Chapter 4 - The Mother Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
I spent the night staring at the photograph.
Lucia Moretti.
Dante's mother.
A woman I had been told died in a car accident eight years earlier.
A woman whose funeral I had attended.
A woman whose ashes Dante had scattered himself.
Except the woman in the photograph was alive.
And she was standing outside the clinic that had somehow created medical records for me.
“I don't understand,” I whispered.
Dante looked older than he had the night before.
“Neither do I.”
“Did you know she survived?”
“No.”
Sofia shook her head.
“Then someone is using her identity.”
Marco zoomed into the photograph.
The image was grainy.
But the woman wore a distinctive silver bracelet.
Dante recognized it immediately.
“My mother never took that off.”
“Then it's her,” I said.
He nodded.
The next morning, we discovered the clinic had been abandoned.
The doors were locked.
The computers were gone.
The medical staff had disappeared.
Only one employee remained.
A frightened receptionist named Karen.
She refused to speak until Dante promised her protection.
Then she told us something that changed everything.
“Mrs. Moretti came here twice.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“With whom?”
Karen looked at me.
“Your husband.”
Dante stiffened.
“When?”
“Four months ago.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to review the embryo records.”
I looked at him.
“You knew about embryos four months ago?”
“Yes.”
“Before the kiss?”
“Yes.”
“Before you told me I was imagining things?”
He closed his eyes.
“I was trying to identify who had stolen your samples.”
Karen continued.
“She wasn't alone the second time.”
“Who was with her?”
“Sofia.”
I turned toward Sofia.
She looked devastated.
“I didn't know she was Lucia.”
“What?”
“She wore a mask. She was introduced as Mrs. Vale.”
Dante stared at her.
“You met my mother?”
“I didn't know.”
Karen handed Marco a folder.
“Mrs. Moretti left this.”
Inside was a handwritten note.
The children are not the target. Lena is.
My blood turned cold.
“What does that mean?”
Dante read the next line.
If they know she is carrying all three, they will kill her before the fourth month.
I instinctively placed both hands over my stomach.
The doctor had said the pregnancy was early.
We had barely told anyone.
Yet someone had already calculated exactly how far along I was.
Then I noticed a second note.
Do not trust the man closest to Dante.
Marco frowned.
Dante looked at him.
For the first time, I saw uncertainty between the men.
That afternoon, Dante took me to a safe house.
I refused to stay locked inside.
“I am not a prisoner.”
“I know.”
“Then stop treating me like one.”
He looked at me.
“I lost you once.”
“You didn't lose me. You betrayed me.”
He absorbed the words.
“I deserved that.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he said:
“I love you.”
My chest tightened.
“Don't.”
“I know you don't want to hear it.”
“No. I don't want words.”
“Then what do you want?”
“The truth.”
He nodded.
“You have it.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
So he told me about the first threat.
Three months before our anniversary, Dante had discovered someone had opened a confidential trust account using my identity.
Then a second account.
Then the fertility records.
When he confronted his uncle Victor, Victor denied everything.
Two days later, Dante's security chief was attacked.
A week later, Sofia's brother disappeared.
Dante realized the conspiracy was bigger than money.
Someone wanted the Moretti bloodline controlled.
And there was only one way.
Control the children.
I sat quietly.
Then I asked:
“Did you ever actually love me?”
His answer came instantly.
“Yes.”
“Even when you kissed Sofia?”
“Yes.”
“Then why?”
“Because I thought if Victor believed Sofia was my weakness, he'd stop watching you.”
I looked away.
“You should have trusted me.”
“I know.”
That night, I finally slept.
At 2:11 a.m., I woke to the sound of a door opening.
I reached for the lamp.
A shadow stood in the hallway.
“Dante?”
No answer.
The figure stepped closer.
I screamed.
The light turned on.
It was Lucia Moretti.
Older.
Paler.
But unmistakably alive.
She put one finger against her lips.
“Don't call my son.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
She looked at my stomach.
“Because the man sleeping in the next room isn't Dante.”
My blood froze.
“What?”
May you like
She whispered:
“Someone has been impersonating your husband for six months.”
