Chapter 4 - St. AgnesWe did not go to St. Agnes alone.
Victor knew me too well to expect obedience, so I gave him something more useful.
The illusion of obedience.
Anton drove the black sedan. I sat in the back where Victor’s surveillance would see me.
Six vehicles followed at staggered distances, driven by men whose loyalty Anton had personally verified.
Dominic remained at the estate under medical supervision, supposedly because of his gunshot wound.
In reality, he was doing something more important.
He was breaking into Victor’s financial network.
Dominic had always been better with numbers than weapons.
My father considered that weakness.
For once, I was grateful.
At 3:42 A.M., we reached St. Agnes.
The clinic was a converted stone manor isolated among forty acres of forest.
No hospital sign.
No ambulance bay.
Only a brass plaque identifying it as a private wellness facility.
One light burned above the entrance.
Anton stopped the car.
“Once you’re inside, we lose visual contact.”
“I know.”
“Marco.”
I looked at him.
“Bring her home,” he said.
I entered alone.
A woman in blue scrubs stood behind the reception desk.
No surprise.
No greeting.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“Where is my wife?”
“Dr. Vale is expecting you.”
She led me down a corridor.
Every door required a key card.
The place smelled like antiseptic and lavender.
Too clean.
Too quiet.
Then I heard a cry.
A woman.
Grace?
I reached for the nearest door.
The nurse blocked me.
“Not there.”
I grabbed her wrist.
“Where is Grace?”
Fear entered her face.
“Second floor.”
I released her and ran.
Two men emerged at the staircase.
Victor’s men.
The first reached inside his jacket.
I broke his nose before he cleared the holster.
The second came at me with a knife.
He lasted longer.
Maybe eight seconds.
When I reached the second floor, Dr. Steven Vale stood outside a surgical room.
He raised both hands.
“Marco, listen.”
I hit him.
He went against the wall.
“Where is she?”
“Room twelve.”
I grabbed his coat.
“What did you give her?”
“Sedatives. Nothing dangerous.”
“You chained my pregnant wife to a wall.”
“I was keeping her medically stable.”
“You call that medicine?”
His face collapsed.
“You don’t understand.”
“You have five seconds to help me understand.”
“Evelyn threatened my family.”
“Four.”
“Victor owns the clinic.”
“Three.”
“They were going to do this without a doctor.”
“Two.”
“I kept Grace alive!”
That stopped me.
Vale stared at me desperately.
“She had severe hypertension two months ago. Evelyn wanted to keep her imprisoned downstairs. I insisted on treatment. I came every day. I monitored the baby.”
It didn’t make him innocent.
But guilt had shades.
“Why induce labor tonight?”
“Evelyn ordered it.”
“Why?”
Vale looked toward the stairwell.
“Because Grace found out the truth.”
“What truth?”
A gunshot erupted downstairs.
Anton’s team.
Our time was gone.
“Room twelve,” Vale said.
I ran.
The door was locked.
I fired into the mechanism and kicked it open.
Empty.
The bed was warm.
A fetal monitor beeped beside it.
Grace had been there minutes earlier.
A blood-pressure cuff lay on the floor.
Then I saw writing on the whiteboard.
Not medical notes.
One word.
CHAPEL.
I ran back into the corridor.
The old chapel stood fifty yards behind the clinic, connected by a glass passageway.
The moment I entered, bells exploded overhead.
Six o’clock.
The sound was deafening.
And beneath the ringing, I heard Grace scream.
I followed it behind the altar.
A staircase descended into the crypt.
Of course.
My family had built secret rooms beneath houses.
Victor had chosen a place with graves beneath a church.
I reached the bottom.
Grace was strapped to a medical bed.
Her face was pale and bruised.
Her green hospital gown clung to her stomach.
But she was alive.
Our eyes met.
“Marco.”
I crossed the room.
Then the muzzle of a pistol pressed against the back of my skull.
“Touch her,” Victor said, “and she dies.”
I froze.
Victor stepped around me.
At sixty-one, he was still a formidable man. Tall. Silver-haired. Expensive suit.
My godfather.
He smiled sadly.
“You look like your father when you’re angry.”
“Don’t.”
“That’s exactly what Isabella used to say.”
Grace strained against the restraints.
“Marco, don’t listen to him.”
Victor glanced at her.
“You’re brave. I’ll give you that.”
“Let her go.”
“Soon.”
“What do you want?”
Victor studied me.
“Justice.”
“You kidnapped a pregnant woman.”
“Your mother kidnapped her.”
“And you helped.”
“Yes.”
No denial.
No shame.
“Why?”
“Because Evelyn promised me something I’ve waited twenty-two years to obtain.”
“Dominic?”
Victor’s eyes softened.
“My son.”
“He doesn’t want you.”
“You told him?”
“He figured it out.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“He belongs with me.”
“He’s thirty years old. He belongs to himself.”
Victor almost smiled.
“You really have changed.”
Grace cried out as a contraction tightened through her.
I moved instinctively.
Victor raised the gun.
“Stay.”
I wanted to tear him apart.
Instead, I forced myself to watch Grace.
Her eyes met mine.
She shook her head slightly.
Don’t.
Victor continued.
“Evelyn took my child. Your father covered up Isabella’s death. Then they raised Dominic as their own, while I was forced to call him their son.”
“You had twenty-two years to tell him.”
“And get him killed?”
“By whom?”
Victor looked almost amused.
“Your mother.”
A door opened behind him.
Evelyn entered.
She wore the same red dress.
Perfect.
Calm.
Two armed guards followed.
“Victor,” she said, “you always did talk too much.”
He turned.
His expression hardened.
“This wasn’t the agreement.”
“No.”
Mother lifted her pistol.
“It wasn’t.”
Everything happened at once.
Victor fired.
Evelyn’s guard fired.
I dove toward Grace.
Bullets tore into the stone walls.
Victor fell behind a pew.
One guard collapsed.
I overturned the medical bed with Grace still strapped to it, shielding her behind the heavy frame.
“Marco!”
“I’ve got you.”
Mother shouted something.
Another shot.
Then silence.
Victor lay bleeding from the shoulder.
Mother stood near the stairs, gun aimed directly at Grace.
“Move away from her, Marco.”
I stared at the woman who had raised me.
“Why?”
Her expression finally cracked.
“You were supposed to come home angry.”
“I did.”
“At Grace.”
Understanding struck.
The letter.
The ring.
The staged disappearance.
She had expected me to hate Grace.
“You wanted me to think she abandoned me.”
“She was taking you away.”
“Grace never asked me to leave.”
“She didn’t have to. You changed after marrying her.”
“That’s called being happy.”
Mother’s lips tightened.
“Happiness made your father careless.”
“My father was miserable.”
“He built an empire.”
“And died alone in his office.”
She flinched.
Good.
Grace whispered, “Marco.”
I looked.
Her face had changed.
Fear.
Not of the gun.
Something else.
“My water broke.”
Mother heard.
Her gaze went to Grace’s stomach.
Then she smiled.
“All the better.”
I had never hated anyone the way I hated my mother in that moment.
“What happens after the baby is born?”
Evelyn’s silence answered.
Grace began crying.
I stood slowly.
Mother aimed at my chest.
“I said stay down.”
“No.”
“Marco.”
“You’ve controlled this family for twenty-two years because everyone was afraid of what you might do.”
I took another step.
“You locked Isabella underground.”
Her face went white.
Victor laughed weakly from the floor.
“Tell him, Evelyn.”
“Shut up.”
“You killed your own daughter.”
“I said shut up!”
Mother swung the weapon toward Victor.
That was the opening I needed.
I crossed the space between us.
Her pistol fired.
Pain tore across my ribs.
I hit her hard enough to knock the weapon away.
We crashed into the stone wall.
Anton and three men stormed down the stairs seconds later.
“Clear!”
Victor’s surviving guard surrendered.
Mother was dragged away from the gun.
I dropped beside Grace.
Blood spread across my shirt, but the bullet had only grazed me.
“Marco.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“So are you.”
Despite everything, she almost laughed.
Then another contraction hit.
Dr. Vale entered behind Anton carrying medical equipment.
“We need to move her upstairs now.”
I cut Grace’s restraints myself.
Her wrists were raw.
She touched my face.
For a moment, the room disappeared.
Six months disappeared.
All that existed was her hand against my cheek.
“I thought you believed her,” Grace whispered.
“Never.”
“You stopped calling.”
“I called every day.”
Grace stared.
“I never got them.”
I kissed her forehead.
“Then we’ve got a lot to talk about.”
Vale and the nurses moved her upstairs.
Mother screamed my name as Anton’s men restrained her.
I didn’t look back.
But when we reached the chapel steps, Victor called after me.
“Marco.”
I turned.
He was pale from blood loss.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Your mother didn’t kill Isabella because she was pregnant.”
Mother suddenly began struggling.
“Victor!”
He smiled.
“She killed Isabella because Isabella discovered who really ordered your father’s first murder.”
I stared.
Victor’s next words followed me all the way to the operating room.
May you like
“Your mother built the Moretti empire, Marco.”
“And your father spent his entire life taking the blame.”
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