Chapter 4 - The Daughter Who Never Existed
The folder fell onto the table.
"Your real name is not Elena Valenti."
Marco’s voice echoed through the dark room.
I stared at him.
My body refused to move.
Because there were some lies you could fight.
Some secrets you could survive.
But there were others that destroyed the person you thought you were.
Dante stood between us.
His weapon remained pointed at Marco.
"Where did you get that file?"
Marco smiled.
The same smile I remembered.
Cold.
Empty.
The kind of smile that belonged to someone who knew exactly how much damage he could cause.
"Still asking the wrong questions, Dante."
Dante’s expression hardened.
"Answer me."
Marco looked at me instead.
"She really doesn’t know, does she?"
My hands tightened.
"Know what?"
Nobody answered.
That scared me more than anything.
Because Dante Moretti was never silent.
Not when he was angry.
Not when he was threatened.
Not when he was challenged.
But now?
He looked like a man standing in front of a memory he was terrified to open.
Marco slowly pushed the folder across the table.
"Open it."
I didn’t move.
Dante looked at me.
"Don’t."
Marco laughed softly.
"Of course you would say that."
Dante’s eyes turned dangerous.
"You don’t get to speak to her."
"Why?"
Marco tilted his head.
"Because you failed her once already?"
The room became colder.
I looked at Dante.
He didn’t deny it.
That hurt more than any confession.
Marco noticed.
He always noticed everything.
"Ten years later, and you’re still protecting the daughter of the woman who destroyed you."
My heart stopped.
The daughter of the woman who destroyed you.
Not my mother.
Not my family.
A woman.
Someone different.
Someone I never knew.
I looked at Dante.
"What is he talking about?"
Dante didn’t answer.
I stepped closer.
"What is he talking about?"
His jaw tightened.
"Elena..."
"No."
My voice became sharper.
"I’m tired of people saying my name like they own pieces of me."
Nobody spoke.
"I want the truth."
Dante looked away.
That was when I knew.
There was something he had never told me.
Something he had carried alone.
Marco opened the folder.
The first page was an old photograph.
A woman.
Beautiful.
Dark hair.
A familiar expression.
I stared at the picture.
Because I knew that face.
Not from memories.
From the mirror.
My heart dropped.
"That’s..."
Marco smiled.
"Your real mother."
The room disappeared.
I grabbed the edge of the table.
"No."
The word came out quietly.
Because sometimes your mind protects you from things your heart cannot accept.
"My mother died when I was a child."
Marco looked at Dante.
"That’s what they told you."
I turned.
"Who is she?"
Nobody answered.
Then Dante finally spoke.
"Her name was Isabella."
The way he said it told me everything.
He knew her.
Not from a file.
Not from a rumor.
From his own life.
"You knew her."
Dante looked at me.
"Yes."
The anger came instantly.
"You knew my entire life was built on a lie."
"No."
"Don’t."
I stepped back.
"You don’t get to explain."
Dante lowered his weapon.
"I knew Isabella."
"And?"
His silence hurt.
"And you knew my father."
His eyes closed briefly.
"Yes."
I laughed.
But there was no humor in it.
"So everyone knew."
My voice shook.
"Everyone knew except me."
Marco watched us.
Enjoying every second.
"That’s why I kept the file."
Dante looked at him.
"You kept it because you wanted control."
Marco shrugged.
"Control is survival."
"No."
Dante stepped forward.
"Fear is survival for people like you."
For the first time, Marco’s smile disappeared.
The tension changed.
This wasn’t just about me.
This was something between them.
A war that started long before I knew there was a battlefield.
I looked at the folder again.
The documents.
The pictures.
The secrets.
Everything I had spent my life searching for was sitting on a table.
And I was afraid to touch it.
Because what if the truth was worse than the questions?
I reached for the file.
Dante immediately said my name.
"Elena."
I stopped.
"What?"
His expression softened.
"Whatever is inside there..."
He paused.
Then continued.
"Remember that people can use the truth as a weapon."
I looked at him.
"And lies?"
He had no answer.
I opened the folder.
The first document was a birth certificate.
My fingers trembled.
Because the name written there wasn’t Elena Valenti.
It wasn’t the name I had carried my entire life.
It was another name.
A name I had never heard before.
I read it again.
Then again.
My breathing changed.
"That’s impossible."
Marco leaned back.
"What?"
I looked at Dante.
"Why does this say..."
I couldn’t finish.
Because saying it aloud would make it real.
Dante slowly walked closer.
His eyes dropped to the paper.
And his entire face changed.
Because he recognized the name.
Not because it belonged to me.
Because it belonged to someone else.
Someone dangerous.
Someone connected to the biggest enemy he had ever faced.
"Where did you get this?"
Dante asked Marco.
Marco smiled.
"From the place you never searched."
Dante’s expression turned cold.
"Where?"
Marco looked at me.
"Her childhood home."
I froze.
"My house burned down."
Marco shook his head.
"No."
He leaned forward.
"The house burned."
A pause.
"But the basement survived."
Nobody spoke.
My heart started racing.
The basement.
I remembered.
A locked door underneath the stairs.
A place my father never allowed me to enter.
A place my mother always told me to forget.
Dante looked at Marco.
"You were there."
Marco smiled.
"I was the one who opened it."
Dante’s grip tightened.
"You killed them."
The room went silent.
Marco didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
I saw it in Dante’s eyes.
The answer was already there.
The fire.
The disappearance.
My father’s death.
All connected.
And then Marco said something that made Dante finally lose control.
"Ask her about the night she disappeared."
I looked at him.
"What?"
Marco looked directly at me.
"Ask her what she remembers after the fire."
My breathing stopped.
Because there was one part of that night I never talked about.
One part my mind had buried.
The sound of footsteps.
A man carrying me.
A voice whispering in my ear.
A promise.
I had spent ten years believing it was a dream.
But now...
I wasn’t sure.
Dante noticed my expression.
"Elena."
I looked at him.
"I remember something."
His face changed.
"What?"
I swallowed.
"The night of the fire..."
The lights suddenly flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then Dante’s phone rang.
He answered.
A few seconds later, all color left his face.
"What happened?"
Silence.
Then:
"Send me the picture."
He ended the call.
I watched him.
"What?"
Dante looked at me.
His voice was barely a whisper.
"They found something inside the basement."
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
Dante turned his phone around.
The picture on the screen showed an old wooden box.
Covered in dust.
Burn marks around the edges.
And carved into the top were four words.
My name.
But not the name I knew.
The name from the birth certificate.
Dante looked at me.
May you like
Then he whispered the name he had spent ten years trying to forget...
"Luciana Moretti."
