CHAPTER 9 — THE MAN WITH THE SCAR
I didn't sleep that night.
Neither did Dominic.
We sat on opposite sides of the penthouse living room while Chicago disappeared beneath the rain.
Between us lay the photograph.
The man with the scar.
The man who claimed he had promised to find me.
The man who knew things about my childhood that even Dominic didn't know.
And the final warning still burned inside my mind.
DON'T LET DOMINIC TAKE YOU TO THE VAULT.
I had read it at least twenty times.
Dominic had said nothing.
That bothered me more than anger would have.
Finally, I broke the silence.
“Are you him?”
His eyes lifted.
“Who?”
“The boy from the photograph.”
“No.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because I remember that night.”
My heart stopped.
“You remember?”
“Fragments.”
“What fragments?”
He looked toward the window.
“My father arguing with someone.”
“Who?”
“Matteo.”
“And then?”
“A gunshot.”
He paused.
“I remember falling.”
My blood ran cold.
“Falling?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Down the stairs.”
I stared at him.
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“With my father?”
“Yes.”
“And the third brother?”
“I don't remember him.”
I studied his face.
“Maybe you don't want to remember.”
His jaw tightened.
“That is possible.”
The honesty surprised me.
Then he looked at the photograph.
“I've spent eight years believing my father died because Matteo betrayed him.”
“And now?”
“Now I think someone wanted me to believe that.”
“Why?”
“To keep me from asking what happened to the real Dominic.”
I swallowed.
“The real Dominic?”
He looked directly at me.
“My father had a son.”
“You're saying you're not him?”
“No.”
“Then who are you?”
He was silent.
My heart pounded.
Finally, he said:
“I don't know.”
The answer frightened me.
Before I could respond, the security system beeped.
A red light appeared.
Dominic stood immediately.
“What happened?”
“Someone entered the building.”
“How many?”
“Unknown.”
He looked at me.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Avery.”
“I've spent enough time hiding.”
He nodded.
We moved toward the elevator.
The doors opened.
Nobody inside.
We entered.
The doors closed.
Halfway down, the elevator stopped.
The lights went out.
I heard Dominic breathe.
Then a voice came through the speaker.
“Hello, Avery.”
My blood froze.
The man with the scar.
“Who are you?”
“You know.”
“I don't.”
“You will.”
Dominic reached for the emergency panel.
The voice laughed.
“Still protecting her?”
Dominic stopped.
“Show yourself.”
“Soon.”
The lights returned.
The elevator began moving again.
When the doors opened, nobody was there.
Only an envelope lay on the floor.
Dominic picked it up.
Inside was another photograph.
This one showed three boys.
But there was something different.
The boy I thought was Dominic had a scar.
The boy I thought was the third brother didn't.
And the third boy...
was me.
Not standing beside them.
Standing between them.
My father was behind us.
His hand rested on my shoulder.
On the back:
SHE WAS THE WITNESS.
I stared.
“What does this mean?”
Dominic didn't answer.
I looked at him.
“You said I saw one of them die.”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
“I don't know.”
“Then we need to find someone who does.”
“I know someone.”
“Who?”
“My father's former doctor.”
Dr. Samuel Hayes lived outside the city.
He was eighty-two.
He had retired years ago.
When Dominic showed him the photograph, the old man's hands began shaking.
“You shouldn't have brought her here.”
I stepped forward.
“You know me?”
“I knew your father.”
“Did you know me?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
He looked at Dominic.
“Your father made me swear never to tell you.”
“My father is dead.”
“So is mine.”
Dr. Hayes stared at me.
“That's why I'm telling you.”
He walked to a cabinet.
Removed a box.
Inside were medical records.
He placed one on the table.
My name.
AVERY CARTER — AGE 17
I opened it.
There were neurological assessments.
Memory tests.
Sedation records.
My stomach turned.
“What did he do to me?”
Dr. Hayes sighed.
“Your father asked me to help him protect you.”
“By erasing my memory?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“By separating traumatic memory from conscious recall.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“You witnessed something that night.”
“The murder.”
“Yes.”
“And you helped me forget.”
“Temporarily.”
“Why?”
“Because the people hunting your father were using information extracted from witnesses.”
I stared.
“How?”
“Through psychological conditioning.”
Dr. Hayes lowered his voice.
“They didn't need you to remember everything.”
“What did they need?”
“Your emotional triggers.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
“Your father believed the memory could be reconstructed later.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he hid a message inside it.”
I stared at him.
“A message?”
He nodded.
“Your father knew you would eventually need it.”
Dominic stepped forward.
“What message?”
Dr. Hayes looked at him.
“That is the problem.”
“What?”
“The message wasn't meant for you.”
He looked at me.
“It was meant for the third brother.”
Silence.
I felt dizzy.
“Why me?”
“Because you were the only person he trusted.”
“Who?”
Dr. Hayes closed his eyes.
“The boy with the scar.”
I stared at him.
“What was his name?”
He whispered:
“Gabriel.”
Dominic froze.
“Gabriel?”
Dr. Hayes nodded.
“Gabriel Moretti.”
I looked at Dominic.
“Your brother.”
“Yes.”
“Why have I never heard that name?”
“Because Matteo erased him.”
“From the family?”
“From everything.”
Dr. Hayes opened another file.
Inside was a birth certificate.
Three boys.
Three names.
Dominic Moretti.
Gabriel Moretti.
And a third name.
I stared at it.
Elias Moretti.
My heart stopped.
“Three.”
Dr. Hayes nodded.
“Three brothers.”
Dominic stepped backward.
“Who is Elias?”
The old doctor looked at him.
“Your father never knew he survived.”
“What?”
“He was taken when he was six.”
“By whom?”
“Richard Whitmore.”
Silence.
I looked at Dominic.
“Then Gabriel?”
“Was hidden.”
“And Elias?”
“Raised by the Whitmores.”
My blood went cold.
“The man with the scar is Gabriel?”
“Yes.”
“Then who is Elias?”
Dr. Hayes looked at me.
“You already met him.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
He didn't answer.
A gunshot shattered the window.
Dominic grabbed me.
We fell to the floor.
Dr. Hayes collapsed.
Blood spread across his shirt.
“Dr. Hayes!”
I crawled toward him.
He grabbed my wrist.
“Vault…”
“What?”
“Don't let…”
His eyes closed.
“Who?”
His lips moved.
“Elias.”
Then he died.
I stared at him.
Dominic pulled me away.
“We have to go.”
“No.”
“Avery.”
“We can't leave him.”
“He's dead.”
I looked at the window.
Across the street, a shadow disappeared.
Dominic fired.
Nothing.
We ran outside.
A black motorcycle sped away.
The rider turned his head.
A scar was visible beneath his eye.
Gabriel.
He looked directly at me.
Then he disappeared into traffic.
Dominic started toward the car.
I stopped him.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“He could have killed me.”
“He chose not to.”
“Exactly.”
Dominic looked at me.
“He wants me alive.”
“Why?”
I looked at the photograph.
“Because I remember something he needs.”
Dominic's phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A man's voice said:
“You have ten minutes.”
“Who is this?”
“Your brother.”
Dominic froze.
Gabriel continued:
“Bring Avery to the old Moretti estate.”
“Why?”
“Because your father left the truth there.”
The call ended.
Dominic looked at me.
“We're going.”
“You said we shouldn't.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
His eyes met mine.
“Because if Gabriel wants you there, he knows something.”
I stared at him.
“And if it's a trap?”
“Then we walk into it together.”
For the first time that night, I believed him.
Not completely.
But enough.
The old Moretti estate stood abandoned on the edge of the city.
The gates were rusted.
The windows were dark.
But the front door was open.
We entered.
Dust covered everything.
Paint peeled from the walls.
The grand staircase had collapsed in one section.
Yet beneath the decay, I could still see traces of the mansion Dominic had grown up in.
He stopped near the fireplace.
“My father used to stand here.”
I looked at him.
“What did he tell you?”
“That family comes first.”
I smiled sadly.
“Maybe that's the problem.”
He looked at me.
“What?”
“Everyone in your family keeps choosing family over truth.”
He nodded.
“You're right.”
A sound came from upstairs.
We moved together.
A door opened.
Gabriel stood inside.
The scar beneath his eye was unmistakable.
He looked at me.
Not Dominic.
Me.
“You remember me.”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
He smiled faintly.
“I knew you would.”
Dominic raised his weapon.
“Stay back.”
Gabriel laughed.
“You still don't recognize me.”
“You're Gabriel.”
“No.”
Dominic froze.
Gabriel touched the scar.
“Gabriel died eight years ago.”
“Then who are you?”
He looked at me.
“Elias.”
My heart stopped.
I stared at him.
“But you have the scar.”
“Yes.”
“You were raised by Richard.”
“Yes.”
“Then Gabriel?”
He shook his head.
“Dead.”
Dominic's expression hardened.
“You're lying.”
Elias looked at me.
“Ask her.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Your mother.”
He stepped closer.
“She knows which one of us survived.”
I stared.
“You know where she is?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
He smiled.
“With Richard.”
My heart stopped.
“Is she safe?”
“For now.”
“Why?”
“Because she knows where the vault is.”
Dominic stepped forward.
“Take us there.”
Elias looked at him.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because the vault doesn't belong to your family.”
He looked at me.
“It belongs to her.”
I felt the world shift.
“My father built it for you.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“He built it for Avery.”
Then he turned and disappeared through a hidden door.
I ran after him.
But the door slammed shut.
Dominic found the mechanism.
Nothing.
Then my phone vibrated.
One message.
From Elias.
COME ALONE IF YOU WANT YOUR MOTHER ALIVE.
I looked at Dominic.
He knew immediately.
“No.”
“I have to.”
“You're not going alone.”
“But he said—”
“I don't care.”
He stepped closer.
“I already lost one family.”
His eyes held mine.
“I'm not losing you.”
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then I realized something.
The fear in his voice wasn't strategic.
May you like
It was personal.
And that scared me more than any gun.
