Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF MY BROTHER'S LIFEI had spent most of my life protecting my younger brother.
When our father died, Noah had been nine years old, small for his age, with dark curls and a gap between his front teeth.
He used to sleep on the floor beside my bed because he was afraid that if he closed his eyes, someone else would disappear.
I had told him stories until he fell asleep.
I'd taught him how to ride a bicycle.
Helped him finish science projects at two in the morning.
Gone without new shoes so he could have the expensive calculator required for school.
When he received his college acceptance letter, I'd cried harder than he did.
And now someone had tied him to a chair because of something our father had hidden eleven years earlier.
"Take me to him," I told Luca.
He looked up from Eleanor's phone.
"Olivia—"
"Take me to Mercer Terminal."
"No."
The answer came so quickly that anger surged through me.
"That's my brother!"
"I know."
"You don't understand!"
Luca stepped closer.
"I understand exactly what Victor will do if you walk into that warehouse alone."
I shook my head.
"He's twenty years old."
My voice cracked.
"He doesn't know anything about your father or Victor or whatever happened eleven years ago. He thinks the biggest problem in his life is passing organic chemistry!"
I covered my mouth.
For the first time that evening, tears spilled down my cheeks.
"I can't lose him."
Luca's expression softened.
"You won't."
"You can't promise that."
He hesitated.
Then said, "You're right. But I can promise we won't stop trying to bring him home."
Eleanor approached the table.
"Olivia, we need to think carefully. Victor sent us a photograph, a meeting location, and a deadline. That means he's trying to control what happens next."
I wiped my face.
"Then let him."
"No."
She shook her head.
"If we rush into this, we put Noah in greater danger."
My mother sat on the couch, clutching Dad's old watch.
She hadn't spoken since seeing the photograph.
Now she looked up.
"Thomas tried to protect us by keeping secrets."
Her voice was thin.
"Please don't make the same mistake."
I sat beside her.
She wrapped her arms around me.
For a moment, I let myself be her daughter again.
Not the woman struggling to pay bills.
Not the employee with a swollen eye.
Just her little girl.
"I'm sorry, Mom."
She pulled back.
"Don't apologize for what those people did."
Across the room, Luca quietly spoke with Eleanor.
They examined the photograph.
The ransom instructions.
The security reports.
Finally, Luca picked up the brass key.
"We need to find apartment 417 before Victor does."
Eleanor nodded.
"And we need to move Margaret somewhere secure."
My mother looked at me.
"I'll go wherever you need me."
By two in the morning, she was safely staying with a trusted family friend under police protection.
I wanted to go with her.
But Noah was still missing.
And I couldn't bear the thought of sitting in a warm room while he was frightened and alone.
Instead, I accompanied Eleanor and Luca to an old brick building on West Jackson Boulevard.
The building had once housed railroad workers and their families.
Now its first floor contained a closed convenience store and a locksmith shop.
The upper apartments were mostly vacant.
A retired superintendent named Mr. Callahan met us near the entrance.
He was seventy-two, walked with a cane, and wore a Chicago Cubs jacket that had seen better days.
When Eleanor showed him Dad's photograph, his face softened.
"Tommy Hayes."
I stared at him.
"You knew my father?"
He smiled sadly.
"Good man. Used to help me carry groceries upstairs when my knees got bad."
My throat tightened.
"Do you know why he kept apartment 417?"
Mr. Callahan glanced toward the building.
"Your father paid the rent every month. Never stayed overnight, far as I knew."
"Did anyone visit him?"
"Sometimes. A young fellow in a suit. Dark hair. Expensive shoes."
Luca frowned.
"Could you describe him?"
Mr. Callahan studied Luca's face.
Then went pale.
"Good Lord."
"What?"
"You look just like him."
Luca stiffened.
"Like who?"
"The man who came here with Tommy."
We exchanged shocked looks.
"My father?" Luca asked.
The old man shook his head.
"No. Younger than that. About your age now."
A terrible possibility entered my mind.
But before I could speak, Mr. Callahan continued.
"His name was Matteo. Tommy called him Matt."
Luca went motionless.
Eleanor watched him carefully.
"Who is Matteo?"
Luca's expression had turned unreadable.
"My older brother."
I stared at him.
"I thought you were an only child."
"That's what most people believe."
"Why?"
He looked toward the stairs.
"Because Matteo disappeared twelve years ago."
For the second time that night, someone I'd believed dead or missing had appeared in a story that was getting more dangerous by the minute.
"What happened to him?" I asked.
Luca's eyes darkened.
"He betrayed our family."
He said the words flatly.
As though he'd repeated them enough times to stop feeling anything.
"Our father accused him of stealing company funds. They fought. Matteo left Chicago, and we never heard from him again."
"Did your father know where he went?"
"No."
Mr. Callahan shook his head.
"Well, I don't know anything about that. But he was here a couple of times before Tommy disappeared."
Luca looked at Eleanor.
"We need that apartment."
The building manager led us upstairs.
The hallway smelled of dust and old paint.
Number 417 stood at the end.
The door was scratched.
Its brass lock looked ancient.
I removed the key from my father's music box.
It fit perfectly.
My hands trembled so badly that I needed two attempts to turn it.
Then the lock clicked.
For eleven years, this door had guarded something my father believed was worth dying for.
I pushed it open.
The apartment was empty.
At least, that was how it appeared.
No furniture.
No curtains.
Only a stained carpet and pale rectangles on the walls where photographs had once hung.
My heart sank.
"There's nothing here."
Eleanor switched on her flashlight.
"Don't assume that yet."
She inspected the walls while Luca examined the windows.
I walked slowly toward the kitchen.
Dad used to tell me that every room had a story if you knew where to look.
I imagined him standing here.
Perhaps afraid.
Perhaps knowing he would never see us again.
Then I noticed something unusual.
A small patch of floor near the kitchen sink had newer screws than the surrounding boards.
"Luca?"
He came over.
"What is it?"
I pointed.
"These screws don't match."
He crouched.
Eleanor joined us.
"Looks like a maintenance access panel."
Luca carefully lifted one corner.
Beneath the floor was a sealed metal compartment.
Inside were three items.
A thick leather ledger.
A small digital recorder.
And a photograph.
I picked up the photograph first.
My father stood beside a smiling woman in a hospital room.
She held a newborn baby wrapped in a blue blanket.
On the back, someone had written:
Thomas, thank you for helping us save him. June 1990.
I looked at Luca.
"Do you recognize her?"
His face changed.
"That's my mother."
I stared at the baby.
"Is that you?"
He shook his head.
"No."
"Then who?"
He looked at me.
"Matteo."
A terrible silence followed.
Eleanor gently took the photograph.
"This may explain why your father and Thomas knew each other long before the warehouse incident."
I looked back inside the compartment.
The ledger contained names, dates, and payments.
Some were marked in red.
Others were underlined.
I recognized one name immediately.
Anthony Bellini.
Vanessa's father.
Beside his name were transfers totaling more than twelve million dollars.
Another entry listed Victor Salazar.
Then a third.
Matteo Moretti.
Luca stared at the page.
His face hardened.
"He was involved."
Eleanor looked at him.
"That's one possibility. We need to understand what these entries mean."
But Luca was already turning pages.
His breathing grew heavier.
Then he stopped.
"What?" I asked.
He showed us a page dated two weeks before the warehouse fire.
An entry had been circled.
Payment authorization: M. Moretti.
Below it:
Mercer Terminal transfer. Final delivery.
Luca stood abruptly.
"My brother helped murder our father."
"Maybe," Eleanor said. "But we don't know what kind of authorization this refers to."
He shook his head.
"I know his signature."
I watched him struggle with the discovery.
The powerful man who controlled an empire suddenly seemed trapped inside an old family wound.
I wanted to say something.
But before I could, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone froze.
Eleanor raised a finger to her lips.
She connected a recording device and motioned for me to answer.
I pressed the screen.
"Hello?"
A man's voice greeted me.
"Olivia Hayes."
My entire body went cold.
"Who is this?"
A low laugh.
"Come now. I think we've all heard enough about me tonight."
Victor Salazar.
I looked at Eleanor.
She nodded.
"Where's my brother?"
"Safe. For the moment."
"Let me speak to him."
"You're very demanding for a young woman whose life is currently worth so little."
My hands shook.
"Please."
Something moved in the background.
Then I heard Noah.
"Liv?"
A sob caught in my throat.
"Noah!"
"Don't come here," he shouted.
A muffled impact followed.
Then silence.
I nearly dropped the phone.
"Noah!"
Victor returned.
"Your brother has a courageous streak. Just like your father."
"If you hurt him—"
"You'll do what, Olivia?"
I couldn't answer.
He chuckled.
"Exactly."
Luca stepped beside me.
Eleanor silently warned him not to speak.
Victor continued.
"You found the apartment, didn't you?"
My heart stopped.
"How do you know that?"
"Thomas was clever. But not clever enough."
He paused.
"Now listen carefully. I want the ledger and the recorder. Bring both to Mercer Terminal tomorrow at midnight."
I looked at the small recorder in Eleanor's hand.
"And Noah?"
"He walks away."
"How do I know you'll keep your word?"
"You don't."
His honesty was terrifying.
"One more thing," Victor said.
"What?"
"Tell Luca Moretti that his brother sends his regards."
Luca went completely still.
"Matteo?" he whispered.
Victor laughed.
"Oh, this should be entertaining."
Then the call ended.
I stared at Luca.
His expression was worse than anything I'd seen that night.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Something that looked almost like hope.
"Your brother is alive," I said.
He shook his head.
"Victor could be lying."
"But you heard him."
Luca stared at the dark phone screen.
Then whispered, "If Matteo is alive, everything I've believed about my family could be wrong."
Eleanor picked up the digital recorder.
"Then perhaps we should find out what Thomas Hayes wanted us to hear."
She pressed play.
Static crackled.
A man's frightened breathing filled the room.
Then my father's voice emerged.
"If anyone finds this, my name is Thomas Hayes. I'm recording this because two men are about to be killed, and the wrong man is being blamed."
My knees weakened.
For eleven years, I hadn't heard my father's voice.
Now it filled an empty apartment as though he had only stepped outside.
"Victor Salazar is working with Anthony Bellini," Dad continued. "They've been diverting shipments and framing Alessandro Moretti's eldest son."
Luca covered his mouth.
"The night of the fire, they plan to kill Alessandro and Luca. Matteo is the only one trying to stop it."
I stared at Luca.
He looked shattered.
Then Dad's voice grew urgent.
"I've hidden enough evidence to prove what happened. But the most important witness isn't in the ledger."
There was a loud sound in the recording.
A door slamming.
Dad spoke faster.
"If they kill me, find Matteo. He's the only one who knows what happened to the missing children."
The recording ended.
Silence.
I looked at Luca.
"Missing children?"
His face was white.
"I don't know."
Eleanor slowly lowered the recorder.
But I could see something in her eyes.
Recognition.
She knew more than she was saying.
"Eleanor?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she reached into her coat and removed an old photograph.
Three little girls stood outside a church beside a woman in a nurse's uniform.
On the back was a date.
June 1990.
And one of the children looked unmistakably like Vanessa Bellini.
Eleanor looked at Luca.
"There's something you need to know about the Bellini family."
My pulse raced.
"What?"
She took a deep breath.
"Vanessa Bellini wasn't born Vanessa Bellini."
May you like
Then she looked directly at me.
"And Anthony Bellini may not be her biological father."
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