CHAPTER 8 — THE THIRD BROTHER
For several seconds, nobody moved.
I looked at Dominic.
Then at my mother.
Then back at Dominic.
“There were three?”
My mother nodded.
Dominic's expression was unreadable.
“Who were they?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“The Moretti family kept secrets even from itself.”
Dominic crouched beside her.
“My father had two sons.”
She shook her head.
“Three.”
“Impossible.”
“No.”
Her voice trembled.
“Your grandfather had an affair.”
Dominic stared.
“With whom?”
“A woman named Sofia Bellini.”
He froze.
“My father knew?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Because Sofia disappeared.”
“Where?”
My mother looked at me.
“She was killed.”
Silence.
“When?”
“Eight years before your father died.”
Dominic stood slowly.
“Then the third brother…”
“Was hidden.”
“Where?”
My mother looked at me.
“Your father found him.”
I felt dizzy.
“Who was he?”
“I don't know his real name.”
Dominic's voice sharpened.
“Then how do you know he existed?”
“Because I saw him.”
“When?”
“The night your father died.”
Dominic stared at her.
“What did he look like?”
My mother hesitated.
“Like you.”
“Exactly?”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“He had your face.”
A pause.
“But he had a scar.”
My heart pounded.
“Under his eye?”
My mother nodded.
I closed my eyes.
The memory returned.
A boy.
Standing beside the real Dominic.
Blood running down his face.
A scar beneath his eye.
He looked at me.
He whispered:
Don't trust him.
I opened my eyes.
“I remember him.”
Dominic looked at me.
“Who?”
“The third brother.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me not to trust you.”
Silence.
Dominic didn't react.
That frightened me.
“You believe me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I remember the scar.”
I stared at him.
“You've seen him?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because my father once showed me a photograph.”
He looked away.
“Years ago.”
“Where is it?”
“I don't know.”
“Then find it.”
He looked back at me.
“I will.”
My mother began coughing.
I knelt beside her.
“Mom.”
She took my hand.
“I need to tell you everything.”
“Then tell me.”
“Your father discovered the third brother when he was investigating Sofia's death.”
“Why?”
“Because he found evidence that Sofia had been murdered.”
“By whom?”
My mother looked at Dominic.
“Matteo.”
Dominic's eyes hardened.
“Why would Matteo kill her?”
“Because she knew about the network.”
“What network?”
“The one your father called the Circle.”
I remembered the ledger.
“Politicians?”
“More.”
“Judges?”
“Yes.”
“Police?”
“Yes.”
“Businesses?”
“Yes.”
“Families?”
She nodded.
“The Circle had people everywhere.”
Dominic asked:
“And my father?”
“He was trying to dismantle it.”
“So was mine.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did they fight?”
“Because they disagreed about how.”
“How?”
“Your father wanted to expose the Circle.”
She looked at Dominic.
“Mine wanted to destroy it quietly.”
Dominic was silent.
“And Matteo?”
“He wanted control.”
I looked at my mother.
“What did the third brother have to do with all this?”
“He was the key.”
“To what?”
“The Circle's records.”
I frowned.
“How?”
“His mother had access.”
“Why?”
“Sofia worked for one of the Circle's financial companies.”
Dominic's expression changed.
“She knew where the money moved.”
“Yes.”
“And she told your father.”
“Yes.”
“And then Matteo killed her.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Dominic.
“Then the third brother knew.”
My mother nodded.
“He saw it happen.”
“How old was he?”
“Ten.”
My stomach turned.
“That's why he was hidden.”
“Yes.”
“By whom?”
“Your father.”
Dominic looked at me.
“My father protected him.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
My mother hesitated.
“Here.”
I looked around the chapel.
“No.”
She nodded.
“The church was one of your father's safe locations.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody thought to look for him here.”
“Who was he hiding from?”
“Everyone.”
I heard Dominic's voice.
“Where is he now?”
My mother looked at him.
“He's alive.”
My heart stopped.
“Where?”
She didn't answer.
“Mom.”
“He's closer than you think.”
Dominic's phone suddenly rang.
He answered.
A security officer spoke rapidly.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“Vanessa has been found.”
“Where?”
“Your apartment.”
I felt cold.
“Why would she go there?”
“She left something.”
“What?”
He hesitated.
“A photograph.”
We returned to the apartment.
The door was open.
No lights.
Dominic entered first.
I followed.
The place had been searched again.
But this time, nothing was destroyed.
Everything had been placed back exactly where it belonged.
Too perfectly.
A message was written on the kitchen table.
YOU'RE LOOKING IN THE WRONG PLACE.
Under it was a photograph.
I picked it up.
My father.
My mother.
Me.
And three boys.
Two of them looked almost identical.
The third had the scar.
On the back:
ONE IS DEAD.
I turned it over.
A second line appeared beneath the first.
ONE IS YOUR PROTECTOR.
And a third.
ONE IS YOUR ENEMY.
I looked at Dominic.
“Which one are you?”
He stared at the photograph.
“I don't know.”
The honesty frightened me.
Then I noticed something.
The boy without the scar wore a small silver chain.
I looked at Dominic.
He wasn't wearing one.
The boy with the scar wore a ring.
I looked at Dominic's right hand.
He wore a ring.
But not the same one.
I stared at the photograph.
Something wasn't right.
I zoomed in.
The third boy was holding my hand.
I remembered that.
A memory.
A small hand.
Warm.
Protective.
The boy with the scar had whispered:
I'll find you again.
I looked at Dominic.
“Did you ever have this ring?”
He looked at the photograph.
“No.”
“Then you're not him.”
He stared at me.
“What?”
“The boy with the scar isn't you.”
“I know.”
“No.”
I pointed.
“The ring belongs to someone else.”
Dominic studied the photograph.
Then his face changed.
“My uncle.”
“What?”
“He wears that ring.”
I felt cold.
Matteo.
The scarred boy wasn't Matteo.
But Matteo had his ring.
Why?
Dominic took the photograph.
“He may have taken it.”
“From whom?”
He didn't answer.
Then his phone rang again.
This time, it was a number he recognized.
He answered.
A man's voice spoke.
“Dominic.”
Dominic froze.
“Who is this?”
“You know.”
I watched his face.
“Impossible.”
The voice laughed.
“You always were slow.”
Dominic's grip tightened around the phone.
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere your father never found.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“What do you want?”
“Avery.”
My blood ran cold.
The voice continued.
“Put her on.”
Dominic looked at me.
I took the phone.
“Who are you?”
Silence.
Then:
“You don't remember me?”
My throat tightened.
“No.”
“You will.”
“Where are you?”
“Behind you.”
I turned.
Nothing.
Then the voice whispered:
“Not physically.”
The call ended.
Dominic immediately checked the apartment.
I stood frozen.
Then I heard something.
A soft click.
From inside the wall.
Dominic stopped.
He looked toward the kitchen.
We moved together.
He opened the cabinet.
Behind it was a hidden compartment.
Inside was a small device.
A microphone.
And a photograph.
My photograph.
Taken five minutes earlier.
My stomach dropped.
“They've been watching us.”
Dominic crushed the device.
Then another sound came from the bedroom.
A knock.
Three times.
We looked at each other.
Dominic raised his weapon.
He opened the bedroom door.
Nobody.
Only a small box on the floor.
I recognized it.
The music box.
I picked it up.
It began playing by itself.
The same melody.
But this time, something was different.
Halfway through the song, a hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a tiny piece of paper.
My father's handwriting.
Avery, if you have reached this point, the person protecting you has already failed once.
I looked at Dominic.
He read the sentence.
The next line made my blood run cold.
Do not blame him. He was not the one who betrayed you.
Then:
The betrayal came from the woman you trust most.
I looked toward my mother's empty room.
“Mom.”
Dominic stared at the paper.
“Maybe your mother wasn't protecting you from the truth.”
“What then?”
“Maybe she was protecting the person who caused it.”
Before I could respond, a loud crash came from downstairs.
We ran.
A black SUV had smashed through the front entrance.
Men poured out.
Dominic fired.
I dropped behind the counter.
The attackers advanced.
I moved through the hallway.
One man grabbed me.
I twisted his wrist.
Elbow.
Knee.
He fell.
Another appeared.
Dominic took him down.
Then a woman stepped from the SUV.
Vanessa.
She wasn't carrying a weapon.
She simply stood there.
“Enough.”
Everyone stopped.
She looked at me.
Then at Dominic.
“I need five minutes.”
Dominic raised his gun.
“You have thirty seconds.”
Vanessa smiled.
“Fair.”
She looked at me.
“Your mother didn't tell you the most important part.”
“What?”
“She wasn't the only person inside the warehouse that night.”
My heart stopped.
“Who else?”
Vanessa looked at Dominic.
“His father.”
Dominic's face hardened.
“You said he was dead.”
“I said nothing.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
Vanessa smiled.
“Ask the man you're standing beside.”
I looked at Dominic.
He shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Vanessa laughed.
“That's the problem.”
She turned toward the door.
Before leaving, she looked at me.
“The man you call Dominic isn't the one your father saved.”
Then she disappeared into the rain.
I stood frozen.
Dominic looked at me.
“Avery.”
I couldn't speak.
Because suddenly, every memory was wrong.
Every photograph.
Every conversation.
Every moment I had spent believing I knew who stood beside me.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message.
Unknown number.
One photograph.
A man standing in front of an old train station.
The scar beneath his eye.
My heart stopped.
Beneath the photograph:
I TOLD YOU I WOULD FIND YOU AGAIN.
And one final sentence.
DON'T LET DOMINIC TAKE YOU TO THE VAULT.
I looked up.
Dominic was watching me.
And for the first time since this nightmare began...
May you like
I couldn't tell whether I was standing beside my protector—
or my enemy.
