eyes.
For the first time since our wedding, I saw Nico Ferrara bow his head and cry openly.
Then Isabella's expression changed.
"What do you mean, he's escaped?"
Nico looked up.
"Who?"
She listened.
Then ended the call.
"Victor Santoro wasn't at the property."
Nico's face hardened.
"And Edmund?"
"Also missing."
My stomach twisted.
Isabella looked directly at me.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"When investigators entered Matteo's room, they found a note taped beneath his wheelchair."
She held up her phone.
A photograph showed a piece of paper covered in unsteady handwriting.
Only one sentence.
TELL NORA THE MAN WHO STARTED THE FIRE IS STILL INSIDE THE FAMILY.
Nico stared at the words.
Then looked toward the doorway.
Margaret followed his gaze.
Standing there was Salvatore Ferrara.
His uncle.
The man who claimed he'd rescued Lily.
The man who had hidden information for eighteen years.
Salvatore looked at the note.
His face went white.
May you like
Then he whispered:
"Matteo remembers."
