Chapter 11 — The Daughter in the Safe House
Chapter 11 — The Daughter in the Safe House
The photograph wouldn't stop shaking.
Not because Lorenzo's hands were trembling.
Because the world beneath them had.
He stared at the image on the table.
Isabella.
Pregnant.
Elena beside her.
A newborn in Elena's arms.
And Lorenzo pointing a gun directly at Isabella.
His father watched him without blinking.
“You don't remember.”
Lorenzo's voice was barely audible.
“I didn't do this.”
“You did.”
“No.”
“You just don't remember why.”
Lorenzo pushed the photograph away.
“Where did you get it?”
“From your own security archive.”
“My archive?”
“Yes.”
“Then show me the original.”
His father smiled.
“It's already in your hands.”
Lorenzo picked up the photograph again.
There was a date written on the back.
Three years ago.
Two days before the crash.
His stomach tightened.
“Why was Isabella pregnant?”
His father leaned back.
“Because you wanted an heir.”
“That doesn't explain the gun.”
“No.”
“What happened?”
His father looked toward the dark windows.
“You discovered the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That Isabella had been working against you.”
Lorenzo shook his head.
“She wasn't.”
“She was.”
“She was fighting you.”
“Exactly.”
His father slid another photograph across the table.
Isabella entering an underground facility.
Another.
Isabella speaking to Victor Bellini.
Another.
Isabella handing a folder to Elena.
Another.
A photograph of Hope's ultrasound.
Lorenzo stared.
“You were watching her.”
“I watched everyone.”
“And you knew about Hope.”
“I knew before you did.”
“Then why didn't you tell me?”
“Because you would have protected her.”
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
“Isn't that what a father should do?”
His father's eyes became cold.
“Not when protecting her destroys the family.”
Lorenzo stood.
“Where is the original crash report?”
“You have it.”
“No.”
He pointed at the folder.
“This is a copy.”
His father smiled.
“You're learning.”
“Where's the original?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Where?”
His father didn't answer.
Lorenzo leaned across the table.
“Where?”
His father finally said:
“The safe house.”
Lorenzo froze.
“What safe house?”
“The one your mother built.”
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
His father smiled.
“That's the problem.”
“What?”
“You've already been there.”
Lorenzo stared.
“Where?”
His father stood.
“Ask your wife.”
Lorenzo's blood ran cold.
“Isabella?”
“Yes.”
“What does she know?”
“Everything.”
Lorenzo left the estate before midnight.
He didn't tell Isabella what his father had said.
Not yet.
He needed to know whether she would tell him the truth herself.
When he returned to the safehouse, the lights were on.
Emma was asleep.
Hope was in her crib.
Elena sat beside the window.
Isabella was gone.
Lorenzo's heart stopped.
“Where is Isabella?”
Elena looked up.
“She went downstairs.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
He moved toward the basement.
A door stood open.
Inside was a room he'd never seen.
Lorenzo stopped.
Shelves covered every wall.
Medical files.
Photographs.
Passports.
Birth certificates.
Weapons.
Maps.
And dozens of folders marked with the same symbol.
A swallow.
Then he saw Isabella.
She was standing beside a metal cabinet.
Her back was turned.
“What are you doing?”
She froze.
Slowly, she turned.
“I was looking for something.”
“What?”
She held up a small file.
“Her.”
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“Who?”
Isabella looked toward the crib upstairs.
“Your daughter.”
His expression changed.
“Hope?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Isabella's eyes filled with tears.
“The daughter your father doesn't know about.”
Lorenzo stared.
“What?”
“She is here.”
“Where?”
Isabella pointed toward a locked door.
Lorenzo opened it.
Inside was a small bedroom.
A child's bed.
Toys.
Books.
Drawings.
Photographs.
A tiny pink backpack.
And a little girl sitting on the floor.
She looked about four years old.
She was drawing a house.
She looked up.
Her eyes met Lorenzo's.
He stopped breathing.
There was something familiar about her face.
Something painfully familiar.
The girl stood.
“Are you Daddy?”
Lorenzo couldn't speak.
Isabella covered her mouth.
The girl walked toward him.
“I've seen your picture.”
Lorenzo crouched.
“What's your name?”
She smiled shyly.
“Anna.”
“Anna what?”
She looked at Isabella.
Isabella whispered:
“Anna DeLuca.”
Lorenzo's heart slammed against his ribs.
“Who is your mother?”
Anna pointed at Isabella.
Lorenzo looked at her.
“Isabella?”
Isabella shook her head.
“No.”
Anna corrected her.
“Mommy is Elena.”
Lorenzo turned.
Elena had appeared in the doorway.
Her face was devastated.
Lorenzo stared.
“Anna is yours?”
Elena nodded.
“And mine?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
“How old is she?”
“Four.”
Lorenzo looked at Anna.
“But you said Emma was your daughter.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because Emma was Clara's.”
Lorenzo's mind raced.
Three daughters.
Hope.
Emma.
Anna.
He looked at Isabella.
“How many children do you know about?”
She whispered:
“Four.”
Lorenzo's blood went cold.
“Four?”
Isabella nodded.
“There is one more.”
“Where?”
“Dead.”
His face tightened.
“Who?”
“Your first daughter.”
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
“Her name?”
“Lily.”
The name struck him like a bullet.
Lily.
The name he had once heard in an old file.
A child who had supposedly died at birth.
He looked at Elena.
“You had four children?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Only Anna.”
“Then who is Lily?”
Isabella answered.
“She was born to a woman named Mara.”
“Who?”
“A Bellini.”
Lorenzo sat down.
The room was becoming too small.
Too many children.
Too many mothers.
Too many secrets.
Anna came closer.
“Are you really Daddy?”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“Yes.”
She smiled.
Then hugged him.
His arms went around her automatically.
He had no idea how to be a father to a four-year-old he had never known existed.
But when she whispered,
“I waited for you,”
something inside him shattered.
Later that night, Lorenzo sat on the floor beside Anna's bed.
She had fallen asleep holding his hand.
Isabella stood in the doorway.
“You should have told me.”
“I wanted to.”
“When?”
“When it was safe.”
“It was never safe.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because your father knew about her.”
Lorenzo looked up.
“He knew?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because Anna was born inside the DeLuca estate.”
His face hardened.
“Why?”
“Because I was trying to get her out.”
“From whom?”
“Your father.”
“What did he want?”
“The same thing he wanted from Hope.”
“Control.”
Isabella nodded.
“But Anna wasn't the heir.”
“Then why was she important?”
“Because she was proof.”
“Of what?”
“That your father had another bloodline.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“What bloodline?”
Isabella walked to the cabinet.
She removed a folder.
Inside was a birth certificate.
Lorenzo read the name.
Anna Elena DeLuca.
Father:
Lorenzo Matteo DeLuca.
Mother:
Elena Bellini.
He stared.
“Matteo?”
“Your middle name.”
His face changed.
“You used my name.”
“Because it was the only way to protect her.”
“From my father?”
“Yes.”
Lorenzo looked at Anna.
“What did he do?”
Isabella's voice became quiet.
“He tried to erase her.”
She showed him another document.
A death certificate.
Anna Elena DeLuca.
Age four.
Cause of death:
Pneumonia.
Lorenzo stared.
“She's supposed to be dead.”
“Yes.”
“When was this filed?”
“Two years ago.”
“By whom?”
“Your father.”
Lorenzo felt sick.
“He killed her on paper.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because dead children don't inherit.”
“She's an heir?”
“Every DeLuca child is.”
Lorenzo looked at the papers.
“And Hope?”
“Bellini and DeLuca.”
“Emma?”
“Bellini.”
“Anna?”
“DeLuca and Bellini.”
He understood.
Every child connected to him was part of the same war.
His father wasn't fighting Isabella.
He wasn't fighting Elena.
He wasn't even fighting Lorenzo.
He was fighting the children.
A noise came from upstairs.
Lorenzo stood immediately.
Elena entered the room.
“Someone is outside.”
Gabriel appeared behind her.
“How many?”
“Six.”
Rico came down the stairs.
“Eight.”
Lorenzo looked at Isabella.
“Can they get in?”
“Eventually.”
“Then we leave.”
Elena shook her head.
“There's nowhere to go.”
Lorenzo looked toward Anna.
“There's always somewhere.”
Isabella stared at him.
“Not with four children.”
Lorenzo froze.
“Four?”
Isabella nodded.
“Anna.”
“Emma.”
“Hope.”
“And?”
She hesitated.
“The fourth is still missing.”
Lorenzo's expression changed.
“Where?”
“We don't know.”
“Then find her.”
“She may be dead.”
“No.”
His voice became firm.
“I've buried enough children.”
The front door exploded.
Gunfire filled the house.
Lorenzo grabbed Anna.
Elena grabbed Emma.
Isabella took Hope.
Gabriel fired from the hallway.
Rico locked the basement door.
“Move!”
They ran through the hidden passage.
Anna clung to Lorenzo.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Are they bad?”
“Yes.”
“Will they hurt us?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
Lorenzo looked into her eyes.
“I promise.”
They reached the tunnel.
Then a gunshot echoed behind them.
Gabriel stumbled.
“Gabriel!”
He fell against the wall.
Blood spread across his shirt.
Lorenzo moved toward him.
“Go!”
“You're bleeding.”
“It's not deep.”
“Liar.”
Gabriel smiled.
“Family tradition.”
Lorenzo grabbed his arm.
“Come on.”
They moved.
At the end of the tunnel was an old garage.
A black SUV waited.
The engine was running.
Lorenzo opened the doors.
“Everyone in.”
They climbed inside.
The vehicle sped into the night.
Behind them, the safehouse burned.
Lorenzo watched the flames through the rear window.
Everything he had thought was hidden was now exposed.
Everything he had thought was dead was alive.
And everything he loved was being hunted.
They drove for almost an hour.
Then Isabella spoke.
“We need to go north.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother has another safe house.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“You know where?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Connecticut.”
“Who is there?”
Isabella hesitated.
“Someone who can protect Anna.”
“Who?”
She looked at him.
“Your mother.”
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed.
“She'll protect Anna?”
“She has been protecting her for four years.”
“Then why didn't she tell me?”
“Because she was afraid.”
“Of my father?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Isabella looked toward the darkness outside.
“Of you.”
Lorenzo stared.
“Why would my mother fear me?”
“Because she knows what happened the night of the crash.”
“What happened?”
Isabella's voice dropped.
“You killed someone.”
Lorenzo gripped the steering wheel.
“Who?”
She didn't answer.
“Tell me.”
“I can't.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because if I tell you now, you may not be able to live with it.”
Lorenzo laughed bitterly.
“I've buried my fiancée and a child who wasn't mine.”
He looked at her.
“Try me.”
Isabella swallowed.
“You didn't order the crash.”
Lorenzo's heart stopped.
“But the signature?”
“Forged.”
“The photographs?”
“Manipulated.”
“My father?”
“Lied.”
“Then who ordered it?”
Isabella looked at him.
“You.”
Lorenzo stared.
“What?”
“You ordered the crash.”
Silence.
“But not the way your father told you.”
“What does that mean?”
“You ordered it to save someone.”
“Who?”
Isabella looked toward Anna.
“Her.”
Lorenzo glanced at the sleeping child.
“I ordered a crash to save Anna?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your father had discovered she existed.”
Lorenzo's mind raced.
“And Isabella?”
“She wasn't supposed to be there.”
“Then why was she?”
“Because she refused to let you sacrifice yourself.”
Lorenzo shook his head.
“I don't understand.”
“You told your father you would fake your own death.”
“To save Anna.”
“Yes.”
“And he changed the plan.”
“Yes.”
“He turned it into a real crash.”
“Yes.”
“And Isabella was caught in it.”
“Yes.”
“And Clara?”
“Died trying to save her.”
Lorenzo's eyes filled with tears.
“So the crash was mine.”
Isabella nodded.
“But the murder wasn't.”
He looked at her.
“Who killed Clara?”
She whispered:
“Your father.”
The SUV continued north.
Anna slept beside Elena.
Emma slept beside Rico.
Hope slept in Isabella's arms.
Lorenzo drove.
For the first time, the truth was beginning to form a shape.
He hadn't ordered Isabella's death.
He had tried to prevent it.
His father had taken his plan and twisted it.
The crash had been a betrayal from inside his own family.
Then his phone rang.
His mother's number.
Lorenzo answered.
“Mom?”
Her voice was trembling.
“Where are you?”
“On the road.”
“Who is with you?”
“Everyone.”
Silence.
Then:
“Anna?”
Lorenzo looked at the little girl.
“Yes.”
His mother began crying.
“Thank God.”
“Why?”
“You need to listen carefully.”
“What?”
“Do not bring Anna here.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I was wrong.”
“About what?”
“The safe house.”
A pause.
“Your father doesn't know where it is.”
“Then we're safe.”
“No.”
Her voice broke.
“Because the safe house isn't mine.”
Lorenzo's stomach tightened.
“Whose is it?”
His mother whispered:
“Victor Bellini's.”
Lorenzo slammed the brakes.
The SUV stopped.
Everyone woke.
Isabella looked at him.
“What happened?”
Lorenzo held the phone to his ear.
His mother's voice continued:
“And Lorenzo…”
“Yes?”
“Victor isn't dead.”
Lorenzo looked at Isabella.
“I know.”
“No.”
His mother began sobbing.
“You don't understand.”
“What?”
“Victor is not the enemy.”
Lorenzo froze.
“Then who is?”
Silence.
Then his mother whispered:
“The person who ordered the crash is the person you've trusted most.”
The call ended.
Lorenzo looked around the vehicle.
At Gabriel.
At Rico.
At Elena.
At Isabella.
At the children.
Everyone was silent.
Then Anna opened her eyes.
She looked directly at Lorenzo.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
She pointed toward the road behind them.
“There is a man following us.”
Lorenzo looked in the rearview mirror.
A black SUV was approaching.
Its headlights were off.
The vehicle accelerated.
Lorenzo's hand moved toward his gun.
The SUV drew closer.
Then its headlights flashed twice.
Isabella went pale.
“What?”
“That signal.”
“What does it mean?”
She stared at the approaching vehicle.
May you like
“It means the person who ordered the crash has found us.”
And then the SUV opened fire.
