Chapter 5 - The Son I Never Knew
By midnight, Vittorio was under guard in a private medical room beneath the estate.
My shoulder was stitched.
I refused pain medication.
Dominic called that stupid.
He was probably right.
I sat in the nursery Elena had secretly created in the eastern wing.
The baby slept in a crib.
His real name was Nico.
Not Leo.
Not Mateo.
Nico Moretti.
My grandson.
The idea felt impossible.
Twenty-four hours ago, I believed I had no child.
Now I had a living adult son and an eight-month-old grandson.
Somewhere along the line, everyone around me had decided the truth was too dangerous for me to know.
I was beginning to hate the word protection.
Sofia arrived at the nursery doorway.
“I can explain his age.”
I looked at her.
“You have exactly one chance.”
She entered slowly.
“The boy you knew as Mateo was not born during our marriage.”
I felt something hard form in my chest.
“He was your son?”
“Yes.”
“Before me?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you tell me he was two?”
“Because when we married, he was already seventeen.”
I stared.
Memory moved strangely.
Photographs.
Birthday parties.
A small child.
Were they all fabricated?
“No.”
Sofia’s eyes filled.
“Luca, you were drugged after the accident.”
“What?”
“For months.”
I stood.
“Be careful.”
“Romano gave you medication after Mateo disappeared.”
“For grief.”
“No.”
Her voice broke.
“To alter your memory.”
Impossible.
And yet.
I remembered fog.
Lost days.
Doctors.
Bourbon.
Nightmares.
Romano telling me not to fight the confusion.
“He made you believe Mateo had been a toddler.”
“Why?”
“Because a missing seventeen-year-old could run away. Speak. Find help. A dead two-year-old couldn’t contradict anyone.”
I sat back down.
My entire history shifted.
“What was real?”
“Your love for him.”
That answer hurt most.
“Did he call me Papa?”
“Yes.”
“Did we play in the garden?”
“When he was younger.”
“Was I there?”
“Yes.”
She knelt beside me.
“Your mind compressed years together.”
I closed my eyes.
Fragments returned.
A teenage boy laughing.
A motorcycle.
Arguments.
A young man saying, You’re not my real father, but you’re more of a father than anyone.
I opened my eyes.
“Mateo knew?”
“That you weren’t his biological father?”
“Yes.”
“Who was?”
Sofia looked down.
“Marco.”
Silence.
There it was.
Vittorio had not imagined everything.
Marco was Mateo’s biological father.
But Mateo was mine in every way that mattered.
Sofia continued.
“Marco and I were teenagers. He disappeared before Mateo was born. Your father helped me. Years later, I met you.”
“And you lied.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of me?”
“Of the Morettis.”
I laughed without humor.
“You married one.”
“I married you.”
That silenced me.
“Why did Vittorio want me dead?”
“Because he discovered Mateo was Marco’s son.”
“And wanted his grandson.”
“Yes.”
Everything finally aligned.
The crash.
The disappearance.
The altered records.
The fake funeral.
Romano drugging me.
A manufactured memory of losing a toddler instead of a teenage boy.
“Where is Marco?”
“I don’t know.”
Elena entered.
“Maybe I do.”
We looked at her.
She held an envelope.
“He gave this to me when he brought Nico.”
I stood.
“You had this the whole time?”
“He told me only to open it if Vittorio returned.”
“Vittorio returned.”
She handed it to me.
Inside was one photograph.
Mateo.
Adult.
Dark curls.
Brown eyes.
My eyes, though biologically they weren’t mine.
He stood beside a cabin.
Holding Nico as a newborn.
My throat closed.
Behind the photograph were coordinates.
Dominic entered as I read them.
“Where?”
“Northern mountains.”
He checked.
“That’s six hours.”
“We leave now.”
Sofia grabbed my hand.
“You were shot.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“Luca.”
“My son has waited three years.”
I looked at the photograph.
“No more waiting.”
We left before dawn.
Dominic drove.
Elena stayed with Nico.
Sofia came despite my objections.
The mountain road narrowed as the sun rose.
Snow covered the peaks.
The coordinates led to an isolated cabin.
No vehicles.
No smoke.
I approached with my weapon lowered.
The door was open.
Inside, furniture had been overturned.
Blood marked the floor.
Sofia gasped.
“No.”
I followed the trail.
No body.
Dominic found shell casings.
“Recent.”
“How recent?”
“Maybe a day.”
On the table was a phone.
Still charging.
I opened it.
One video.
Mateo appeared.
Alive.
Older.
Scar over his eyebrow.
He looked directly into the camera.
“If Luca finds this…”
My heart stopped.
He called me Luca.
Not Dad.
The video continued.
“I don’t know what they told you about me.”
I sat.
“I’m alive. Marco found me two years ago. He told me everything.”
Mateo looked exhausted.
“I wanted to come home.”
My throat tightened.
“But Vittorio had people watching the estate.”
He glanced off-camera.
“If I brought Nico there, I’d lead them straight to you.”
He smiled faintly.
“Nico looks like you, which makes absolutely no biological sense.”
A laugh escaped me.
Painful.
Real.
Mateo continued.
“Elena will protect him.”
Then his expression became serious.
“If you’re seeing this, Marco and I probably had to run again.”
The video shook.
A noise outside.
Mateo looked toward it.
Then back.
“There’s something you need to know.”
Gunfire sounded in the distance.
Sofia covered her mouth.
Mateo spoke quickly.
“Romano isn’t working for Vittorio anymore.”
Dominic frowned.
“What?”
“He’s working for Bianchi.”
My blood went cold.
Carlo Bianchi.
My father’s trusted attorney.
Mateo continued.
“Bianchi has been controlling both sides for years.”
The video suddenly cut.
Silence.
Dominic looked at me.
“Our lawyer.”
“Our traitor.”
Then a floorboard creaked upstairs.
We all froze.
Dominic raised his gun.
I moved toward the staircase.
Slowly.
One step.
Two.
At the top, a door opened.
A man appeared.
Gray coat.
Blood on his sleeve.
Gun in hand.
Marco.
He looked older than I remembered.
He saw Sofia.
Then me.
For a second, nobody moved.
“Luca?”
“Yes.”
He lowered his weapon.
“Thank God.”
“Where is Mateo?”
Marco’s face changed.
“They took him.”
“Who?”
“Bianchi’s men.”
I stepped closer.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
I grabbed his jacket.
“You better know something.”
“I do.”
He pulled a folded paper from his pocket.
A shipping manifest.
Port warehouse.
Tonight.
“They’re moving him out of the country.”
My blood went cold.
“Why?”
Marco looked at Sofia.
Then me.
“Because Mateo found the evidence Bianchi spent twenty years killing people to hide.”
“What evidence?”
Marco swallowed.
“The evidence that Carlo Bianchi—not Vittorio—ordered the original attack.”
I released him.
“So Vittorio was a pawn?”
“A violent pawn.”
“Why would Bianchi want me dead?”
Marco’s answer came quietly.
“Because the Moretti fortune was never really yours.”
I stared.
“What?”
“He stole it from your grandfather.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
Marco looked at the clock.
“But only if we get Mateo back alive.”
I checked my weapon.
Dominic stepped beside me.
For the first time in three years, I knew where my son was.
And for the first time, I was close enough to fight for him.
May you like
But the man waiting at the port had spent decades manipulating my family from the shadows—and he knew exactly which person I would sacrifice everything to save.
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