Chapter 7 - The Letter Written in My Own Hand
Victor Morelli stood in the doorway like he had never left.
That was the first thing that bothered me.
Not his age.
Not his smile.
Not even the fact that a man who was supposed to have vanished decades ago was standing inside my home holding a letter that belonged to me.
It was the way he looked around the room.
Like he owned it.
Like he had always owned it.
His eyes moved from my father to Isabella.
Then to me.
And he smiled.
"Look at all of you."
His voice was calm.
Almost disappointed.
"Together again."
Nobody lowered their weapons.
Not even my father.
That told me everything.
Giovanni Moretti was not afraid of many things.
But he was afraid of Victor.
"Put the letter down."
My father's voice was different.
Not the voice of a powerful man.
The voice of someone who remembered something painful.
Victor looked at him.
"You still give orders."
A small laugh.
"After all these years, you still believe you have control."
My father stepped forward.
"You lost."
Victor looked at him.
"No."
Then he looked at me.
"You lost."
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because I understood what he meant.
This wasn't about money.
Not about territory.
Not about power.
It was about everything I believed.
Victor held up the envelope.
"This belongs to Alessandro."
I didn't move.
"Give it to me."
He smiled.
"Do you know why your father never wanted you to read this?"
I looked at Giovanni.
His expression changed.
That was enough.
"You do."
My father said nothing.
Victor continued.
"Because the truth inside this letter doesn't make him a hero."
A pause.
"It makes him a liar."
The room became silent.
I looked at my father.
"Is that true?"
He didn't answer immediately.
And that hurt more than any lie.
Because hesitation was sometimes the closest thing to confession.
Victor slowly walked into the room.
Nobody stopped him.
Not because they trusted him.
Because everyone was waiting for what he would reveal.
He placed the envelope on the table.
Then pushed it toward me.
"Read it."
I stared at it.
My name was written across the front.
Alessandro.
The handwriting looked exactly like mine.
But now I knew why.
Isabella had recreated it.
My father had recorded it.
A message meant to survive him.
A message meant to reach me.
I picked up the envelope.
Victor watched carefully.
"Before you open it, there is something you should know."
I looked at him.
"What?"
"Your father didn't disappear to protect you."
My fingers tightened around the envelope.
"He disappeared because he was afraid."
My father stepped forward.
"Enough."
Victor ignored him.
"He was afraid because he knew the truth about your birth."
The room froze.
I looked at him.
"What did you say?"
Isabella's face changed.
My father looked at the floor.
And suddenly, I understood.
There was another secret.
Another thing everyone knew except me.
Victor smiled.
"Open the letter."
I tore the envelope.
Inside was a single page.
Only one.
The handwriting was mine.
The words were mine.
But I had never written them.
Alessandro,
If you are reading this, then they succeeded in hiding the truth from you.
I stopped.
My heart moved faster.
The letter continued.
You have spent your life believing you were my son.
I looked up.
My father closed his eyes.
No.
I continued.
You are my son.
But not by blood.
The room disappeared.
For several seconds, I heard nothing.
Not Victor.
Not Isabella.
Not anyone.
I read the sentence again.
You are my son.
But not by blood.
My hand lowered.
"What does this mean?"
Nobody answered.
I looked at my father.
"Tell me."
Giovanni Moretti looked older than I had ever seen him.
"Alessandro..."
"No."
My voice became sharper.
"Not another secret."
He looked at me.
"Your mother and I couldn't have children."
The words felt unreal.
"So?"
He swallowed.
"So we adopted you."
Silence.
The entire world seemed to stop.
I looked at him.
My father.
The only man I had ever called family.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
His eyes filled.
"Because you were my son."
A pause.
"Not because of blood."
I looked away.
Part of me wanted to believe him.
Another part felt like the entire foundation of my life had shifted.
Victor watched.
Enjoying every second.
"Do you see now?"
I turned toward him.
"See what?"
"Why I was always closer to the truth than your father."
I stared at him.
"You knew?"
"Of course."
He walked closer.
"Your real parents were connected to the Order."
The name again.
The same shadow behind everything.
"Your father didn't save you."
Victor whispered.
"He stole you."
My father's expression changed.
"Don't listen to him."
Victor smiled.
"Ask him."
I looked at Giovanni.
"Did you know my biological parents?"
Silence.
That silence was enough.
I stepped back.
My father had protected me.
Raised me.
Loved me.
But he had still hidden my entire identity.
Victor picked up the letter.
"Your father wanted to destroy the Order because they knew who you really were."
I looked at him.
"Who am I?"
Victor's smile disappeared.
And for the first time, he looked serious.
"You are the last person who can destroy everything they built."
I frowned.
"Why?"
He looked toward Isabella.
"Because your biological father left something behind."
"What?"
Victor didn't answer.
Instead, he turned toward the study.
"The thing your father spent years hiding."
The room went silent.
My eyes moved to Giovanni.
"You know where it is."
My father didn't deny it.
Victor continued.
"And Isabella found the location."
Isabella looked away.
Another secret.
Another piece missing.
I looked at her.
"You knew."
She stepped forward.
"I was trying to protect you."
The words almost made me angry.
Almost.
Because now I understood.
Everyone had been protecting me from something.
But nobody had asked what it would cost me.
A sudden sound interrupted us.
A phone ringing.
Not mine.
Not Victor's.
Not Isabella's.
My father's.
Everyone turned.
Giovanni looked at the screen.
His face changed instantly.
"No."
I saw fear.
Real fear.
"What is it?"
He didn't answer.
The phone rang again.
A message appeared.
He looked at it.
Then slowly handed it to me.
The screen showed one sentence.
A photo was attached.
I opened it.
And my blood turned cold.
Because the picture showed a woman.
A woman I had never met.
But whose face looked exactly like mine.
Under the photograph was a message.
"Your real mother is still alive."
I looked up.
Nobody spoke.
Then Victor whispered:
"And she has been waiting for you."
The lights suddenly went out again.
This time, Shadow didn't growl at the door.
May you like
He growled at the window.
Because someone was standing outside.
