Chapter 6 - The Son Nobody Knew Existed
A woman opened the old letter and whispered: "Why did you hide my son from me?" When Matteo Bellini read Isabella Ferraro’s final message, he discovered a forgotten birth record inside the envelope. But one sentence was underlined twice: "Trust Matteo, not Gabriel." Matteo realized the enemy they feared was not the man standing outside.
The room became silent after Gabriel Bellini's name was spoken.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Even the guards who had spent years standing beside Matteo looked confused.
Because that name belonged to a ghost.
A man who had disappeared decades ago.
A man who was supposed to be dead.
I looked at Matteo.
His face had lost all color.
"Who is Gabriel?"
I asked the question everyone else seemed afraid to ask.
Matteo didn't answer.
His fingers tightened around the photograph.
Too tightly.
Like the paper itself was hurting him.
"Matteo."
Enzo's voice was low.
"You need to tell her."
Matteo looked at him.
A warning.
But Enzo didn't look away.
For the first time since I entered that restaurant, I realized something.
These men were not afraid of enemies.
They were afraid of memories.
Matteo slowly placed the photograph on the table.
"Gabriel Bellini was my older brother."
My heart sank.
"Then why did you look like you saw someone impossible?"
Matteo looked toward the floor.
"Because Gabriel died twenty-eight years ago."
Adriano laughed quietly.
Not because something was funny.
Because something was broken.
"He didn't die."
Everyone looked at him.
Adriano stepped closer.
"He was removed."
The words felt strange.
Like there was a difference.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
Matteo looked at Adriano.
"Stop."
"No."
Adriano's voice hardened.
"She deserves to know."
I hated that everyone kept saying that.
As if my life had been a locked room and they were finally deciding to give me a key.
Adriano pointed at the photograph.
"Your mother discovered what Gabriel was doing."
I looked at the picture.
The man beside my mother.
The man I had never known.
"What was he doing?"
Nobody answered.
Then Matteo spoke.
"He was building something."
I frowned.
"A business?"
"No."
A pause.
"A bloodline."
The room went cold.
I looked at Luca.
My son was still holding my coat.
Still too young to understand the conversation happening around him.
Too young to know adults were talking about him like he was a secret.
I moved closer to him.
"Explain."
Matteo looked at me.
"Gabriel believed the Bellini family needed an heir."
I stared at him.
"And?"
"And he believed he had the right to decide who that heir would be."
The meaning slowly reached me.
My hands went cold.
"No."
Matteo didn't answer.
Because silence was an answer.
I looked down at Luca.
"No."
I repeated it.
Stronger.
"My son is not some plan."
Matteo immediately shook his head.
"He isn't."
"Then why does everyone keep looking at him like he is?"
Nobody responded.
Because nobody had an answer that would make me feel better.
I turned toward Gabriel's photograph.
"Is he Luca's father?"
The room froze.
Even Matteo.
Especially Matteo.
I saw something in his eyes.
Pain.
Not surprise.
Pain.
And that scared me.
"Matteo."
My voice became quieter.
"Is he?"
Before he could answer, Luca suddenly spoke.
"Mommy."
I looked down.
He was staring at Matteo.
"He was there."
Everyone froze.
Matteo slowly lowered himself.
"Who was there, Luca?"
My son pointed at the photograph.
"That man."
His tiny finger touched Gabriel's face.
"He talked to mommy."
I stopped breathing.
"When?"
Luca looked confused.
Like he didn't understand why everyone was reacting.
"Before we moved."
My heart started racing.
Before we moved.
That meant...
He remembered.
Something from before.
Something I didn't know.
"Luca," I whispered.
"Did he hurt you?"
The little boy shook his head.
"No."
A pause.
"He gave mommy a box."
Matteo and Adriano exchanged a look.
"What box?" Matteo asked.
Luca thought.
Then pointed at my coat.
"The same one she keeps under the bed."
My eyes widened.
The box.
I had forgotten.
No.
I hadn't forgotten.
I had buried it.
Years ago, when I was still trying to understand my mother's disappearance, I found an old wooden box hidden inside my apartment.
I never opened it.
I don't know why.
Something about it scared me.
Like opening it meant accepting there were answers I wasn't ready for.
Matteo looked at me.
"You have it?"
I slowly nodded.
"At home."
His expression changed.
"We need to get it."
"No."
Everyone looked at me.
I stepped back.
"I spent my entire life being kept away from the truth."
I looked at Matteo.
"I am not handing another piece of my life to someone I barely know."
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Matteo nodded.
A small movement.
Unexpected.
"You're right."
I looked surprised.
"I am?"
"Yes."
He looked at Luca.
"Nobody takes anything from you again."
The way he said it was different.
Not like a promise.
Like a decision.
Then Enzo's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed almost immediately.
"Boss."
Matteo looked at him.
"What?"
Enzo covered the phone.
"We found the apartment."
My stomach dropped.
"What apartment?"
Nobody answered.
I already knew.
Mine.
The place where Luca and I had lived.
The only place that still felt like ours.
"What happened?"
Enzo looked at Matteo.
"Someone broke in."
I grabbed Luca.
"Was anyone there?"
A pause.
Then:
"No."
Relief came for half a second.
Until Enzo continued.
"But they didn't come to steal anything."
Matteo's eyes narrowed.
"What did they take?"
Enzo looked directly at me.
"They left something."
I felt a chill.
"What?"
Enzo hesitated.
Then pulled out his phone.
On the screen was a picture.
My bedroom.
My bed.
The old wooden box.
Opened.
My hands started shaking.
Because I had never shown anyone where I kept it.
Not Matteo.
Not Enzo.
Not anyone.
"How did they know?"
Nobody answered.
Then Matteo noticed something in the picture.
Something I hadn't seen.
A small piece of paper placed beside the open box.
He zoomed in.
His expression changed.
"What does it say?" I asked.
Matteo didn't answer.
"Matteo."
Slowly...
He turned the phone toward me.
The message was written in handwriting I recognized immediately.
My mother's handwriting.
May you like
Only three words.
"Come alone, Alessandra."
