Chapter 9 - The Room Beneath the Chapel
My mother’s voice filled the chapel.
Older than in my memories.
Weaker.
But hers.
“Nora, there are truths I wanted to tell you a thousand times.”
I covered my mouth.
Vincent stood several feet away.
He looked shattered.
“I didn’t keep them from you because I was ashamed of you.”
A breath.
“I kept them from you because I loved you more than I loved being known.”
I cried then.
Quietly.
I had spent eleven years angry at a dead woman for secrets I didn’t understand.
Now those secrets were sitting around me in leather-bound books.
“My name was Elena Vittoria Moretti.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“I loved Dominic DeMarco.”
The tape hissed.
“Your father was kinder than the family he was born into.”
Carlo’s brother.
My father.
A man I knew only from one photograph.
“He discovered that my uncle Renato was creating conflicts between the Moretti and DeMarco families while moving money through companies neither side fully controlled.”
Vincent looked at the ledgers.
“Dominic believed that if we proved it, both families would finally turn against Renato.”
My mother gave a sad laugh on the recording.
“We were young enough to believe proof was stronger than fear.”
The chapel felt smaller.
“Dominic collected documents.”
“Vittoria kept records.”
“And I carried copies.”
She paused.
“Then I became pregnant.”
Renato learned about me before the rest of the family.
He understood what my existence meant.
A child descended from Vittoria Moretti and Dominic DeMarco could someday unite claims from both families.
More importantly, my grandmother had already amended her trust.
I was not merely a baby.
I was an obstacle.
“Dominic died on December third, 1997.”
My mother’s voice cracked.
“His brakes did not fail.”
Carlo had been right.
“Three weeks later, Renato sent men to the house where I was staying.”
Vincent stared at the floor.
“The fire was supposed to finish what the crash began.”
It hadn’t.
Elena escaped through a cellar window.
A young Moretti security officer helped her.
She never named him on the tape.
She lived.
Changed her surname.
Moved repeatedly.
And on January 19, 1998, she gave birth to me.
“In a hospital where a nurse owed your grandmother a favor.”
My official records were altered.
Elena Moretti was declared dead.
Elena Rossi appeared.
And Nora Rossi began life as the daughter of a working-class single mother.
No trust.
No security detail.
No empire.
Safe.
Or safer.
“Your grandfather Salvatore learned I survived.”
Vincent looked at the tape player.
“He offered to bring us home.”
My mother’s voice hardened.
“I refused.”
Why?
Because Salvatore had covered up Dominic’s murder.
He had not ordered it.
But he knew Renato was responsible and chose family reputation over justice.
Vincent’s face changed.
I paused the tape.
“You didn’t know.”
“No.”
“He was your father.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
Vincent gave a bitter laugh.
“So am I.”
I pressed play.
“My father wanted forgiveness.”
Elena continued.
“I wanted distance.”
She allowed Rosa and Carlo to know I was alive.
Only enough to help if necessary.
No one else.
Then came the sentence that changed everything again.
“Luca Santoro found us when Nora was two.”
Vincent stepped toward the player.
“What?”
“He was sent by Renato.”
I stared at him.
“But Luca did not kill us.”
Vincent’s breathing changed.
“He warned me.”
The room went still.
“He gave me six hours to move.”
“He told Renato he had found nothing.”
“He saved my daughter.”
Vincent whispered,
“Luca.”
The traitor might not have been a traitor.
My mother continued.
“Years later, Luca went to Vincent.”
“He believed my brother had become powerful enough to defeat Renato if the truth ever surfaced.”
“But I refused to involve Vincent.”
“Not because I hated him.”
Her voice softened.
“Because I remembered him at twelve.”
Vincent turned away.
“I remembered the boy who cried when he thought I was dead.”
Silence.
“I wanted at least one Moretti child to survive without carrying my war.”
Vincent wiped his face with one hand.
I pretended not to see.
Then my mother coughed.
Long.
Painful.
The cancer had already begun.
“I have hidden everything Vittoria and Dominic collected.”
“The ledgers are only the beginning.”
“One person knows where the rest is.”
Static swallowed several words.
Then:
“Luca.”
Vincent looked at Marco.
“Find him.”
Marco was already reaching for his phone.
But the tape continued.
“And Nora…”
My mother sounded almost frightened now.
“If Luca ever tells you Renato was responsible for everything, do not stop asking questions.”
I frowned.
“Because Renato had help.”
A pause.
“Someone inside Belladonna House opened the gate the night they came for me.”
Vincent stared toward the chapel door.
My mother’s final words on the tape were barely a whisper.
“That person may still be standing beside my brother.”
The tape clicked off.
Nobody moved.
Then Marco’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
Vincent demanded.
Marco lowered the phone.
“We found Luca.”
“Where?”
“His apartment.”
“Alive?”
Marco hesitated.
“Yes.”
Relief appeared on Vincent’s face.
Then vanished when Marco continued.
“He left something for you.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
Marco turned his phone around.
It showed my mother leaving a hospital eleven years earlier.
Three days before she died.
She was looking directly at the camera.
Behind her stood a man.
Not Luca.
Not Renato.
Not Carlo.
Vincent whispered the name before I could ask.
“Marco?”
I turned.
Our security chief stood beside me.
The same Marco who had protected me since the engagement party.
The same Marco who had carried the riding crop into evidence.
The same man whose name my mother had never mentioned.
May you like
His face went completely blank.
And then he reached inside his jacket.
