Chapter 10 — The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
Chapter 10 — The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
The Bellini house looked exactly as I remembered.
That was the first thing that frightened me.
The iron gates opened without resistance.
The long gravel driveway curved through the trees.
The stone fountain still stood in the center of the courtyard.
Even the lights in the upper windows were the same warm yellow they had been when I was a child.
Nothing had changed.
Except me.
I parked at the bottom of the steps.
The black folder sat on the passenger seat.
EMMA.
My daughter's name.
My inheritance.
My father's leverage.
I picked it up.
Then I stepped out.
No guards approached.
No weapons appeared.
The front door was already open.
That was worse.
My father wanted me inside.
I walked through the doorway.
“I'm here.”
My voice echoed through the entrance hall.
Nothing.
Then a woman's voice came from upstairs.
“Luca.”
I froze.
I knew that voice.
I had heard it once before.
Twenty-six years ago.
Before I was old enough to understand what it meant.
My mother's sister.
My aunt.
Elena Bellini.
I looked toward the staircase.
A woman appeared.
She was older than I remembered.
Her hair was silver.
Her face thinner.
But her eyes were exactly the same.
She looked at me.
And smiled.
“It's been a long time.”
I couldn't move.
“You're alive.”
She laughed softly.
“Apparently.”
“I saw your funeral.”
“I know.”
“You were supposed to be dead.”
“So was your father.”
My grip tightened around the folder.
“Where is Emma?”
Elena's smile disappeared.
“Always the daughter.”
“Yes.”
“She looks like Rachel.”
“Yes.”
“But she has your eyes.”
I stepped forward.
“Where is she?”
“She is upstairs.”
I started toward the staircase.
Elena held out one hand.
“Not yet.”
I stopped.
“Why?”
“Because your father wants to speak with you first.”
“Where?”
“The library.”
I looked toward the closed double doors.
The same library where my grandfather had spent his final years.
The same room where my father had once told me that weakness was something to be removed.
I walked toward it.
Before opening the door, I turned.
“Why are you alive?”
Elena looked away.
“Because your father needed everyone to believe I was dead.”
“Why?”
She looked back at me.
“Because I knew what he had done.”
I opened the door.
The library was dark.
A single lamp illuminated the desk.
And behind it sat a man.
My father.
Adrian Moretti.
He looked older.
Much older.
But alive.
His hair was gray.
His face thinner.
A deep scar crossed his left cheek.
Yet his eyes were exactly the same.
Cold.
Calm.
Unforgiving.
I stared at him.
For thirty-five years, I had believed he was dead.
For three years, I had believed he had abandoned me.
For one terrible hour, I had believed he had taken my daughter.
Now he sat ten feet away.
Alive.
“Hello, son.”
I couldn't answer.
He smiled.
“You've grown.”
I laughed.
It came out bitter.
“You've been watching me.”
“Of course.”
“My entire life?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you were mine.”
I stepped closer.
“I am not yours.”
His smile faded.
“You are my blood.”
“No.”
He stared.
“You believe Isabella's story?”
“I believe the documents.”
“Documents can lie.”
“So can you.”
For the first time, anger crossed his face.
Good.
I wanted to see it.
I wanted to know he was capable of losing control.
“You have your mother's arrogance.”
“And your father's cruelty.”
He leaned back.
“You think you've become a man.”
“I have.”
“No.”
His eyes hardened.
“You've become sentimental.”
He tapped the desk.
“The moment you had a daughter, you became vulnerable.”
I placed the folder on the table.
“You wanted this.”
His eyes moved toward it.
“Yes.”
“You wanted me here.”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me where Emma is.”
“Safe.”
“Bring her down.”
“No.”
My hands tightened.
“Adrian.”
He smiled.
“You still use my name.”
“Because I don't know what else to call you.”
“You used to call me Father.”
“I was a child.”
“You were my son.”
“I was your weapon.”
His expression changed.
For a second, something almost human appeared.
Then it vanished.
“You don't understand what I did for you.”
“You killed people.”
“Yes.”
“You destroyed families.”
“Yes.”
“You erased my uncle.”
“Yes.”
“You made my mother disappear.”
“Yes.”
“You stole my inheritance.”
“Yes.”
“And you lied about your death.”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“You don't even deny it.”
“Why should I?”
He stood.
“Because you have spent your entire life believing lies.”
He walked toward the window.
“Your grandfather wasn't the man you think he was.”
“I know.”
“He killed people.”
“I know.”
“He built the empire on blood.”
“I know.”
“He manipulated your mother.”
“I know.”
“He used Julian.”
“I know.”
Adrian turned.
“You know nothing.”
I remained silent.
He continued.
“The Bellini family wasn't destroyed by me.”
“Then who destroyed it?”
“You did.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“You were born.”
Silence.
“You were the heir.”
“You were the child everyone wanted.”
“Your grandfather wanted to give you everything.”
“And what did you do?”
“I protected you.”
I laughed.
“By pretending to be my father?”
“By becoming the villain.”
I stopped.
He looked at me.
“Do you think I wanted to be hated?”
“I think you wanted power.”
“Yes.”
“That's all.”
“No.”
His voice sharpened.
“I wanted survival.”
He walked back toward the desk.
“Your grandfather had enemies.”
“I know.”
“They wanted the Bellini money.”
“I know.”
“They wanted you.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because you were the only heir they couldn't control.”
He opened a drawer.
Inside was a photograph.
Me.
Newborn.
My mother holding me.
My grandfather standing beside her.
And Adrian in the background.
I stared at the photograph.
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your grandfather ordered me to protect you.”
I looked up.
“Then why did you become my enemy?”
Adrian's expression changed.
“Because protection became impossible.”
He placed another photograph on the desk.
A younger Julian.
Then another.
My mother.
Then another.
Rachel.
Then Emma.
Every person I loved.
Every person I had tried to protect.
Every person who had become a target.
“You weren't the only one watching them.”
I looked at him.
“There were people above me.”
“Who?”
He shook his head.
“People you don't know.”
“Names.”
“No.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
I slammed my hand onto the desk.
“Where is my daughter?”
He looked at me.
“You want Emma?”
“Yes.”
“Then answer one question.”
“What?”
“Will you give me the inheritance?”
I stared.
He smiled.
“You turn thirty-five in twenty-one days.”
“You're counting.”
“I've counted every day.”
“Why?”
“Because the moment you turn thirty-five, everything disappears.”
“Everything you stole.”
“Everything I built.”
“You built nothing.”
He laughed softly.
“You still think this is about money.”
“Isn't it?”
“No.”
He leaned closer.
“This is about control.”
I stared.
“Over what?”
“Your family.”
I shook my head.
“My family is already broken.”
“No.”
He pointed toward the ceiling.
“They are waiting.”
“Who?”
“Everyone.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did you do?”
Adrian smiled.
“I invited them.”
The doors behind me opened.
I turned.
Julian walked in.
Then my mother.
Then Elena.
Then Marco.
I froze.
Marco immediately looked at me.
He hadn't followed me.
He had been brought here.
Adrian smiled.
“Now we can begin.”
I looked around the room.
“What is this?”
“A family meeting.”
“You kidnapped my daughter.”
“No.”
“You're holding her hostage.”
“Yes.”
“So what's the difference?”
“The difference is that I intend to return her.”
“When?”
“When you understand what she is.”
I felt my heart pound.
“What does that mean?”
Adrian opened another folder.
This one was red.
He placed it on the desk.
EMMA BELLINI — BIOLOGICAL RECORD
I stared.
“What is this?”
“Your daughter's birth records.”
“I've seen them.”
“No.”
He opened the folder.
“Not these.”
The first page contained DNA results.
I read the first line.
Then the second.
Then I stopped breathing.
I looked at my mother.
She looked away.
I looked at Julian.
His face had gone pale.
Then I looked at Adrian.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Whose DNA is this?”
He pointed at the page.
“Emma's.”
“Obviously.”
“Then look at the second name.”
I did.
My blood turned cold.
Biological Father: Julian Bellini.
I couldn't breathe.
“No.”
Julian stepped forward.
“Luca—”
“Don't.”
My voice cracked.
“No.”
Adrian smiled.
“You wanted the truth.”
I looked at Julian.
“You're her father?”
Julian looked devastated.
“I didn't know.”
“You knew Rachel?”
“No.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“No.”
“Then this is fake.”
Adrian nodded.
“Exactly.”
I stared.
“What?”
He turned the page.
The DNA report had been altered.
A second test followed.
Biological Father: Luca Bellini.
I exhaled.
Adrian watched me.
“Do you see the problem?”
I looked at him.
“Someone is trying to create doubt about Emma's parentage.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever controls her identity controls the inheritance.”
My mind raced.
“Someone wants to challenge her legitimacy.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Adrian didn't answer.
Instead, he opened another document.
A legal petition.
REQUEST TO FREEZE EMMA BELLINI'S INHERITANCE
Filed three months earlier.
The petitioner was a name I recognized.
Judge Victor Hale.
I stared.
“Why would he do this?”
“Because he knows what your daughter inherits.”
“What does she inherit?”
Adrian's expression became serious.
“More than you.”
I felt cold.
“How much?”
“Everything your grandfather hid.”
I looked at my mother.
She nodded slowly.
“Emma was named in the original trust.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because your grandfather believed you would die young.”
My chest tightened.
“He knew about my heart.”
“Yes.”
Adrian looked at me.
“Everyone knew.”
I felt betrayed all over again.
“Then why hide it?”
“Because your grandfather believed fear would make you controllable.”
I shook my head.
“He was wrong.”
Adrian smiled.
“Yes.”
For the first time, I saw something like pride in his face.
“You were always the difficult one.”
I looked at him.
“And Emma?”
“She is the final heir.”
I stared.
“So if I die…”
“She inherits.”
“And if she inherits…”
“The entire network becomes hers.”
I understood.
Victor Hale didn't want the money.
He wanted the information.
The names.
The records.
The leverage.
And Emma was the key.
I looked at Adrian.
“Where is she?”
He finally pointed toward the door.
“Second floor.”
I moved.
But Adrian called after me.
“Luca.”
I stopped.
“You should know something.”
“What?”
He looked at me.
“I wasn't the man who took Emma.”
I turned.
“Then who was?”
Adrian's expression hardened.
“The same person who forged the DNA report.”
“Victor?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
He looked toward my mother.
She closed her eyes.
Adrian said:
“Rachel.”
My heart stopped.
“No.”
“Ask her.”
I turned toward Rachel.
She stood in the doorway.
Her face was pale.
“Luca…”
I stared at her.
“Tell me he's lying.”
She didn't answer.
“Rachel.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I never wanted this.”
My heart sank.
“What did you do?”
She whispered:
“I signed the papers.”
“What papers?”
“The ones that gave your father temporary custody of Emma.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Why?”
“Because they told me you were dying.”
I stared.
“They said if you died, Emma would be taken by the state.”
“Who told you?”
She looked at Adrian.
Then at me.
“Your mother.”
My mother closed her eyes.
I stepped backward.
Everyone had lied.
Everyone had manipulated everyone.
And somewhere upstairs, my daughter was waiting.
I turned toward the staircase.
“I don't care who signed what.”
I looked at Adrian.
“I don't care who forged the DNA.”
I looked at Victor's name on the document.
“I don't care who wants the inheritance.”
Then I looked at Rachel.
“But if any of you have used my daughter to control me…”
My voice dropped.
“You will never see her again.”
A child's voice came from upstairs.
“Daddy?”
I froze.
Emma.
I ran.
I reached the second floor.
Her bedroom door was open.
Emma stood beside the window.
Mr. Buttons in her arms.
When she saw me, she smiled.
“Daddy.”
I dropped to my knees.
She ran into my arms.
I held her.
For several seconds, the world disappeared.
Then she whispered into my ear:
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“The woman who brought me here isn't Grandma.”
I pulled back.
“What woman?”
Emma looked toward the hallway.
“The woman with Grandma.”
My blood went cold.
“Who?”
She pointed.
“She has your eyes.”
I looked down the hallway.
A woman stood in the shadows.
She looked exactly like my mother.
But younger.
Much younger.
My mother appeared behind me.
Her face went white.
“No.”
I stared at the woman.
“Who are you?”
She smiled.
“I think you know.”
I looked at my mother.
She whispered one word.
“Claudia.”
My aunt.
The woman everyone believed had died with my grandfather.
The woman who had disappeared twenty-six years ago.
The woman whose name had never appeared in any official record.
She stepped into the light.
And smiled at Emma.
“I've been waiting for you.”
Emma buried her face against me.
I held her tighter.
Claudia looked at me.
“You finally came home.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
She smiled.
“You still don't understand.”
She pointed toward the black folder in my hand.
“Your father wasn't the man who was supposed to be dead.”
Her eyes moved toward the hallway.
May you like
“I was.”
And behind her, every light in the Bellini house suddenly turned red.
