Chapter 5 - The Daughter No One Knew Existed
Alessandro did not believe me.
Not at first.
“My mother had one child.”
“You.”
“Exactly.”
“Caterina says otherwise.”
“Caterina lies.”
“Frequently.”
“Then why believe this?”
“Because she looked afraid.”
Alessandro stared at me.
“You nearly died and now fear qualifies as evidence?”
“No.”
“But it qualifies as interesting.”
Marco entered carrying a thin file.
“That was fast.”
I said.
“I started before you returned.”
Alessandro glared at him.
“You believed Caterina?”
“No.”
Marco sat.
“I believed Elena would make us check.”
Good man.
The file belonged to Isabella Moretti.
Medical records.
Travel history.
Old photographs.
Twenty-nine years earlier, Isabella had disappeared from New York society for almost eight months.
Officially, she had been in Italy caring for an ill aunt.
In reality, passport records showed she had spent part of that time in Switzerland.
At a private clinic near Lausanne.
“Pregnancy?”
I asked.
Marco nodded.
“Likely.”
Alessandro looked sick.
“My father?”
“Unknown.”
“No birth certificate?”
“Not under Moretti.”
“Adoption?”
“Possibly.”
There was a payment.
Large.
From Isabella’s private account to a Swiss law firm.
Then annual payments for twenty-six years.
Education.
Housing.
Medical.
The beneficiary was hidden behind initials.
S.M.
Alessandro stood near the window.
“My mother had another child.”
“Maybe.”
I said gently.
“And never told me.”
Maybe.
His face hardened.
“Why?”
Nobody could answer.
Then Marco found something.
A photograph from Isabella’s storage boxes.
Two girls.
One about five.
One an infant.
The older child was Bianca.
The infant’s face was hidden.
Written on the back:
B and S.
Bianca had been born in 1992.
The dates did not work.
Unless the B wasn’t Bianca.
Marco checked.
Isabella’s childhood nickname had been Bella.
B.
The infant could be S.
Alessandro sat.
“My mother.”
“Yes.”
“And a baby.”
“Yes.”
“Her baby.”
“Probably.”
The hidden daughter would be around thirty-seven.
Close to Alessandro’s age.
And if she believed herself cheated from the family?
Possible motive.
But why would Caterina say “wrong daughter” if Bianca was already suspected?
Because Caterina wanted us looking elsewhere.
Or because there truly was another woman.
“Find S.”
Alessandro said.
Marco nodded.
By evening, we had a name.
Sofia Marchetti.
Born in Lausanne.
Mother listed as unknown.
Adopted by an Italian-American couple from New Jersey.
Education paid through a Swiss trust.
Medical school.
Residency.
Career in cardiac research.
My stomach tightened.
“Cardiac.”
Alessandro noticed too.
Sofia was thirty-seven.
Brilliant.
Private.
And employed as a consultant for Moretti Medical Center.
She had worked there for six years.
Meaning she had been near Isabella.
Near Santoro.
Near me.
“Do I know her?”
I asked.
Marco showed me the photograph.
I did.
Dr. Sofia Marchetti had attended two charity dinners.
Quiet woman.
Black hair.
Pale green eyes.
She had once spent twenty minutes explaining pediatric heart defects to donors.
I remembered thinking she seemed too sincere for a Moretti event.
“Where is she?”
“At work.”
Unlike Bianca.
Sofia had not run.
We brought law enforcement into the conversation before speaking to her.
No Moretti interrogation.
No dark room.
No threats.
The detective met Sofia first.
Then Alessandro.
I waited outside.
After forty minutes, Alessandro emerged looking as though someone had rearranged his entire childhood.
“She knew.”
I stood.
“Knew what?”
“That Isabella was her mother.”
“For how long?”
“Nine years.”
“Did Isabella contact her?”
“Yes.”
“Why hide her?”
Alessandro laughed bitterly.
“Because my father wasn’t her father.”
I understood.
“Who was?”
“A man named Adrian Marchetti.”
Sofia’s adoptive uncle.
A physician Isabella loved before she married Alessandro’s father.
A relationship Isabella’s family forbade.
She became pregnant.
The child was hidden.
Then Isabella married into the Moretti dynasty.
Years later, Alessandro was born.
“Did Sofia hate her?”
“No.”
“What did she want?”
“To know her.”
That was almost worse.
Isabella secretly reconnected with Sofia nine years before her death.
Supported her career.
Saw her privately.
But refused to acknowledge her publicly.
Because disclosure would destabilize trusts.
Ownership.
The family.
Money again.
Always money.
“Was Sofia involved in Isabella’s death?”
“No evidence.”
“Did she know about the toxicology?”
“Yes.”
My heart tightened.
“What?”
“She ran the first analysis.”
“Why didn’t Santoro say that?”
“He didn’t know her relationship to Isabella.”
“But Sofia knew someone poisoned her own mother.”
“Yes.”
“And stayed silent?”
Alessandro looked toward the interview room.
“She tried to repeat the test.”
“The sample disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“She received a black lily.”
Threat.
Again.
“She believed Bianca sent it.”
“Why?”
“Sofia saw Bianca in the laboratory corridor the night the sample disappeared.”
There.
A direct link.
“Did she tell anyone?”
“Vittorio.”
Of course.
The dead consigliere again.
“What happened?”
“Vittorio told her she was imagining things.”
“Then two weeks later someone broke into her apartment.”
“Anything taken?”
“No.”
“Message?”
A funeral lily on the mirror.
We had been treating the symbol as a family tradition.
It was not.
Someone had transformed Isabella’s funeral emblem into a mark of intimidation.
Whoever wore it wanted victims to know the threat came from inside the family.
“What about Caterina?”
I asked.
Alessandro’s expression darkened.
“Sofia says Caterina knew about her.”
“Since when?”
“Birth.”
“And Bianca?”
“Unknown.”
I thought about the tea.
You’re looking at the wrong daughter.
Maybe Caterina was not accusing Sofia.
Maybe she was warning me that the woman impersonating me was not Bianca.
“What if Bianca wasn’t at Il Cielo?”
Alessandro stared.
“Emma identified her.”
“Emma said she looked like her.”
“Same height.”
“Same build.”
“But a wig.”
“Costume.”
“Tattoo.”
“Could be temporary.”
Marco leaned against the wall.
“Elena has a point.”
Alessandro looked irritated.
Good.
Two of us.
“Who else could look like Bianca?”
Marco asked.
Silence.
Then Sofia emerged.
She had Isabella’s green eyes.
I noticed that now.
Maybe I had seen them before and never understood why they felt familiar.
Sofia looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“Everything.”
“You didn’t poison me.”
“No.”
“Then save apologies.”
Her eyes filled.
“Your fiancé is my brother.”
I looked at Alessandro.
He looked almost offended by biology.
“Apparently.”
Sofia almost smiled.
Then she said something that made the room still.
“I know who wears the lily tattoo.”
“Who?”
She looked at Alessandro.
“Vittorio’s widow.”
I frowned.
“His widow is alive?”
Alessandro turned toward Marco.
Marco’s expression changed.
That was answer enough.
“Name?”
I asked.
Marco spoke slowly.
“Celeste Rinaldi.”
“Where is she?”
“No one knows.”
“How long missing?”
“Since Vittorio’s funeral.”
“When?”
“Eighteen months ago.”
Another funeral.
Another disappearance.
Sofia shook her head.
“She isn’t missing.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she contacted me two months ago.”
Alessandro stepped closer.
“What did she want?”
“To warn me.”
“About what?”
Sofia looked at me.
“Your anniversary.”
My pulse stopped.
“She knew?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
May you like
Sofia swallowed.
“She said there would be cake.”
