Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN WHO CALLED HERSELF MOTHER
I had spent my entire life believing Lorenzo Valenti was my father.
The paperwork said otherwise.
Elena stood beside me inside the private bank room.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally she asked, “Does this mean Vittorio is your father?”
“I don’t know.”
“It says he is.”
“Paper can lie.”
“So can families.”
She had learned that quickly.
The cassette tape was more important.
We found an old player.
My mother’s voice filled the room.
“If Dante ever hears this, then I failed to tell him myself.”
My hands tightened.
Her voice sounded younger.
Alive.
“I need you to understand that paperwork was created to protect you.”
I looked at Elena.
The tape continued.
“Vittorio is not your biological father. Lorenzo is. But after Dante was born, Salvatore Moretti threatened to claim Lorenzo had violated agreements between our families. Vittorio agreed to be listed on one confidential hospital record to hide the timing of my pregnancy.”
I exhaled.
Elena whispered, “Families like yours are insane.”
“You’re not wrong.”
Then my mother said something more disturbing.
“Elena was born six years later. By then, Lorenzo was trying to leave everything behind.”
The medical file contained evidence that Elena had been born under additional security.
Why?
Because someone had already tried to take me as an infant.
Salvatore Moretti.
The rivalry went back farther than I knew.
Lorenzo and Salvatore had once been business partners.
Then Lorenzo discovered Moretti was using legitimate Valenti shipping contracts to hide criminal transactions.
Lorenzo threatened to expose him.
Moretti threatened the family.
The feud had simmered for years.
Until the crash.
My mother believed Vittorio was secretly negotiating with Moretti.
She suspected he wanted to replace Lorenzo as head of the Valenti family business.
But she had no proof.
“I don’t understand,” Elena said. “If Vittorio wanted power, why save me from the crash?”
“That’s the question.”
We returned to the house.
A woman waited in the drawing room.
Seventy years old.
Gray hair.
Straight posture.
Marco whispered, “Lucia Bellini.”
I knew the name.
My mother’s closest friend.
She had vanished from New York after my mother’s funeral.
Lucia looked at Elena.
Her hand went to her mouth.
“My little moon.”
Elena froze.
“What did you call me?”
Lucia cried openly.
“My little moon.”
Elena staggered backward.
A memory.
I saw it happen.
Her eyes unfocused.
She whispered, “You gave me cinnamon toast.”
Lucia sobbed.
“Yes.”
“When I was sick.”
“Yes.”
“You sang badly.”
Lucia laughed through tears.
“I still do.”
Elena let Lucia hug her.
It was the first time I saw Elena embrace anyone from her lost life.
I looked away to give them privacy.
Later, Lucia explained everything she knew.
Rosa had not been chosen randomly.
Rosa was Lucia’s younger cousin.
My mother trusted her.
That changed the story completely.
Lucia said my mother had created an emergency plan years before the crash.
If one of the children was ever targeted, Rosa would hide them temporarily.
Vittorio knew about that plan.
After the crash, he used it.
But he never told my mother Elena had survived.
“Why?” I asked.
Lucia’s face hardened.
“Because Elena saw something.”
Elena looked at her.
“What?”
“The night of the crash, before your family left dinner, you wandered into Vittorio’s study.”
Elena closed her eyes.
Nothing.
Lucia continued.
“You saw Vittorio meeting Salvatore Moretti.”
“That doesn’t sound worth kidnapping a child.”
“You also saw papers.”
“What papers?”
“Documents showing Vittorio was selling information about Lorenzo.”
My jaw tightened.
“He was betraying my father.”
“Yes.”
“And Elena could identify Moretti.”
“Yes.”
“So Vittorio saved her from the crash, then kept her hidden.”
“Yes.”
“Why not kill her?”
Lucia looked at me as if insulted by the question.
“Because he loved her.”
I stared.
“He destroyed our family.”
“People can love and destroy at the same time.”
Elena’s face tightened.
Lucia said Vittorio convinced himself he was protecting Elena.
At first.
Then days became weeks.
Weeks became months.
After my mother publicly accused the Morettis, returning Elena would have exposed Vittorio’s involvement.
So he kept the secret.
Rosa grew attached to Elena.
Eventually, she begged Vittorio to let her raise the child permanently.
He agreed.
“Did my mother know Rosa had me?” Elena whispered.
“No.”
Elena stood and walked to the window.
For several minutes nobody spoke.
Then she asked, “Did Rosa ever try to return me?”
Lucia’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Elena turned.
“When?”
“When you were twelve.”
My heart stopped.
“What happened?”
“She came to New York.”
“And?”
“Vittorio intercepted her.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what?”
Lucia looked down.
“She left again.”
Elena’s voice broke.
“Why?”
“Because Vittorio showed her photographs of Dante.”
I frowned.
“Me?”
“He told Rosa that if Elena returned, Moretti would kill Dante.”
The room fell silent.
Elena turned toward me.
“So she chose you.”
“No.”
“She did.”
“She was manipulated.”
“But she still chose.”
I walked toward her.
“Elena, you were a child.”
“So were you.”
“Yes.”
“And apparently the adults decided one of us had to be sacrificed.”
I had no answer.
Lucia reached into her purse.
“There’s something else.”
She handed Elena an envelope.
Rosa’s handwriting.
Another letter.
Elena opened it.
Her face changed halfway through.
“What?”
She handed it to me.
Rosa wrote that she had returned to New York not only when Elena was twelve.
She returned again five years ago.
Days before her death.
She met Vittorio.
And recorded their conversation.
The recording still existed.
Rosa hid it with someone she trusted.
At the bottom of the page was one name.
Father Michael Caruso.
Pastor of St. Agnes Church.
I knew St. Agnes.
My mother’s funeral had been held there.
Elena looked at me.
“You ready to learn what your uncle admitted?”
I folded the letter.
“No.”
May you like
Then I met her eyes.
“But I’m done running from it.”
