Chapter 10 — The Man Who Ordered the Crash
Chapter 10 — The Man Who Ordered the Crash
Lorenzo didn't sleep.
Neither did Isabella.
The black car remained across the street until dawn.
His mother never left.
She simply sat behind the glass, holding the photograph of Hope as though she were waiting for someone to make the first move.
At 5:17 a.m., the car disappeared.
Lorenzo was already outside.
He ran to the street.
Nothing.
No tire marks.
No footprints.
Only one object remained beneath the windshield wiper of the car that had been parked behind it.
A white envelope.
His name was written across the front.
LORENZO.
He opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
His mother.
His father.
And a man Lorenzo had never seen before.
On the back were four words:
HE ORDERED THE CRASH.
Lorenzo stared at the photograph.
Then he recognized the man.
Not from his memory.
From the Swallow Archive.
A name he'd seen hundreds of times.
Victor Bellini.
The man everyone believed had died twenty-six years ago.
Lorenzo's blood ran cold.
Victor wasn't dead.
And if the photograph was telling the truth—
Victor wasn't the man who ordered Isabella's crash.
He was the man standing beside the person who did.
Lorenzo looked toward the safehouse.
Isabella was standing in the doorway.
She had seen his face.
“What is it?”
He held up the photograph.
Her expression changed instantly.
“Where did you get that?”
“My mother left it.”
Isabella walked toward him.
She took the photograph.
Her hands began shaking.
“That's impossible.”
“Who is he?”
She looked at Lorenzo.
“Victor Bellini.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She swallowed.
“You don't.”
“Then tell me.”
She looked back at the photograph.
“Victor wasn't your father's enemy.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“Then what was he?”
Isabella whispered:
“His partner.”
They returned inside.
Lorenzo placed the photograph on the table.
Gabriel was awake.
Rico stood near the window.
Elena sat beside Emma.
Hope slept in Isabella's arms.
Lorenzo looked at everyone.
“My mother is alive.”
No one spoke.
“She left me this.”
He placed the photograph on the table.
Gabriel stared.
His face drained of color.
“You know him.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Gabriel hesitated.
“Victor Bellini.”
Lorenzo looked at him.
“Why are you afraid?”
“Because Victor was supposed to be dead.”
“So was my mother.”
Gabriel looked down.
“Then we're dealing with people who were never where we thought they were.”
Lorenzo pointed at the photograph.
“My mother says he ordered the crash.”
Isabella shook her head.
“No.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“Then who did?”
Isabella looked at the photograph.
“Your father.”
Lorenzo stared.
“That's what everyone keeps telling me.”
“Because it's true.”
“Then why is Victor in the photograph?”
“Because he helped.”
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
“So they worked together.”
“Yes.”
“To kill you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Isabella looked toward Hope.
“Because of her.”
Lorenzo sat down.
“Start from the beginning.”
Isabella took a breath.
“Three years ago, I discovered the existence of the Swallow Archive.”
“You knew about it before we met?”
“Yes.”
“Who showed it to you?”
“Matteo.”
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed.
“Matteo Bellini?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he trust you?”
“Because he was my father.”
Lorenzo stared.
He had heard the name before.
But hearing it again changed something.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“Then Elena—”
“My grandmother.”
Lorenzo looked toward Elena.
The woman in the red coat didn't deny it.
“I was born into the Bellini family,” Isabella continued.
“Our family protected the archive for generations.”
“Until your father?”
“Until Victor.”
“Your uncle?”
“Yes.”
“Why did he want it?”
“Power.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“That part I understand.”
“But he didn't want to control the archive.”
She looked at him.
“He wanted to erase it.”
“Why?”
“Because it contained proof that the Bellini family had been laundering money through the DeLuca empire for decades.”
Lorenzo went still.
“My family?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Almost forty years.”
Lorenzo stared at the table.
“All that money…”
“Wasn't yours.”
His jaw tightened.
“My father built the empire.”
“Your father inherited the machine.”
Isabella's voice was quiet.
“Victor built the machine.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“Then what did my father do?”
“He took control.”
“And Matteo?”
“He tried to stop him.”
“What happened?”
Isabella looked away.
“Your father killed him.”
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
“Of course.”
The room was silent.
Then Gabriel spoke.
“There is something else.”
Lorenzo looked at him.
“What?”
“The crash wasn't supposed to happen that night.”
Isabella's head snapped toward him.
“What?”
Gabriel nodded.
“The original plan was different.”
Lorenzo stared.
“Explain.”
“Your father wanted to take Hope.”
“But she wasn't born yet.”
“Exactly.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“Then why attack the convoy?”
Gabriel hesitated.
“Because they thought Isabella was carrying the Bellini heir.”
“She was.”
“No.”
Gabriel looked at Isabella.
“She wasn't.”
Isabella's face went pale.
“What are you saying?”
“The baby you were carrying wasn't Hope.”
Silence.
Lorenzo stared.
Isabella looked confused.
“What?”
Gabriel continued.
“You were pregnant with another child.”
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
Gabriel looked at Elena.
Elena finally spoke.
“Her name was Sofia.”
Lorenzo felt cold.
“Who is Sofia?”
“A child who was never born.”
Isabella shook her head.
“No.”
“You miscarried three months before the crash,” Elena said.
Isabella stared.
“I don't remember.”
“You were drugged.”
“By whom?”
Elena looked at Lorenzo.
“Your father.”
Lorenzo's fists tightened.
“Why?”
“To convince Isabella she was still pregnant.”
Lorenzo stared.
“That makes no sense.”
“It does if the real target wasn't the baby.”
Isabella's face changed.
“The target was me.”
Elena nodded.
“They wanted you to believe you were carrying the heir.”
“Why?”
“To make you a target.”
Lorenzo understood.
“Then the crash was staged.”
“Yes.”
“The convoy was bait.”
“Yes.”
“Who was supposed to die?”
Isabella whispered:
“Me.”
Lorenzo stood.
“Then who was in the car?”
Gabriel looked at him.
“Clara.”
Lorenzo's chest tightened.
“Your father's daughter.”
“Yes.”
“She volunteered.”
“No.”
Gabriel's voice was quiet.
“She was forced.”
Lorenzo stared.
“By whom?”
“Your father.”
Lorenzo's expression darkened.
“How?”
“Clara knew about the archive.”
“So he threatened her.”
“He threatened her daughter.”
Lorenzo stopped.
“Clara had a daughter?”
Gabriel nodded.
“A little girl.”
“Where is she?”
Gabriel looked toward Emma.
Lorenzo followed his gaze.
His heart stopped.
“No.”
Emma was sleeping.
Elena was sitting beside her.
Lorenzo shook his head.
“Emma is Elena's daughter.”
“No.”
Gabriel's voice was soft.
“She was Clara's.”
Lorenzo looked at Elena.
She didn't move.
“Is that true?”
Elena closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Lorenzo couldn't breathe.
“Then why did you say Emma was yours?”
“To keep her alive.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
His voice cracked.
“Everyone keeps using that excuse.”
He looked around the room.
“You all lied to me.”
No one answered.
“You let me bury a child who wasn't dead.”
Silence.
“You let me believe Isabella was dead.”
Silence.
“You hid Emma.”
Silence.
“And now you're telling me Clara was her mother?”
Elena whispered:
“She was.”
Lorenzo walked away.
He needed air.
Outside, the sky was turning gray.
Lorenzo stood on the sidewalk.
His hands were shaking.
He heard footsteps behind him.
Isabella.
She stopped beside him.
“I know you're angry.”
“I'm beyond angry.”
“I know.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because we didn't know who was watching.”
“You could have trusted me.”
“I wanted to.”
“But?”
“I didn't trust the man your father had turned you into.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
“You were loyal to him.”
“I was his son.”
“You were his weapon.”
He stared.
She continued.
“Every time I tried to tell you the truth, your father knew before I could finish.”
“How?”
“Your phone.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“What about it?”
“Your father had access.”
“To my phone?”
“Yes.”
“He could listen?”
“Not only listen.”
She swallowed.
“He could make you forget.”
Lorenzo felt a chill.
“That's impossible.”
“No.”
She looked into his eyes.
“It's why you don't remember Elena.”
Lorenzo froze.
“What did he do?”
“Medication.”
“Again?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Elena was the first person who made you question him.”
Lorenzo stared at the street.
He remembered a woman.
A wedding.
A child.
Then nothing.
“What happened to Elena?”
Isabella looked toward the safehouse.
“She survived.”
“Then why did she leave?”
“Because your father told her you would die if she stayed.”
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
“So she sacrificed herself.”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“For you.”
He looked at Isabella.
“And you?”
“I came later.”
“Why?”
“To finish what she started.”
“What?”
“Saving you.”
A car horn sounded.
Both turned.
A black sedan stopped beside them.
The rear window lowered.
An old woman sat inside.
Lorenzo's mother.
“Get in.”
Lorenzo didn't move.
“Why?”
“Because your father knows where you are.”
Lorenzo's hand went to his gun.
“How?”
His mother looked at Isabella.
“She told him.”
Isabella went pale.
“What?”
Lorenzo stared.
His mother pointed at Isabella.
“She's been communicating with him for months.”
Isabella shook her head.
“No.”
His mother opened the door.
“Ask her about the letters.”
Lorenzo looked at Isabella.
“What letters?”
Isabella said nothing.
His mother smiled sadly.
“That's what I thought.”
She drove away.
Lorenzo turned toward Isabella.
“Letters?”
She swallowed.
“I can explain.”
“Then explain.”
“I wrote to him.”
His expression hardened.
“Why?”
“To keep him from finding you.”
“By talking to him?”
“I had to know what he knew.”
“You lied again.”
“I was protecting you.”
“Stop saying that.”
He stepped closer.
“You're not the only one who knows how to protect people.”
Isabella's eyes filled with tears.
“Then why don't you?”
Lorenzo froze.
She continued.
“Why don't you protect me?”
“What?”
“Because you still think I'm the enemy.”
“I don't know what you are.”
She looked at him.
“I am the woman who loved you when you didn't remember loving me.”
His anger faltered.
“I am the woman who carried your child.”
He looked at Hope.
“I am the woman who watched you mourn another woman's daughter because I was trying to keep yours alive.”
She wiped her tears.
“And I am the woman who has spent three years fighting a war you didn't even know existed.”
Lorenzo said nothing.
Isabella whispered:
“You don't have to forgive me.”
Then she walked inside.
Lorenzo stood alone.
His mother's photograph remained in his pocket.
The photograph of Victor.
The letter.
The crash.
Everything pointed toward one truth.
His father had ordered the attack.
But someone had helped him.
And Lorenzo knew where to look.
The old DeLuca estate.
He returned inside.
Gabriel was waiting.
“I know where we're going.”
Gabriel nodded.
“The estate.”
“Yes.”
“You can't go.”
“Why?”
“Because your father wants you there.”
“I know.”
“It's a trap.”
“I know.”
Gabriel stared.
“Then why?”
Lorenzo checked his weapon.
“Because I'm tired of being the man everyone protects.”
Gabriel sighed.
“I knew you'd say that.”
“You're coming.”
“Yes.”
“Rico?”
“Already ready.”
“Elena?”
Gabriel looked toward her.
“She won't go.”
Lorenzo walked toward Elena.
She stood immediately.
“I'm coming.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You have Emma.”
“And you have Hope.”
She looked at him.
“We're both mothers.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“Then stay here.”
“No.”
Her voice was firm.
“I've run from your father for three years.”
She picked up her coat.
“I'm done running.”
They left at sunset.
Lorenzo drove.
Gabriel sat beside him.
Rico followed in another vehicle.
Isabella sat in the back with Emma and Hope.
Elena followed behind.
For the first time, the people who had spent years hiding from one another were moving in the same direction.
Toward the man who had started everything.
Toward Lorenzo's father.
Toward the truth.
The DeLuca estate appeared at the end of the road.
Dark.
Silent.
Waiting.
Lorenzo stopped the car.
The front door opened before anyone touched it.
A voice came from inside.
“Come in, son.”
Lorenzo froze.
His father's voice.
Gabriel raised his gun.
Lorenzo stepped forward.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“Gabriel.”
His brother looked at him.
“This is between me and him.”
Gabriel finally nodded.
Lorenzo entered.
The door closed behind him.
Inside, the house looked exactly as he remembered.
Except for one thing.
On the dining table sat a bottle of wine.
Two glasses.
And a folder.
His father's voice came from the darkness.
“Sit.”
Lorenzo did.
The old man stepped into the light.
No guards.
No weapon.
Just his father.
“You've been looking for answers.”
“Yes.”
“You'll get them.”
His father pushed the folder across the table.
Lorenzo opened it.
Inside was the original report from the crash.
He read the first line.
Target: Isabella Conti.
Then the second.
Secondary target: unborn child.
Then the third.
Authorized by: Lorenzo DeLuca.
His blood froze.
“What?”
His father smiled.
“You ordered the crash.”
Lorenzo stared at the signature.
It was his.
His handwriting.
His name.
His blood ran cold.
“I didn't.”
“You did.”
“No.”
“You just don't remember.”
Lorenzo looked up.
His father leaned forward.
“Because I made you forget.”
Silence.
“And the worst part?”
His father smiled.
“You asked me to.”
Lorenzo's world stopped.
“You begged me to erase the memory.”
“Why?”
His father opened another photograph.
A younger Lorenzo.
Standing beside Isabella.
A gun in his hand.
Blood on his shirt.
And behind him—
Elena.
Lorenzo stared.
“What happened that night?”
His father whispered:
“You killed someone.”
“Who?”
His father placed one final photograph on the table.
Lorenzo looked at it.
And his entire body went cold.
It was Isabella.
Alive.
Pregnant.
Standing beside him.
But in the photograph, Lorenzo wasn't protecting her.
He was pointing a gun at her.
And behind them was the woman in the red coat.
Elena.
Holding a newborn.
The truth was suddenly worse than anything Lorenzo had imagined.
Because maybe his father hadn't ordered the crash.
Maybe Lorenzo had.
May you like
And maybe the man he'd spent eight months hating...
had been protecting him from himself.
