Chapter 4 - THE FATHER WHO FEARED HIS OWN SON
Dominic returned to Chicago with Margaret Ellis under police protection and a fury that made even his most trusted men keep their distance.
His father was waiting in the mansion's private dining room.
Vincent Moretti sat at the head of the table in a charcoal suit, a silver cane resting against his chair. At seventy-two, he still possessed the commanding presence that had made rival crime families surrender without firing a shot.
But when Dominic entered carrying the hospital bracelet, Vincent looked suddenly old.
"You went to Pennsylvania," Vincent said.
"Someone tried to kill an elderly nurse because she knew what happened to Edward."
Vincent's jaw tightened.
"Margaret Ellis should have kept her mouth shut."
Dominic placed the bracelet on the table.
"Who was Elena Moretti?"
Vincent stared at the name.
"Your uncle's wife."
"And their daughter?"
"No daughter survived."
"You're lying."
Vincent slammed his hand against the table.
"Do not speak to me like that in my house."
Dominic leaned forward.
"This is my house now. And if you want to keep living in it, you're going to tell me the truth."
For a moment, neither man moved.
Then Vincent laughed bitterly.
"Your mother always said you'd destroy this family by asking questions."
"My mother died believing someone was still out there. I'm not stopping."
Vincent's face tightened at the mention of Catherine.
"She was a fool."
Dominic crossed the room so quickly that Vincent's guards reached for their weapons. He stopped inches from his father's chair.
"Say that again."
Vincent looked up at him without flinching.
"She was a fool because she believed love could survive in a family like ours."
Dominic stepped away, disgusted.
"Where's Lily?"
"Safe."
"Where?"
Vincent nodded toward the window.
"Somewhere nobody can reach her. Give me the dress, and I'll tell you."
"No."
"Then she stays where she is."
Dominic pulled out his phone and signaled Marco.
Two men entered and stood behind Vincent.
"You've threatened a pregnant employee, interfered with an investigation, and may have ordered a shooting. You are going to tell me everything."
Vincent smiled sadly.
"You think this is about the dress?"
He reached inside his jacket and removed a folded photograph.
It showed Catherine standing outside a hospital forty years earlier. In her arms was a newborn wrapped in a pale blue blanket.
Behind her stood a younger Vincent.
The photograph had been taken the morning after the wedding.
On its back were three handwritten words.
SHE IS ALIVE.
Dominic stared at his father's younger face.
"You knew."
"I knew your mother had taken the baby. I didn't know where she sent her."
"Why did you let everyone believe Edward had stolen money and run away?"
"Because Edward was dead."
"Then why did you tell me the man you buried wasn't Edward?"
Vincent looked toward the closed doors.
"Because I lied about the burial."
The room went silent.
Vincent explained that the body found after the shooting had been so badly burned that identification was impossible. He had ordered the burial under Edward's name because he believed his younger brother had been responsible for a betrayal that threatened the entire family.
But the truth was more complicated.
Edward had discovered that Vincent intended to seize their father's business holdings after the old man's death. He had threatened to expose forged documents. Vincent confronted him at the estate, and a gunshot was fired.
"I didn't shoot him," Vincent insisted. "Your mother's father-in-law did. Our father."
Dominic stared.
Their grandfather had been dead for decades, but his shadow still reached across the family.
"Who was in the grave?"
Vincent's mouth tightened.
"A man whose name I never learned. One of the men who worked for us. Your grandfather arranged the burial before anyone could ask questions."
"And Edward?"
"I saw him fall. I believed he was dead."
"Believed?"
Vincent looked down at his hands.
"Your mother swore she heard him breathing when she found him. She tried to get him out, but the house was burning. By the time the smoke cleared, the body was gone."
Dominic thought of the initials on the dress.
E.M.
The hidden messages hadn't proved that Edward survived. They had only proved that Catherine feared someone had hidden the truth.
"Where did my mother take the baby?"
Vincent shook his head.
"She never told me."
"Then why did Vanessa know?"
At that, Vincent's expression changed.
"Because Vanessa's father was the man who helped Catherine arrange the adoption."
Dominic felt a cold suspicion take hold.
"Who was her father?"
"Richard Sterling. He was my accountant, my fixer, and the only man Catherine trusted to help her escape my reach."
"And Vanessa inherited his secrets."
"She inherited his fear."
Dominic turned toward Marco.
"Find Vanessa. Find Lily. Lock down every road leading out of Chicago."
Vincent caught his wrist.
"There's something else."
Dominic looked back.
"Your mother didn't hide the baby because she feared I would kill her. She hid the baby because she feared someone would use her to control you."
"Who?"
Vincent's eyes filled with an emotion Dominic had never seen in him.
Regret.
"Your grandfather had another son."
Dominic went still.
"Our grandfather had only two sons. You and Edward."
Vincent shook his head.
"That's what we told the world."
He slid another photograph across the table.
It showed three young men standing in front of the Moretti estate.
Vincent.
Edward.
And a third man whose face had been carefully scratched away.
On the back, Catherine had written:
THE FIRSTBORN NEVER DIED.
Before Dominic could ask another question, Marco burst through the doors.
"We found Vanessa's car."
"Where?"
"At the old Moretti cemetery."
Marco swallowed.
"The trunk is open. There's blood inside."
Dominic ran for the exit.
And as he reached the staircase, a guard shouted from the foyer.
"Boss! There's someone at the front gate!"
Dominic turned.
The security monitor showed a man in a soaked coat standing beneath the lights.
The man lifted his face toward the camera.
Vincent stumbled out of the dining room.
The cane fell from his hand.
"Impossible," he whispered.
Dominic stared at the screen.
The stranger looked exactly like the young man in the wedding photograph.
May you like
Edward Moretti had come home.
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