Chapter 4 - The Sister Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Emma stared at the woman.
She was perhaps forty.
Dark hair.
Elegant posture.
A scar ran from beneath her left ear to her collarbone.
Lorenzo’s men surrounded the sedan.
The woman did not seem concerned.
“Who are you?” Emma asked.
The woman’s eyes softened.
“My name is Elena Bellandi.”
Romano whispered something like a prayer.
Lorenzo heard.
“You know her?”
Romano nodded.
“She died twenty-seven years ago.”
Elena smiled.
“That was the intention.”
Emma’s head spun.
“You said little sister.”
“Yes.”
“That document says Lucia Bellandi was my mother.”
“She was.”
Emma looked at Romano.
“My entire life was a lie?”
Elena answered.
“No. Your life was protection.”
Lorenzo stepped between them.
“Where is Sofia?”
Elena’s expression changed.
“I don’t have her.”
Lorenzo drew his pistol.
Emma grabbed his arm.
“Stop pointing guns at every person who knows something.”
“It’s worked well until now.”
Elena laughed softly.
“You really are Carlo’s son.”
Lorenzo went still.
“Mention my father again.”
“Your father tried to murder my mother, murdered my husband, and spent ten years hunting me.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“No.”
Elena’s smile vanished.
“But I know who took your daughter.”
Lorenzo lowered the gun slightly.
“Name.”
“Gabriel Vescari.”
Marco cursed.
Emma looked between them.
“Who?”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“My uncle.”
Carlo Pellegrini’s younger half brother.
For decades, Gabriel had stayed in the background.
He managed legitimate businesses, settled family disputes, attended baptisms and funerals, and spoke softly enough that nobody considered him dangerous.
That, Elena explained, was exactly why he had survived.
“Gabriel arranged Isabella’s crash,” she said.
Lorenzo stared.
“You have proof?”
“The archive does.”
“Convenient.”
“He’s spent twenty-nine years trying to find it.”
Emma folded her arms.
“And now he thinks Sofia and I can open it.”
“Yes.”
“Why Sofia?”
“Because Isabella changed her half of the key.”
“To her daughter.”
Elena nodded.
“And mine?”
“To you.”
Emma rubbed her forehead.
“This sounds insane.”
“It is.”
“No, I mean literally insane.”
Elena stepped closer.
“Your mother—our mother—built systems for people who believed murder was accounting. She understood that information was the only thing more powerful than money.”
Emma’s eyes burned.
“She gave me away.”
“She saved you.”
“To Helen.”
“Yes.”
“Who was Helen?”
“Our mother’s best friend.”
Emma looked at the old photograph.
Helen beside Lucia.
Twenty-nine years of unanswered questions compressed into one image.
“Did Helen know?”
“Everything.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Because knowing gets people killed.”
Emma almost laughed.
“That worked wonderfully.”
Elena accepted the blow.
Lorenzo interrupted.
“Where is Sofia?”
“Gabriel owns an abandoned private rehabilitation clinic north of the city.”
Marco was already moving.
“Address?”
Elena gave it.
Lorenzo ordered three vehicles.
Emma followed.
“No.”
He turned.
“You stay here.”
“Sofia asked for me.”
“This is not a hospital.”
“She trusts me.”
“This is a kidnapping.”
“She’s six.”
“And you’re a nurse.”
“Exactly.”
Lorenzo stared at her.
Elena watched them both.
Then said:
“She should come.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because Gabriel won’t hurt Sofia until Emma arrives.”
Emma felt sick.
“You sound certain.”
“I am.”
“How?”
Elena’s gaze lowered.
“Because he called me too.”
Forty minutes later, the convoy approached the abandoned clinic.
Rain streaked across the windshield.
Emma sat beside Lorenzo in the rear seat.
Neither spoke for most of the drive.
Finally, Lorenzo said:
“I blamed you.”
“For Sofia disappearing?”
“Yes.”
“You were scared.”
“I don’t get scared.”
Emma looked at him.
“You were terrified.”
He turned toward the window.
“Fine.”
It was almost funny.
Almost.
“You love her.”
“She’s everything.”
“Then when we get inside, don’t become the thing she’s afraid of.”
His eyes moved toward Emma.
“What does that mean?”
“She told me Daddy scares people.”
“I do.”
“She notices.”
Lorenzo looked away.
“Isabella used to tell me the same thing.”
Emma hesitated.
“What was she like?”
His expression softened despite himself.
“Annoying.”
Emma smiled.
“That’s romantic.”
“She argued constantly. She hated my suits. She put hot sauce on everything. She thought my security people needed therapy.”
Emma laughed.
Lorenzo almost did.
Then the clinic came into view.
The moment vanished.
They entered through a rear service entrance.
Marco’s team moved ahead.
Dark corridors.
Dust.
Old medical signs.
Room 214.
Emma heard crying.
“Sofia.”
Lorenzo rushed forward.
Marco blocked him.
“Wait.”
A wire stretched across the doorway.
Trip line.
They disarmed it.
Inside, Sofia sat on a hospital bed.
Alone.
Emma ran to her.
The child threw both arms around her.
“You came.”
“I promised.”
Lorenzo stopped several feet away.
“Sofia.”
She looked at him.
He did not rush her.
He remembered Emma’s words.
Slowly, Sofia reached one hand toward him.
Lorenzo crossed the room and dropped to his knees.
His daughter touched his face.
“Daddy.”
He broke.
Not loudly.
No dramatic collapse.
One tear.
Then another.
He pressed his forehead against her hand.
“I’m here.”
Emma turned away to give them privacy.
Then she noticed the camera.
A red light blinked above the door.
A speaker crackled.
Gabriel’s voice filled the room.
“Beautiful.”
Lorenzo stood.
“Come out.”
“No.”
“Coward.”
“Perhaps.”
Emma scanned the room.
“Why leave Sofia here?”
Gabriel answered.
“Because I needed everyone together.”
The door slammed shut.
Locks engaged.
Gas hissed from a vent.
Emma smelled something chemical.
“Cover Sofia’s mouth!”
Lorenzo used his jacket.
Marco attacked the door.
Emma searched the walls.
The speaker crackled again.
“Sing the final verse, Emma.”
“Go to hell.”
“You have approximately ninety seconds before your charming little reunion becomes permanent.”
Lorenzo shouted.
“I’ll give you the archive.”
“You don’t have it.”
“I have money.”
“I have money.”
“What do you want?”
“The verse.”
Emma looked at Sofia.
The child was coughing.
Lorenzo stared at Emma.
“Sing.”
Romano’s warning echoed in her head.
The archive could destroy hundreds.
But Sofia was suffocating.
Emma closed her eyes.
Memory returned.
Helen at the edge of her childhood bed.
A forgotten final verse.
Emma began to sing.
“When the night forgets your name…”
The gas continued.
“Follow the river beneath the flame…”
The speaker clicked.
Somewhere, machinery activated.
“Three stars fall where shadows lie…”
Emma suddenly stopped.
Lorenzo stared.
“Continue.”
“No.”
Sofia coughed harder.
Gabriel’s voice became sharp.
“Finish it.”
Emma smiled faintly.
“I remembered something.”
“What?”
“My mother changed the last line.”
Silence.
“She told me never to sing it correctly if anyone asked.”
Gabriel shouted:
“FINISH THE SONG!”
A gunshot exploded beyond the door.
Then another.
The locks released.
Marco kicked the door open.
Fresh air rushed in.
Elena stood outside holding a pistol.
“Move!”
They escaped.
Sofia was carried to an ambulance.
Her oxygen improved.
Gabriel had vanished.
But they had something now.
The first three lines.
Back at the estate, Elena wrote each line down.
Three stars fall where shadows lie.
She stared at it.
“Lucia changed the key.”
Emma frowned.
“How?”
Elena pointed.
“Three stars.”
Lorenzo understood.
“The Bellandi crest.”
Elena nodded.
Three stars above a river.
The old Bellandi estate had burned twenty-eight years ago.
But beneath the ruins ran a private tunnel.
They reached the property before dawn.
At the bottom of the ruined chapel, Lorenzo found an iron door.
Three stars were carved into it.
Emma placed her hand on the center star.
Nothing.
Sofia stood beside her.
She softly sang Isabella’s version of the final line.
“Where daughters live, the truth survives.”
A click.
The iron door opened.
May you like
Beyond it was a steel vault.
And seated inside, waiting for them, was Gabriel Vescari.
