Chapter 9 - THE WOMAN EVERYONE BURIED
Dominic didn't sleep.
He sat beside Isabella's hospital bed while Lily rested in a chair pulled close to her mother. The girl had woken twice during the night, each time reaching for Isabella before settling again.
Dominic had spent seven years mourning one woman.
Now he had discovered that another woman he had buried in his memory might still be alive—and might have helped destroy the life he had built.
His mother, Eleanor Moretti, had died in a house fire when Dominic was twelve. He remembered the smoke, the shattered glass, and his father's hands dragging him away from the flames. He remembered a closed casket and a funeral attended by people who spoke in whispers.
He had never questioned the official story.
He would question everything now.
Marcus arrived just after sunrise with a report from the police.
“The voice on the recording is consistent with archived recordings of Eleanor Moretti,” he said. “It's not conclusive proof on its own, but the audio specialist believes it's authentic.”
“Where is she?”
“The property on Long Island is registered to a trust created thirty years ago. We've found recent utility activity, but no confirmed occupant.”
Dominic looked toward Isabella.
“I'm going.”
She reached for his hand.
“Don't go there angry.”
“How am I supposed to go?”
“As a father. As a man who wants the truth. Not as someone trying to punish everyone who hurt him.”
He looked at Lily, asleep with her cheek against her mother's arm.
“I don't know how to do that anymore.”
Isabella squeezed his hand.
“Then start with what you know. You know she's your daughter. You know I'm alive. You know you have a chance to give us a different future.”
He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“I'll come back.”
At the Long Island property, Dominic found a modest house surrounded by tall hedges and bare trees. Police waited at the edge of the grounds while Marcus and two officers approached the front door.
It opened before they knocked.
An elderly woman stood in the doorway.
Her hair was silver, her face lined, but her eyes were the same ones Dominic remembered from childhood.
“Dominic,” she whispered.
He couldn't move.
“Mother?”
She stepped forward.
He backed away.
“Don't.”
Eleanor stopped.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Dominic held up his phone and played the recording.
She closed her eyes before it ended.
“You heard it,” she said.
“You helped Victor target Isabella.”
“I believed he was protecting you.”
“You ordered him to kill my child.”
“I didn't know she was pregnant.”
“You knew enough to give him instructions.”
Eleanor's face crumpled.
“I was afraid. Victor had discovered things about your father. He threatened to expose Antonio's financial crimes and destroy the family. He told me Isabella was working with people who wanted you dead.”
“So you helped him make her disappear.”
“I thought she would be sent away.”
“You thought you could erase a woman and call it protection.”
Eleanor lowered her head.
“I was wrong.”
The simplicity of the admission stunned him more than an excuse would have.
She explained that Victor had arranged the fire that supposedly killed her after she began asking questions about Isabella. Eleanor escaped through a service passage but was told that Dominic would be killed if she ever returned. Victor sent her forged reports claiming Dominic had been injured and had chosen to cut ties with her.
For years, she had lived under another name, believing her presence would endanger her son.
“Why didn't you investigate?” Dominic asked.
“I was a coward. I told myself staying away was the only way to protect you. Every year, I found another reason to wait.”
“And now?”
“Victor contacted me two weeks ago. He said you had found the key and would come looking for the original evidence. He wanted me to help him take it before you could expose him.”
Dominic stared at her.
“You were going to help him again?”
“No.” Her eyes filled. “This time I refused.”
“Why should I believe that?”
“Because I kept something he never found.”
She led them to a small study and opened a locked drawer. Inside lay a packet of letters, a hospital bracelet, and a photograph of a newborn baby wrapped in a yellow blanket.
Dominic recognized the blanket.
He had bought it for Isabella before the crash.
Eleanor handed him a letter.
It was from Victor, dated seven years earlier. In it, Victor admitted that he had ordered the crash, concealed Isabella's survival, and paid officials to falsify records. He also mentioned a second set of accounts hidden outside the Moretti estate.
The letter was powerful evidence, but Dominic knew a confession on paper wasn't enough. The authorities would need the financial records and corroborating testimony.
Eleanor had one more thing.
A small digital drive containing the original files from Victor's private server.
“Take it,” she said. “Give it to the police. I won't ask you to forgive me.”
Dominic looked at his mother.
“I don't know if I ever can.”
“I know.”
For the first time, she didn't ask him to comfort her.
On the drive back to Manhattan, Marcus received a call from the hospital.
Isabella's condition had worsened. She had suffered a cardiac episode, and the doctors were preparing for an emergency procedure.
Dominic's blood turned cold.
When he reached the hospital, Lily was standing outside the treatment room, crying.
“Daddy?”
It was the first time she had called him that.
He dropped to his knees and gathered her into his arms.
“I'm here.”
“Mommy said she wanted to see the garden with us.”
“We will.”
“You promise?”
He held her tighter.
“I promise we'll keep trying.”
A doctor emerged from the treatment room.
“We've stabilized her for now,” she said, “but she needs surgery as soon as possible. We can't guarantee the outcome.”
Dominic looked through the glass at Isabella.
He had spent years trying to control every outcome, every person, every threat.
Now all he could do was hold his daughter's hand and wait.
His phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
A message appeared:
Victor has the second half of the melody. If you want the truth about Lily's birth, meet him tonight. Come without the police.
Dominic stared at the screen.
He had the records. He had Eleanor's confession. He had proof of the conspiracy.
But the sender knew something he didn't.
Something about Lily's birth.
And beneath the message was a photograph of the blue music box, opened to reveal a tiny compartment Dominic had never seen before.
Inside the compartment lay a second hospital bracelet.
May you like
It bore Lily's name.
And a date three days before Isabella's recorded delivery.
