Chapter 3 - The Name on the Birth Certificate
Dante didn’t speak.
For several seconds, Arya wondered whether he had heard her.
Then his eyes moved from her face to the envelope.
“Say that again.”
“My original birth certificate said Valentino.”
Dante’s expression became unreadable.
“Arya, are you saying—”
“I don’t know what I’m saying.”
Fear moved through her.
“No. I do know what I’m saying. I’m saying my mother lied to me for twenty-five years. Your mother knew about me. Your father apparently knew about me. And now I’m pregnant with your child while neither of us knows what the hell any of this means.”
Dante immediately understood what frightened her.
He sat farther away.
“Arya.”
“What?”
“We are not going to assume anything.”
“You heard what I said.”
“A surname proves nothing.”
“My mother and your mother had matching necklaces.”
“So?”
“The photograph says ‘when the two children meet.’”
“That still proves nothing.”
“What if we’re related?”
His face tightened.
“Then we find out before doing anything else.”
Arya covered her mouth.
Dante reached toward her.
Stopped.
Then lowered his hand.
“I’m calling a doctor.”
“No.”
“For a DNA test.”
She looked at him.
“Yes.”
Dante made one call.
No threats.
No mysterious orders.
Just a private medical appointment for the following morning.
Then they read Eleanor’s letter.
Arya,
I have spent your entire life trying to protect you from a truth that frightened me. Maybe I protected myself instead.
When I was twenty-two, Isabella Valentino was my closest friend. We worked at the same diner before she married into the Valentino family. Years later, she came to me when she discovered something about her husband, Vittorio. He had a second family. Not another wife, but another child. A baby girl whose mother had died.
Arya stopped.
Dante stared.
She continued.
That child was placed temporarily with me because Isabella believed someone inside the family intended to use her as leverage in a bitter inheritance dispute. Isabella asked me to protect the baby until she could change the legal documents and establish a trust.
Arya’s voice weakened.
Dante took the letter.
He continued reading.
That baby was you, Arya.
Arya shut her eyes.
Dante kept reading.
But you were not Vittorio’s daughter. Isabella discovered that claim had been fabricated. Your biological father was a man named Samuel Mitchell, my younger brother. Your mother was my closest cousin, Claire, who died after your birth. I became your legal guardian. Later, I adopted you completely.
Arya’s eyes opened.
“My father was her brother?”
Dante nodded slowly.
The letter continued.
The Valentino surname appeared on your first temporary documents because Isabella used her family’s protection to hide you while the custody dispute was being settled. When the danger passed, I legally restored your birth name to Mitchell and raised you as my daughter.
Dante exhaled.
Arya began crying.
Not because the truth was terrible.
Because she had spent several horrifying minutes believing something far worse.
“So we aren’t related.”
“No.”
Dante’s voice was gentle.
“Not biologically.”
She laughed through tears.
“That might be the strangest relief of my life.”
A tiny smile appeared on Dante’s face.
But the letter wasn’t finished.
There is something else. Something Isabella never told Vittorio. She created a trust for Arya before her death. She believed Arya deserved compensation for the years her identity had been used in the Valentino family’s internal dispute. The trust was substantial. It was meant to transfer when Arya turned twenty-five.
Arya stopped.
“I turned twenty-five six months ago.”
Dante kept reading.
His expression darkened.
If Arya has not received it, someone has interfered.
Below that sentence was a name.
Marcus Valentino.
Dante’s uncle.
Arya looked at him.
“Who is Marcus?”
Dante folded the letter carefully.
“My father’s younger brother.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know about me?”
Dante’s silence answered.
Arya stood.
“I need to go.”
“You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
“I need my mother.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
His answer was quiet.
“My mother kept secrets too.”
Arya reached the doorway.
Then turned.
“What happens now?”
“We confirm the DNA result tomorrow.”
“And the trust?”
“I find out what happened.”
“No.”
Dante frowned.
“No?”
“We find out.”
“This may involve people I don’t trust.”
“Dante, this is my life.”
“And you’re pregnant.”
She stared at him.
He immediately corrected himself.
“That isn’t permission for me to make decisions for you.”
“Good.”
“But it does mean I’m going to worry.”
“You were already doing that.”
“Yes.”
Despite everything, Arya smiled.
The DNA results came quickly.
No biological relationship.
The pregnancy was healthy.
For the first time in days, Arya breathed normally.
Then Dante began investigating the trust.
He showed Arya documents.
Never hid meetings.
Never told her to stay out of it.
That surprised her.
Marcus Valentino, it turned out, had controlled several family accounts after Isabella died.
The trust established for Arya had existed.
Nearly two million dollars.
But shortly before Arya’s twenty-fifth birthday, the account had been emptied.
Someone had transferred everything into a shell company.
Arya stared at the number on Dante’s laptop.
“Two million dollars?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been taking three buses to work.”
“I know.”
“I’ve been cutting pills in half when Mama’s prescription ran low.”
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“I know.”
“Somebody stole this?”
“It appears that way.”
“Your uncle?”
“I need proof.”
“What would he need two million dollars for?”
Dante looked uncomfortable.
“What?”
“Marcus has debts.”
“What kind?”
“Business investments.”
Arya gave him a look.
“You paused.”
“I know.”
“What kind of business?”
“The kind I don’t want you involved in.”
“Dante.”
He leaned back.
“My uncle believes the Valentino name entitles him to things.”
“Money.”
“Control.”
“Power?”
“Yes.”
Arya crossed her arms.
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you believe the name entitles you to power?”
Dante thought for a moment.
“No.”
“What does it entitle you to?”
“Responsibility.”
That answer stayed with her.
Over the next month, pregnancy changed everything.
Not externally, not yet.
But emotionally.
Dante became careful in ways Arya found both frustrating and sweet.
He researched prenatal vitamins.
He asked whether coffee was allowed.
He bought six different kinds of crackers after Arya complained of nausea.
He tried cooking soup once.
It was terrible.
Arya ate it anyway.
“You hate it.”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“It tastes like warm salt water.”
“That sounds negative.”
“It is negative.”
Dante laughed.
Arya realized she loved that sound.
Their relationship remained complicated.
Dante offered her a guest room at the estate so she could be closer to work and medical care.
Arya refused.
Then Eleanor’s condition worsened.
The apartment stairs became difficult.
Eventually, practicality won.
Eleanor moved into a quiet cottage on the estate grounds with a visiting nurse.
Arya initially fought the arrangement.
Eleanor didn’t.
“I like the roses,” she said.
“Mama.”
“And the mattress is better.”
“Mama.”
“And Dante installed that ridiculous chair that lifts me up.”
“He worries.”
Eleanor looked at her daughter.
“So do you.”
Arya looked away.
Her mother smiled.
“You love him.”
“No.”
“Baby.”
“I care about him.”
“You’re carrying his child.”
“That’s unrelated.”
Eleanor laughed for almost a full minute.
It was the strongest Arya had heard her sound in months.
Then one evening, Marcus Valentino finally arrived.
Arya had never met him.
He was elegant.
Gray-haired.
Polite.
His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Dante introduced them in the library.
“Marcus, this is Arya Mitchell.”
Marcus looked at her for too long.
“I know exactly who she is.”
Dante’s shoulders tightened.
Arya remained still.
Marcus approached.
“You have your father’s eyes.”
“My father?”
“Samuel.”
Arya stared.
“You knew him?”
Marcus smiled.
“Very well.”
Dante stepped between them slightly.
“We need to discuss the trust.”
Marcus sighed.
“Always business.”
“You transferred the money.”
“I administered the account.”
“You emptied it.”
“I protected it.”
“For whom?”
Marcus’s gaze returned to Arya.
“For her.”
Arya laughed once.
“By stealing it?”
“Nothing was stolen.”
“Then where is it?”
Marcus looked at Dante.
“You really haven’t told her?”
Dante’s expression changed.
“Told her what?”
Marcus appeared genuinely amused.
“Oh.”
He looked back at Arya.
“This is interesting.”
“What?”
“The money was moved because Isabella’s trust contained a condition.”
Arya’s stomach tightened.
“What condition?”
Marcus reached into his briefcase.
He removed a document.
“Your mother—Dante’s mother—didn’t leave Arya two million dollars.”
Dante frowned.
Marcus placed the paper on the table.
“She left her ownership share of the Valentino estate.”
Silence.
Arya looked down.
Twenty-four percent.
Her knees weakened.
Dante stared at Marcus.
“That’s impossible.”
“It’s quite real.”
Arya looked at Dante.
“What does twenty-four percent mean?”
Marcus smiled.
“It means that if the documents are valid, my dear…”
He tapped the contract.
“…you aren’t employed by Dante Valentino.”
His smile widened.
“You own nearly a quarter of everything he has.”
And before anyone could respond, Marcus added quietly:
“There’s just one problem.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
“What problem?”
Marcus looked directly at Arya.
“To claim it, she has to prove Isabella Valentino believed Arya was family.”
He paused.
May you like
“And the only person who can prove that disappeared twenty-five years ago.”
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