Chapter 6 - The Son Matteo Claimed
The call lasted thirty-one seconds.
That was enough.
Julian wanted me at Saint Maribel before midnight.
Alone.
Again.
Apparently originality was not a Vale family strength.
Elena stared at me after the call ended.
“He thinks you’re Matteo’s son.”
“I heard him.”
“Is it possible?”
“No.”
“You don’t know that.”
“My mother said—”
“Our mother lied about plenty.”
The words hit harder than she intended.
Elena immediately regretted them.
“Dante.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t.”
I looked toward the window.
For years I had been the person everyone else relied on to know what happened next.
Now I didn’t even know who my father was.
Nico broke the silence.
“DNA test.”
I turned.
“What?”
“There are records from Antonio’s old medical exams. Blood samples might still exist.”
“He died fifteen years ago.”
“Salerno’s father treated him.”
Elena looked between us.
“And Matteo?”
“We need his DNA too.”
Victoria spoke.
“I can get that.”
Everyone stared at her.
“How?” I asked.
She removed a small plastic bag from her purse.
Inside was a glass.
“Matteo met with me yesterday.”
Nico laughed softly.
“You stole his glass?”
“I’m a politician. We steal things more expensive than glasses.”
For the first time that morning, Elena smiled.
Dr. Salerno arranged expedited testing.
Results would take several hours.
We didn’t have several hours.
So we planned the rescue without them.
The Saint Maribel sat at a private industrial dock under heavy fog.
Official records claimed it carried machine parts.
Thermal cameras showed at least twenty people aboard.
Federal involvement was risky.
If Victoria was right, Matteo owned officers inside multiple agencies.
So I called one person my father had trusted.
Special Agent Rachel Sloan.
She arrived at the safe house wearing jeans and an expression that suggested she disliked everyone equally.
“You disappeared eleven years ago,” I said.
“I transferred.”
“To Seattle.”
“People are less dramatic there.”
“Then why come back?”
“Maya Reyes contacted me.”
Elena froze.
“When?”
“Six weeks ago.”
Rachel removed a folder.
“Maya had enough evidence to open a federal investigation. Not enough to identify the entire network.”
“Why didn’t you protect her?”
“I tried.”
Elena stepped toward her.
“Not very hard.”
Rachel accepted that.
“We underestimated how deep the corruption went.”
“Meaning?”
“Two agents on my team were compromised.”
I looked at her.
“And you?”
“If I were compromised, you’d already be arrested.”
Fair point.
Rachel confirmed Maya had been preparing to enter witness protection.
Elena turned pale.
“She never told me.”
“She was trying to protect you.”
Elena laughed bitterly.
“Everybody keeps protecting me by disappearing.”
No one answered.
At nine-thirty, Salerno called.
“I have the DNA results.”
I put him on speaker.
“The sample from Matteo Moretti is a familial match.”
Elena gripped the table.
“To which of us?” I asked.
Salerno paused.
“Neither.”
Silence.
“What?”
“The archived sample from Antonio Moretti confirms Antonio was Dante’s biological father.”
I closed my eyes.
“And Elena?”
“Also Antonio’s.”
Elena let out a shaking breath.
“So why did Matteo think one of us was his?”
“Because the old test was real,” Salerno said.
“But the unidentified child was neither of you.”
Nico slowly looked toward me.
Victoria whispered, “Another child.”
My mother had another child.
A sibling we had never known existed.
Rachel opened Maya’s evidence again.
“M.”
M might not stand for Matteo.
Maybe it stood for someone else.
Or maybe it stood for both.
We returned to the letters.
This time Elena noticed dates.
For six months in 1994, my mother had disappeared from Chicago.
Family history said she had cared for a sick aunt in Italy.
But one hospital document revealed the truth.
Lucia had given birth.
Male child.
Stillbirth recorded.
No name.
Elena stared at the page.
“What if the baby didn’t die?”
Victoria went pale.
“Matteo.”
I understood.
My mother had another child.
Matteo believed that child was his.
Someone had hidden the baby.
Someone had falsified the death.
And twenty-one years later, Matteo still wanted his son.
My phone buzzed.
A photograph arrived.
Maya.
Alive.
Standing beside Julian on the deck of Saint Maribel.
But it wasn’t Maya who caught my attention.
It was the man standing behind her.
Thirty-one or thirty-two.
Dark hair.
Gray eyes.
A face that looked disturbingly familiar.
Elena whispered, “Dante.”
I knew.
The stranger had my mother’s eyes.
Under the photograph was one line.
May you like
MEET YOUR BROTHER.
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