Chapter 10 - The Daughter Salvatore Lost
I could not understand the words.
Not at first.
My mother sat beside me.
Michael and Kathleen Sullivan had tried for years to have children.
Then Salvatore Moretti’s wife gave birth to twins.
Luca.
And a baby girl.
The girl was reported dead after complications.
She wasn’t.
Salvatore had discovered a threat against his family.
Someone inside the organization planned to use his children against him.
So he created a death certificate.
Then he gave his newborn daughter to the only man he trusted outside the organization.
Michael Sullivan.
Me.
Luca stood across the room.
Neither of us spoke.
My mother reached for my hand.
“Michael loved you from the second he held you.”
I pulled away.
Not because I doubted it.
Because I couldn’t breathe.
“Does that mean—”
Luca answered.
“You’re my sister.”
The room tilted.
Everything suddenly connected.
Why my father had trusted Salvatore.
Why my access opened the archive.
Why Carlo knew my name.
Why Salvatore had prepared a room for me.
I was not collateral damage.
I was part of what they had been protecting.
A DNA test confirmed it.
Luca Moretti was my brother.
The most feared man in Chicago.
My employer.
The man I had spent eight months calling “sir.”
Ryan found this hilarious for exactly thirty seconds.
Then he realized it meant he had technically been arguing with Luca Moretti over breakfast.
He stopped laughing.
I didn’t.
Not really.
I spent two days angry.
At Salvatore.
At Michael.
At my mother.
At Luca.
At everyone.
Luca did not try to force a relationship.
That helped.
He simply left coffee outside the guest room every morning.
On the third day I opened the door.
He was sitting across the hallway.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“I’m not suddenly going to start calling you my brother.”
“I would be concerned if you did.”
I almost smiled.
Then I cried.
He sat beside me.
Neither of us knew what to say.
So we said nothing.
Bruno solved it.
He pushed between us and laid his head across both our knees.
Luca laughed quietly.
“He knew.”
“Apparently Bruno knows everything before we do.”
Federal investigators were building cases.
But Carlo and Anthony remained missing.
Then Marco found evidence they were moving money through a charity gala in downtown Chicago.
The gala would take place in four days.
Luca wanted me nowhere near it.
I disagreed.
“You need someone Carlo expects to see.”
“He expects to kill you.”
“Exactly.”
“No.”
“Luca.”
“No.”
“You are not my boss anymore.”
He stared at me.
“That somehow makes this worse.”
Eventually, I won.
Partially.
I would attend.
Under heavy security.
Vanessa would too.
She knew Carlo’s habits.
The night of the gala, I wore a dark blue gown.
For the first time in eight months, nobody handed me a tray.
That felt strange.
Luca stood beside me.
Not as employer and housekeeper.
Brother and sister.
The ballroom filled.
Politicians.
Business leaders.
Judges.
Donors.
And hidden among them, men who had spent years helping Carlo.
At nine twelve, Vanessa touched my arm.
“He’s here.”
“Where?”
She looked toward the balcony.
A silver-haired man stood alone.
Carlo Bellini.
He raised his glass.
To us.
Then disappeared.
We followed.
Too late.
The balcony was empty.
Only a phone remained.
It began ringing.
Luca answered.
Carlo’s voice.
“You always were predictable.”
Luca looked around.
“What do you want?”
“Come downstairs.”
“To what?”
“To meet your father’s real killer.”
Luca froze.
“We saw the video.”
Carlo laughed.
“You saw what Salvatore wanted Michael to record.”
My heart tightened.
“What does that mean?”
Carlo replied:
“Anthony didn’t kill Salvatore.”
“Neither did I.”
May you like
“Your father arranged his own death.”
And behind us, someone locked the ballroom doors.
