Chapter 4 - The Face of the Dead Man
The photograph slipped slightly between my fingers.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
Not because I didn't recognize the person.
Because I did.
The image was old.
Damaged.
Taken in poor lighting.
But there was no mistake.
The man standing in the center of the photograph was supposed to be dead.
My father.
Giovanni Moretti.
The man whose funeral I attended eight years ago.
The man whose name built everything I inherited.
The man whose death changed the direction of my entire life.
He was standing beside Isabella.
Alive.
Isabella covered her mouth.
Her eyes widened.
"No..."
Her voice was barely a whisper.
I looked at her.
She wasn't pretending.
She wasn't confused.
She was terrified.
"Isabella."
She didn't answer.
Her eyes remained fixed on the screen.
Because she knew him.
Not from stories.
Not from pictures.
From reality.
From a time I was never allowed to see.
I turned the phone toward Luca.
His expression changed the second he saw it.
And that was enough.
Because Luca Bianchi had spent twenty years hiding nothing from me.
Except this.
"You knew."
The room became silent.
Luca looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
"Alessandro..."
I raised the phone.
"You knew my father was alive."
He shook his head.
"No."
The answer came too quickly.
I stepped closer.
"Then explain why you look terrified."
Luca opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
That was the first time in my life I saw him without an answer.
Shadow stood beside us.
The German shepherd that had appeared out of nowhere.
The dog that had dragged us from one secret to another.
He looked at the phone.
Then at Isabella.
Like he understood exactly what the picture meant.
I stared at the message again.
One new message.
From an unknown number.
There was no text.
Only the photograph.
Then another notification appeared.
A second message.
This time, just three words.
"Ask your wife."
I looked at Isabella.
Her face changed.
Because she knew.
"You know something."
She looked away.
That was worse than fear.
That was guilt.
"Isabella."
Her eyes closed.
"I didn't want you to find out like this."
The words hit harder than the picture.
"Find out what?"
She remained silent.
I could feel my anger rising.
Not explosive.
Not uncontrolled.
The kind of anger that became dangerous because it became focused.
"You spent six years hiding from me."
Her eyes filled.
"I was trying to protect you."
"Everyone says that."
My voice was colder.
"My father said that. Luca said that. Everyone who lied to me said they were protecting me."
I held up the phone.
"And now I find out the man I buried was alive."
A pause.
"Tell me the truth."
Isabella looked at Shadow.
The dog lowered his head.
Then she finally spoke.
"Your father wasn't supposed to die."
Nobody moved.
"What happened?"
She swallowed.
"The night everyone thought he died..."
Her voice shook.
"He disappeared."
I stared at her.
"Disappeared?"
She nodded.
"There was a plan."
"A plan with who?"
She looked at Luca.
And that answer hurt more than anything.
Because Luca looked away.
I turned toward him.
"You were part of it."
"No."
His voice was immediate.
"I was trying to stop it."
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
His silence answered.
I walked away.
For years, I had believed my father's death was the one thing that destroyed my family.
Now I was realizing something worse.
His death was a lie.
And everyone I loved had been living inside it.
The old phone in my hand vibrated.
Everyone looked.
A new message.
Another photograph.
I opened it.
This time, it wasn't my father.
It was Isabella.
A picture taken recently.
Not years ago.
Recently.
She was standing in front of a building.
Alive.
The date on the image was from three days earlier.
My chest tightened.
"You were there."
Isabella looked at the screen.
Her face went pale.
"I didn't know they had cameras."
"Who?"
She didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
"Who took this?"
Her lips parted.
Then closed.
Because she was afraid.
Not of me.
Of someone else.
That made everything worse.
Shadow suddenly growled.
Everyone turned.
The dog was facing the hallway.
His body became tense.
His ears lifted.
Someone was coming.
Giovanni immediately moved toward the door.
Luca reached for his weapon.
I watched Shadow.
The dog wasn't reacting like he saw a stranger.
He reacted like he recognized danger.
The footsteps stopped outside.
Three seconds passed.
Nobody breathed.
Then the door opened.
Slowly.
A man entered.
Older.
Tall.
Wearing a dark coat.
His face was partially hidden by the shadows.
But I knew him.
I knew him before he stepped fully into the light.
Because I had seen his face every day growing up.
The man removed his coat.
And looked directly at me.
"Alessandro."
My fingers tightened.
The impossible had happened twice in one night.
First my father.
Now him.
Because standing in front of me was the man who had been declared dead eight years ago.
Giovanni Moretti.
My father.
Alive.
He looked at Isabella.
Then at Shadow.
Then back at me.
"I was hoping you would never find this."
I couldn't speak.
Every memory I had of him was breaking apart.
The funeral.
The grief.
The years believing I had lost him.
All of it.
A lie.
My father stepped closer.
And for the first time in my life, I saw something in his eyes I had never seen before.
Fear.
"Alessandro."
His voice lowered.
"You don't understand what Shadow brought you to."
I stared at him.
"Then explain."
He looked at Isabella.
Then at Luca.
And finally at me.
"The person who wanted you to find this..."
A pause.
"The person who sent Shadow..."
He looked toward the hidden phone in my hand.
"...is the person who killed me."
The room went silent.
My father reached into his coat.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He removed a small envelope.
Old.
Sealed.
With my name written across the front.
I stared at it.
Because I recognized the handwriting.
It was mine.
No.
Impossible.
My father placed it on the table.
"I wrote this for you before everything happened."
My eyes moved to the envelope.
Then back to him.
"Why does it have my handwriting?"
May you like
My father's expression changed.
And before he could answer, the lights inside the room suddenly went out.
