Chapter 12 — The Last Enemy
Chapter 12 — The Last Enemy
The police took Lorenzo away.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that we had lost something.
Not a person.
Not a battle.
A certainty.
He had looked directly at me before they put him into the cruiser.
You still haven't found the last child.
The words followed me into the house.
They followed me while Emma slept.
They followed me while the baby cried.
They followed me when Alessandro sat silently beside the fireplace, his injured shoulder wrapped beneath a clean shirt.
And they followed me when Michael placed the recovered metal box on the dining table.
Because the box contained everything.
Except the truth.
At midnight, Michael opened the first file.
“Subject A-01.”
A photograph appeared.
Sofia.
Then:
STATUS: ALIVE.
The next file.
Michael.
STATUS: ALIVE.
Then Alessandro.
STATUS: ALIVE.
My file.
STATUS: ALIVE.
Then Emma.
STATUS: ACTIVE.
Eva.
STATUS: ACTIVE.
The baby.
STATUS: UNKNOWN.
I stared.
“Unknown?”
Michael nodded.
“That means they don't have a confirmed identity.”
“But she was in the laboratory.”
“Yes.”
“Then why isn't she listed?”
Michael looked at me.
“Because she wasn't created there.”
I felt cold.
“Then where?”
He opened another folder.
It contained a single photograph.
A woman.
Pregnant.
Standing outside a hospital.
The date was eighteen months before Emma's birth.
I recognized her.
I had seen her before.
In old photographs.
At the Moretti estate.
Standing beside Lorenzo.
My stomach dropped.
“Who is she?”
Sofia answered.
“Lorenzo's first wife.”
I stared.
“She's dead.”
“No.”
“She disappeared.”
“Exactly.”
Michael pointed to the photograph.
“Her name is Clara.”
I looked at him.
“Where is she?”
He shook his head.
“We don't know.”
The next morning, Alessandro called every contact he had.
Hospitals.
Private investigators.
Former police officers.
Judges.
Bankers.
People whose names I didn't recognize.
Nobody knew where Clara was.
Then, at 9:17 a.m., a call came.
An old detective answered.
He had one piece of information.
“Clara Moretti didn't disappear.”
Alessandro leaned forward.
“Where did she go?”
“She entered witness protection.”
“Why?”
“Because she claimed Lorenzo was trying to kill her.”
My mother covered her mouth.
I looked at her.
“You knew.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
The detective continued:
“She was pregnant.”
My heart stopped.
“With whose child?”
Silence.
Then:
“Lorenzo's.”
Alessandro looked at me.
“Another heir.”
The detective continued.
“She gave birth in a private hospital.”
“Where?”
“Indiana.”
“Name?”
“St. Catherine's.”
Michael immediately stood.
“That hospital closed twenty years ago.”
“Records?”
“Destroyed.”
“Are you sure?”
The detective hesitated.
“No.”
“What?”
“Someone bought the archives.”
“Who?”
The detective whispered:
“Lorenzo.”
We left within the hour.
The road to Indiana was covered in winter rain.
Emma sat beside me.
The baby slept in her carrier.
Eva was asleep in the seat behind Alessandro.
For the first time, the children were together.
And somehow that made everything more frightening.
Because now I knew how many people wanted them.
Halfway there, Michael received a message.
He read it.
His face changed.
“What?”
He handed me the phone.
A photograph.
Clara.
Alive.
Standing outside a small farmhouse.
The message beneath it said:
SHE KNOWS WHERE THE LAST CHILD IS.
I looked at Alessandro.
“It's a trap.”
“Yes.”
“Are we still going?”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
I nodded.
“Then let's finish it.”
The farmhouse stood alone in a field.
No lights.
No vehicles.
No footprints.
Michael checked the perimeter.
“Nothing.”
Alessandro looked at the house.
“That's what worries me.”
We entered.
The house was warm.
Too warm.
A fire burned in the fireplace.
A kettle steamed on the stove.
A child's toy sat on the floor.
Emma whispered:
“Someone lives here.”
Then a woman stepped from the hallway.
Older.
Thin.
Gray hair.
But unmistakably beautiful.
She looked at Alessandro.
Then at Michael.
Then at me.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“You came.”
I stared.
“Clara?”
She nodded.
“I've been waiting.”
“For what?”
“For the day Lorenzo finally lost.”
She looked at the children.
“Which one is Eva?”
Alessandro pointed.
Clara walked toward her.
Then stopped.
She looked at the baby.
Her face changed.
“No.”
I felt cold.
“What?”
She whispered:
“That isn't the last child.”
Michael stepped forward.
“Then where is he?”
Clara looked at him.
“Not he.”
She looked at me.
“She.”
The room went silent.
“Who?”
Clara sat down.
“My daughter.”
“Where is she?”
“She was taken.”
“By whom?”
Clara's eyes filled with tears.
“By your father.”
She looked at Alessandro.
“Lorenzo took her from me.”
“How old was she?”
“Three days.”
“Why?”
“She was different.”
I frowned.
“How?”
Clara looked toward the children.
“She had a genetic marker Lorenzo believed would make her the perfect successor.”
Michael's face hardened.
“The final child.”
Clara nodded.
“But I hid her.”
“Where?”
“I gave her to someone I trusted.”
“Who?”
Clara looked at me.
My heart stopped.
“No.”
She whispered:
“Your mother.”
I turned.
My mother was standing behind us.
She looked devastated.
“You had her?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“She disappeared.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
My stomach dropped.
“Three years?”
The same year Emma was born.
The same year Eva was born.
My mother looked at me.
“She was supposed to be protected.”
“By whom?”
“Daniel.”
I turned toward him.
He looked away.
“You knew.”
Daniel's face crumbled.
“Yes.”
“You knew about another child?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“I thought she was dead.”
I stared at him.
“You thought?”
He swallowed.
“Lorenzo told me she died.”
Clara stood.
“He lied.”
A sound came from upstairs.
Everyone froze.
A child's footsteps.
Small.
Slow.
Coming down the stairs.
Clara began crying.
“No.”
A little girl appeared.
Five years old.
Dark hair.
Green eyes.
She held a stuffed rabbit.
She looked directly at me.
“Mama?”
My heart stopped.
I had never seen her.
But somehow I knew.
She ran toward me.
I caught her.
She buried her face against my chest.
I couldn't speak.
Clara sobbed.
“My daughter.”
I looked at her.
“Who is she?”
Clara answered:
“Lily.”
I held the little girl tighter.
Alessandro stared.
“Another child.”
Clara shook her head.
“No.”
She looked at him.
“The last child.”
Lily looked up at me.
“Are you my family?”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“I knew you'd come.”
I looked at Clara.
“How?”
Clara didn't answer.
Lily did.
“Grandpa told me.”
My blood froze.
“Grandpa?”
She nodded.
“He said Mama would come one day.”
Alessandro's expression changed.
“Lorenzo was here?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
I looked at Clara.
She went pale.
“He found us.”
Michael immediately raised his weapon.
“Everyone move.”
The windows shattered.
Gunfire erupted.
I dropped to the floor with Lily.
Alessandro grabbed Eva.
Michael pulled Emma behind the couch.
Clara screamed.
Then the front door exploded inward.
Men rushed inside.
But they weren't Lorenzo's men.
Their clothing was different.
Their movements were disciplined.
Military.
Michael looked at them.
“Private contractors.”
Alessandro fired.
Chaos erupted.
I crawled toward Emma.
“Stay down!”
She nodded.
Lily clung to me.
“Mama, I'm scared.”
“I know.”
A man reached the room.
He grabbed Lily.
I screamed.
“NO!”
I pulled her back.
He raised his weapon.
Then Alessandro shot him.
The man collapsed.
Lily cried.
Alessandro rolled toward us.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded.
He looked at Lily.
She stared at him.
“Are you my daddy?”
Alessandro froze.
I looked at him.
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he said:
“I don't know.”
Lily smiled.
“That's okay.”
She reached toward him.
“You can be.”
Alessandro looked away.
His eyes filled with tears.
The attackers fled after several minutes.
Outside, police sirens approached.
Clara looked toward the road.
“He's not done.”
I knew who she meant.
“Lorenzo.”
She nodded.
“He never intended to be arrested.”
“What?”
“He wanted to disappear.”
Michael looked at her.
“How?”
She pointed toward the basement.
“There is a tunnel.”
We followed.
Behind a false wall was a staircase.
At the bottom was a room.
Inside were passports.
Cash.
Weapons.
And photographs.
Hundreds.
Lorenzo had prepared escape identities for years.
One photograph caught my attention.
It showed him standing beside a woman.
The woman was young.
Very young.
Holding a baby.
I looked closer.
The baby was Lily.
But the woman wasn't Clara.
It was my mother.
I turned.
“Mom?”
She began crying.
“I took her.”
“You took Lily?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To save her.”
“From whom?”
“From Lorenzo.”
“But then why did you lose her?”
“I didn't.”
She pointed to another photograph.
A car.
A license plate.
A hospital.
“Lily was never lost.”
I stared.
“She was hidden.”
“Where?”
My mother looked at me.
“Where you would never think to look.”
I frowned.
Then I understood.
“The Moretti estate.”
She nodded.
“She has been there.”
My blood went cold.
“All this time?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
My mother whispered:
“Inside the house.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
She looked toward Alessandro.
“In the west wing.”
The same west wing where Emma had first found him.
The same room where the broken cookie had changed everything.
I suddenly understood.
The wheelchair.
The cookie.
Emma.
The hidden corridors.
The cameras.
The photographs.
Lily had been there.
Not in the nursery.
Not in the staff quarters.
Somewhere beneath the house.
Watching.
Waiting.
We returned to Blackwood before midnight.
The west wing was empty.
Alessandro opened the hidden panel.
We descended.
At the bottom was a small room.
A bed.
Books.
Toys.
Drawings.
A tiny yellow sweater.
Lily walked inside.
She looked around.
“I remember.”
My mother began crying.
“You lived here.”
Lily nodded.
“Grandpa said I had to stay hidden.”
I looked at Alessandro.
His face was devastated.
“Lorenzo kept a child under my house.”
“Yes.”
“And I never knew.”
“No.”
He closed his eyes.
Then he whispered:
“I was never the king.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
He stared at the room.
“I was another prisoner.”
A phone rang.
Everyone froze.
The phone was on the small desk.
Alessandro answered.
Lorenzo's voice came through.
“You found her.”
Alessandro's face hardened.
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere you can't reach.”
“You're finished.”
“No.”
“You lost.”
“Did I?”
Lorenzo laughed.
“Look at the children.”
Alessandro glanced at them.
“Why?”
“Because you still don't know which one is mine.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“The bloodline isn't about inheritance.”
Silence.
“It's about control.”
The call ended.
Then the laboratory computer suddenly activated.
A single message appeared.
FINAL SUBJECT CONFIRMED.
Underneath:
LILY CARTER.
My heart stopped.
But then another line appeared.
PATERNAL MATCH: UNKNOWN.
I stared.
Alessandro looked at me.
“What does that mean?”
I didn't answer.
Because beneath it was one final line.
THE FATHER IS STILL ALIVE.
May you like
And for the first time, I realized Lorenzo's last enemy wasn't hiding somewhere outside the family.
He was already inside it.
