Chapter 3 - The Mother Who Never Died
The phone slipped slightly in Alessandro’s hand.
Not because he was afraid.
Because for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to believe.
The voice on the other end was impossible.
A voice from a grave.
A voice from a past everyone had accepted.
"My mother died ten years ago."
Alessandro’s words were quiet.
But the entire room heard them.
Marco looked down.
He didn't deny it.
That was the part that frightened me most.
Because Marco Duca was not a man who stayed silent when accused.
He was a man who controlled every room he entered.
But now...
He looked guilty.
The phone remained pressed against Alessandro’s ear.
"Say something."
The distorted voice breathed softly.
"Alessandro."
His name.
Not a title.
Not a family name.
Just his name.
Like a mother calling her son.
"I know you don't want to believe me."
Alessandro’s face became unreadable.
"I watched you grow up."
The room seemed to stop moving.
Mia was still in his arms.
Still playing with his shirt button.
Still completely unaware that the foundation of her father’s entire life was cracking apart.
"Where are you?"
Alessandro asked.
The voice paused.
"That is the wrong question."
His eyes narrowed.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you should ask why I had to disappear."
Nobody spoke.
I looked at Marco.
He avoided my eyes.
And that told me everything.
He knew.
He knew the truth.
Alessandro noticed too.
"Marco."
His voice became dangerous.
"You knew my mother was alive."
Marco slowly nodded.
"I did."
The answer landed harder than any excuse.
Alessandro stepped back.
"You let me believe she was dead."
"I was trying to protect you."
Alessandro laughed once.
But there was no humor in it.
"Everyone says that."
He looked at me.
"You said that."
My chest tightened.
Because he was right.
Everyone who hid something from him always used the same words.
Protection.
Safety.
A necessary lie.
But lies were still lies.
Marco moved closer.
"Alessandro, listen to me."
"No."
The single word stopped him.
"I spent ten years standing beside a grave."
His voice remained controlled.
But I saw the pain underneath.
"I visited a woman who wasn't there."
He looked at Marco.
"I mourned someone who was alive."
Nobody answered.
Then Mia made a small sound.
A tiny laugh.
Everyone looked at her.
She reached toward Alessandro’s face.
Her little fingers touched his cheek.
And something changed.
The anger in his eyes softened.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
The same man who controlled corporations and destroyed enemies had no idea what to do when an eight-month-old baby touched his face.
Mia trusted him.
That was the cruelest part.
Because she didn't know he had never known she existed.
She didn't know her father was holding her for the first time.
She just knew he was warm.
Alessandro looked at her.
Then quietly asked:
"Is she really mine?"
The question hurt.
Even though I knew he had every right to ask.
I nodded.
"Yes."
A long silence followed.
Then Alessandro looked away.
Not because he didn't believe me.
Because he did.
And that terrified him.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I opened my mouth.
But no words came.
Because how could I explain eight months of fear in one sentence?
How could I explain waking up every night wondering if someone was watching?
How could I explain holding my newborn daughter and promising her I would never let powerful people turn her into a weapon?
"I tried."
My voice broke.
"Not directly."
Alessandro looked at me.
"What does that mean?"
I swallowed.
"Someone found out."
Marco became tense.
"What someone?"
I looked at him.
"The same person who sent me the warning."
Alessandro immediately turned.
"What warning?"
I hesitated.
Then reached into my bag.
I had carried it everywhere.
Eight months.
A folded piece of paper.
The edges were worn.
Alessandro took it.
His eyes scanned the handwriting.
I watched his expression change.
Because he recognized something.
"You know this handwriting."
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
"Alessandro?"
His fingers tightened around the paper.
"This was my father's handwriting."
The room became silent.
Marco closed his eyes.
Like he had been expecting this moment.
"What did he write?"
Alessandro unfolded the paper completely.
His voice became colder with every word.
"Stay away from my son."
I felt my stomach drop.
"What?"
He continued reading.
"He doesn't know who I really am."
A pause.
Then another line.
"He doesn't know what I did."
Alessandro looked at Marco.
"What did my father do?"
Marco didn't answer.
That was enough.
Alessandro placed the paper down.
"No more."
His voice was different now.
Not angry.
Determined.
"I want every file."
Marco looked at him.
"Alessandro..."
"Every record."
His eyes hardened.
"Every secret."
He looked at me.
"Every reason Elena had to hide my daughter."
Nobody moved.
Then Alessandro’s private security system activated.
A red light flashed above the door.
One of his guards spoke through the intercom.
"Sir."
Alessandro pressed the button.
"What?"
The guard hesitated.
That never happened.
Not with his security team.
"Someone entered the east wing."
Alessandro frowned.
"Impossible."
"We checked the cameras."
A pause.
"The person was already inside before the system detected them."
The room changed instantly.
Marco stood straighter.
His face lost all color.
"No."
Alessandro looked at him.
"You know who it is."
Marco didn't answer.
The guard continued.
"Sir, there's something else."
Alessandro grabbed the intercom.
"Speak."
The guard's voice lowered.
"We found an old photograph on the floor."
Alessandro waited.
"Whose photograph?"
Another pause.
Then:
"Yours."
My heart started racing.
The guard continued.
"But that's not the strange part."
Alessandro looked toward the door.
"What is?"
The answer came quietly.
"The photograph was taken today."
Nobody breathed.
Because that was impossible.
A photograph of Alessandro.
Taken inside his mansion.
Without anyone knowing.
Marco suddenly walked toward the door.
"Don't open it."
Alessandro turned.
"Why?"
Marco looked terrified.
Not worried.
Not cautious.
Terrified.
"Because whoever left that picture..."
He stopped.
The hallway lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then the office door handle slowly moved.
Everyone froze.
Alessandro stepped in front of Mia.
His hand reached toward the weapon hidden beneath his jacket.
The handle turned.
May you like
The lock clicked.
And the door began to open from the outside.
