Chapter 6 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Beatrice touched the photograph on Lorenzo’s phone.
“That’s impossible.”
Nobody answered.
She looked at Patrick.
His face told her everything.
“You knew.”
Patrick shook his head.
“No.”
“You knew!”
“I swear to you.”
She grabbed his coat.
“My mother died in my arms.”
Patrick caught her wrists gently.
“I know.”
“I watched them take her body.”
“I know.”
“I went to the funeral.”
“I know.”
“Then explain that picture!”
Patrick stared at the image.
“I can’t.”
Antonio took the phone.
His hands began to shake.
“Isabella.”
It was the first time Beatrice heard his voice break.
Lorenzo took the phone back.
“Photographs can be manipulated.”
Marco nodded.
“Could be old.”
Beatrice pointed at the tied guard.
“That man disappeared tonight.”
Marco’s expression darkened.
“Then either the image is composite or—”
“Or my mother is alive.”
Nobody finished the sentence.
Patrick sat against the hood of a car.
“This can’t be real.”
Beatrice turned on him.
“You told me she was sick.”
“She was.”
“Cancer.”
“Yes.”
“Doctors.”
“Yes.”
“Hospital.”
“Yes.”
“I saw her die.”
Patrick covered his face.
“So did I.”
Lorenzo studied the photograph.
“There may be another possibility.”
Beatrice looked at him.
“What?”
“A sister.”
Patrick lowered his hands.
“No.”
“You’re certain?”
“Isabella had no siblings.”
Antonio spoke.
“One.”
Everyone turned.
Patrick stared.
“What?”
Antonio looked at Beatrice.
“Her parents had another daughter.”
Beatrice could barely process the words.
“My mother had a sister?”
“Half sister. Younger.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was her name?”
Antonio’s face darkened.
“Lucia.”
Patrick looked stunned.
“Isabella never told me.”
“She barely knew her.”
Lorenzo looked at the picture again.
“Could this be Lucia?”
Antonio studied it.
“Possibly.”
Beatrice felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.
Her mother being alive was impossible.
Yet for ten seconds, she had wanted the impossible more than anything she had ever wanted.
Lorenzo put the phone away.
“We go to the chapel.”
Marco immediately objected.
“It’s a trap.”
“Obviously.”
“Then why cooperate?”
“Because they have the ledger.”
Beatrice added, “And a hostage.”
Marco looked at her.
“You are the hostage they want.”
“Not yet.”
Lorenzo’s eyes moved to her.
“You are not going inside.”
She laughed once.
“We’ve done this conversation.”
“This time the answer is final.”
“No.”
“Beatrice.”
“The message specifically says bring me.”
“Which is precisely why you will remain away.”
“If I don’t appear, they might kill that guard.”
“That responsibility is not yours.”
“People keep deciding what is and isn’t my responsibility.”
Her voice sharpened.
“My father decided I couldn’t handle the truth. My mother decided I couldn’t know where I came from. Antonio decided silence would keep everybody alive. You don’t get to become the fourth man who decides for me.”
Lorenzo stared at her.
Patrick muttered, “She gets that from Isabella.”
Antonio nodded.
Lorenzo ignored them.
“This is not about control.”
“It always feels like that to the person being controlled.”
That landed.
Lorenzo looked away.
Then back.
“You stay beside me.”
Beatrice nodded.
“Agreed.”
They reached the old Moretti chapel at eleven fifty-eight.
It stood on abandoned family land outside Palermo.
No lights.
No security cameras.
Marco’s men surrounded the property from a distance.
Inside, candles burned along the altar.
The missing guard sat tied to a chair.
Alive.
Beside him sat the gray-haired woman.
Beatrice stopped.
The resemblance to her mother was unbearable.
The woman looked up.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Beatrice.”
Beatrice’s knees nearly failed.
Only her mother said her name like that.
Three syllables.
Soft emphasis on the middle.
Bee-ah-trice.
The same way she had said it when Beatrice was sick.
When she was afraid.
When she was loved.
Beatrice whispered, “Mom?”
Patrick stumbled forward.
“Isabella?”
The woman stood.
Older.
Frail.
But alive.
Antonio made a sound behind them.
The woman looked past Beatrice.
Saw him.
Closed her eyes.
“Antonio.”
Beatrice’s world stopped.
Lorenzo stepped in front of her.
“Do not move.”
The woman smiled sadly.
“You have Giancarlo’s posture.”
Lorenzo went still.
“You knew my father?”
“I knew everyone.”
Beatrice pushed past Lorenzo.
“Who are you?”
The woman looked at her.
“Lucia Romano.”
Beatrice stopped.
Not her mother.
The resemblance made sense now.
The voice did not.
“How do you sound like her?”
Lucia’s eyes filled.
“Because we shared a mother. Because she raised me until she left.”
Antonio stepped closer.
“Where have you been?”
“Hiding.”
“For thirty years?”
“For twenty-seven.”
Lorenzo looked around.
“Where is Salvatore?”
Lucia’s face hardened.
“Late.”
The chapel doors slammed shut.
Marco turned.
Armed men appeared in the upper gallery.
Salvatore Vitale walked from behind the altar.
“Not late.”
He smiled.
“Patient.”
Lorenzo moved Beatrice behind him.
Salvatore laughed.
“You still think this is about killing you?”
“What is it about?”
“The ledger.”
“You already have it.”
“No.”
Salvatore looked at Lucia.
“She does.”
Lucia smiled.
“I gave you a copy.”
Salvatore’s face hardened.
Beatrice looked at her.
“Where is the real one?”
Lucia looked at Beatrice.
“You have it.”
Beatrice stared.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never seen it before today.”
Lucia shook her head.
“Not the notebook.”
Antonio suddenly understood.
“The cassette.”
Lucia nodded.
“The missing section?”
“No.”
She looked at Beatrice.
“The entire tape is the ledger.”
Marco frowned.
“How?”
“Audio code. Dates and names embedded in timing gaps and repeated words.”
Beatrice remembered the static.
The strange pauses.
Her mother had encoded information into her own voice.
Salvatore stepped closer.
“Give me the tape.”
Lorenzo smiled coldly.
“You invited us here before confirming we brought it?”
Salvatore stopped smiling.
Marco slowly reached into his jacket.
Gunfire erupted from the gallery.
Lorenzo pulled Beatrice behind a stone column.
Antonio fired toward the balcony.
Patrick dragged Lucia down.
Marco’s men breached the side doors.
The chapel exploded into shouting.
Beatrice covered her ears.
Lorenzo stayed over her.
“Do not move.”
She looked around the column.
Salvatore was running toward the sacristy.
And he had Lucia by the arm.
“Lorenzo!”
He turned.
Saw them.
Ran.
Beatrice followed before anyone could stop her.
The sacristy door slammed.
She reached it first.
Locked.
Lucia screamed from inside.
Beatrice pounded the wood.
“Lucia!”
Lorenzo reached her.
He kicked the door once.
Twice.
The frame cracked.
On the third strike, it flew open.
The room was empty.
A second door stood open at the rear.
Outside, an engine roared.
They ran through.
A black SUV accelerated down the narrow road.
Marco fired but stopped when he saw Lucia through the rear window.
Lorenzo swore.
Beatrice stared after the vehicle.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She opened the message.
Salvatore.
BRING THE ORIGINAL CASSETTE TOMORROW.
OR YOUR AUNT DIES.
A second message appeared immediately.
THIS TIME, COME WITHOUT LORENZO.
Then a third.
Beatrice read it twice.
May you like
Her blood went cold.
AND ASK LORENZO WHY HIS FATHER’S NAME IS THE LAST ONE ON THE TAPE.
