Chapter 8 - The Uncle Who Never Died
The message remained on my phone.
Your uncle is alive.
I stared at those four words until the screen went dark.
Then I turned it back on.
Because sometimes the mind refuses to accept what the eyes already know.
Luciano Moretti was dead.
That was the story.
The story my family told.
The story my father's enemies believed.
The story that had existed for twelve years.
But now there was a photograph.
A black car.
A woman who had lied to me.
And a man standing beside her who was supposed to be buried with the past.
My uncle.
Luciano.
The man my father spent his final months searching for.
The man my mother refused to talk about.
The man Marco had just named as the person my father suspected.
I looked at the photo again.
Isabella was standing outside the estate gates.
She wasn't hiding.
She wanted me to see her.
She wanted me to know she was there.
"Boss."
Marco stepped beside me.
"Are you sure?"
I handed him the phone.
His expression changed immediately.
Because he knew.
Not from the picture.
From the fear in his eyes.
"You recognize him."
Marco didn't answer.
That was enough.
"Marco."
He looked at me.
"I saw him once."
"Where?"
"After your father died."
The room became silent.
My patience disappeared.
"Explain."
Marco looked toward the window.
Like he was trying to decide how much truth he could survive telling.
"Luciano came to the estate three days after Antonio's funeral."
My eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"He was injured."
"Then why did everyone think he was dead?"
Marco looked down.
"Because your father wanted everyone to believe that."
That sentence stopped me.
"My father?"
Marco nodded.
"He created the story."
"Why?"
"Because Luciano was being hunted."
"By who?"
Marco hesitated.
Again.
That hesitation was becoming something I hated.
"By the same person who killed your father."
The room went quiet.
I walked toward him.
"Who?"
Marco looked at me.
"I don't know."
I almost lost control.
"Everyone says that."
My voice rose.
"Everyone knows pieces of the truth, but nobody knows the whole thing."
Marco didn't argue.
Because he knew I was right.
I had spent my entire life surrounded by people who loved me enough to lie to me.
My mother.
Marco.
My father.
And Isabella.
Especially Isabella.
The woman who had stood beside me and promised me a future while carrying secrets from my past.
"Where is Luciano now?"
Marco looked away.
"I don't know."
"Don't lie."
"I'm not."
His voice became harder.
"Your father made me promise not to search for him."
"Why?"
"Because if Luciano wanted to disappear, there was a reason."
I looked at the photograph.
"Then why is he back?"
Nobody answered.
Because everyone knew the answer.
He was back because I had found the truth.
I left the office with one decision.
I was going to find Isabella.
Not because I trusted her.
Because I needed answers.
Marco insisted on coming with me.
My security team followed.
But before we reached the entrance, my mother stopped me.
"Alessandro."
I turned.
She looked smaller than she ever had before.
Not weak.
Just tired.
A woman who had carried a secret for too long.
"You need to know something about Isabella."
I waited.
"She didn't come into your life because of your father."
That surprised me.
"Then why?"
My mother looked at Emma.
The little girl was sitting beside Sophia in the library.
Protected.
Safe.
But still unaware of how much her words had changed everything.
"Because of her."
I frowned.
"Emma?"
My mother shook her head.
"No."
She looked toward the wedding garden.
"Because of what Isabella wanted from this family."
"What?"
My mother whispered:
"Power."
I stared.
"She wanted the Moretti name."
My mother nodded.
"Not just the name."
"What else?"
She looked at me.
"The control behind it."
That didn't make sense.
Isabella came from wealth.
Her family had influence.
She didn't need mine.
Unless she needed something else.
Something hidden.
Something only my family possessed.
"What?"
My mother looked away.
"Your father's private records."
I froze.
"The ones in the archive?"
She nodded.
"The ones he spent his life protecting."
I remembered the video.
The folder.
The warning.
The person closest to him.
Everything connected.
"She was searching for something."
My mother nodded.
"Yes."
"What?"
My mother's voice became almost a whisper.
"The truth about your inheritance."
I felt my expression change.
"My inheritance?"
She nodded.
"Your father left something behind."
"Money?"
"No."
"Companies?"
"No."
"Then what?"
My mother looked directly into my eyes.
"A secret."
We found Isabella twenty minutes later.
Not far away.
She was sitting inside a small private chapel on the edge of the property.
The same chapel where she was supposed to marry me.
The same place where she had stood hours earlier pretending everything was perfect.
Now she sat alone.
No guards.
No excuses.
No performance.
When she saw me enter, she didn't look surprised.
"You know."
It wasn't a question.
I stopped several feet away.
"You knew I would find out."
She looked down.
"Eventually."
My anger rose.
"How long?"
She didn't answer.
"How long did you know my father?"
A long silence.
Then:
"Before I knew you."
That answer hurt more than I expected.
"Why?"
She looked at me.
"Because your father asked me to watch you."
I froze.
"What?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
Not fake tears.
Not the kind she used in public.
Real ones.
"He knew someone was coming for you."
"Who?"
She shook her head.
"I don't know."
I laughed quietly.
"Nobody knows anything."
She looked away.
"Your father didn't trust anyone."
"Except you?"
"No."
Her answer surprised me.
"He trusted me because he knew I had no choice."
The words bothered me.
"What does that mean?"
She stood.
"My family owed yours."
"Money?"
"No."
She looked at the floor.
"A debt."
"What debt?"
She took a breath.
"The kind that doesn't disappear."
I stepped closer.
"Isabella."
She looked at me.
"I didn't enter your life to hurt you."
"But you lied."
"Yes."
"You used me."
Her eyes filled.
"I protected you."
The same words everyone kept using.
Protected.
Always protected.
Always another excuse.
"From what?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she reached into her coat.
My security team immediately moved.
I raised my hand.
Stopping them.
Isabella removed a small envelope.
Old.
Damaged.
She held it out.
"Your father gave this to me the night before he died."
I didn't take it.
"Why didn't you give it to me?"
Her voice broke.
"Because he told me not to."
I stared.
"He told me if I gave it to you before the right time, you would become exactly what he feared."
"What?"
She looked at me.
"A man who destroys everything trying to find revenge."
The words hit.
Because they sounded exactly like him.
"Open it."
I took the envelope.
My hands felt heavier than they should have.
Inside was one photograph.
My father.
Luciano.
And one more person.
Someone standing between them.
Someone I recognized immediately.
Because that person had been beside me all day.
At my wedding.
In my house.
In my family.
I looked at Isabella.
"Who is this?"
She didn't answer.
Because behind me...
A door opened.
Slowly.
Everyone turned.
May you like
A man's voice came from the darkness.
"Because I was the one who made your father disappear."
