Chapter 3 — The Woman Who Never Stopped Hating Me
Chapter 3 — The Woman Who Never Stopped Hating Me
Rachel had once told me that hatred was easier than grief.
I hadn't understood her.
Not then.
Three years later, I finally did.
Because grief made you wonder what might have been.
Hatred gave you someone to blame.
And Rachel Donovan had spent three years blaming me.
She had every right.
The warehouse was still dark when the voice came through the speakers.
“You always were slow, Luca.”
I tightened my arm around Emma.
She was trembling against my chest.
Across the warehouse, Viktor Sokolov stood beneath a single emergency light.
Except the man beside him wasn't Viktor.
It was the man I had spent eighteen years believing was dead.
Matteo.
My brother.
My older brother.
My ghost.
He stood beside the screen displaying Rachel.
And he looked exactly as he had in the last photograph I remembered.
Older, of course.
But unmistakably him.
The same dark eyes.
The same crooked smile.
The same small scar beneath his left eyebrow.
I couldn't breathe.
“You're dead.”
Matteo smiled.
“So everyone was told.”
Emma looked up at me.
“Daddy?”
I forced myself to look at her.
“It's okay.”
She shook her head.
“It's not.”
She was six years old.
And already smarter than half the men I had spent my life around.
“No,” I admitted quietly.
“It isn't.”
A gunshot cracked somewhere behind us.
I pulled Emma lower.
The warehouse erupted into motion.
Men shouted.
Footsteps thundered.
The lights flickered back on.
And suddenly I saw what I hadn't noticed before.
The warehouse wasn't empty.
There were cameras everywhere.
High corners.
Support beams.
Loading doors.
Every movement was being recorded.
This wasn't an execution site.
It was a stage.
And Matteo was directing the performance.
“Let Rachel go.”
My voice echoed through the warehouse.
Matteo laughed.
“You still give orders.”
“Let her go.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain it.”
He stepped closer to the screen.
Rachel's face appeared larger.
She was bruised.
Not badly.
But enough.
Enough to make something inside me turn cold.
I looked at her.
“Rachel.”
Her eyes found the camera.
Then mine.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she whispered:
“You came.”
I swallowed.
“I promised I would.”
Her expression hardened.
“You've never kept a promise to me.”
The words landed harder than any bullet.
Emma looked between us.
“Is that Mommy?”
Rachel heard her.
Her face changed.
“Emma?”
Emma turned toward the screen.
“Mommy!”
Rachel's composure shattered.
“Oh, baby.”
Emma tried to move toward the screen.
I held her.
“Mommy!”
“I'm here.”
Rachel was crying now.
“I'm right here.”
Emma looked at me.
“Make them open the door.”
I looked toward Matteo.
“Open it.”
He smiled.
“See?”
“What?”
“You already sound like a father.”
My jaw tightened.
“You wanted me to come.”
“Yes.”
“I'm here.”
“Not yet.”
“What do you want?”
Matteo glanced at Emma.
Then at me.
“The truth.”
I almost laughed.
“You kidnap a child and call it a search for truth?”
“You kidnapped yourself from your family long before I touched your daughter.”
My expression hardened.
“You don't know anything about my family.”
Matteo's smile disappeared.
“I know everything.”
The warehouse fell silent.
Then he said:
“I know why you left Rachel.”
My grip on Emma tightened.
“I know why you never put your name on Emma's birth certificate.”
I said nothing.
“I know who paid for Rachel's apartment.”
Nothing.
“I know who watched Emma at preschool.”
Nothing.
“I know who sent the money every month.”
My jaw clenched.
“And I know what you told Rachel the night you disappeared.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
Matteo continued.
“You told her that if she loved Emma, she would never look for you again.”
Rachel opened her eyes.
They were full of something I recognized immediately.
Pain.
Not fresh pain.
Old pain.
The kind that had been carried so long it became part of someone's personality.
“Rachel,” I said.
She looked at me through the screen.
“Don't.”
“Listen to me.”
“No.”
“Rachel—”
“You don't get to say my name like we're still—”
She stopped.
Her voice cracked.
“Like we're still something.”
I looked down.
Emma was watching me.
I had imagined introducing myself to my daughter a hundred different ways.
I had never imagined doing it while the woman I loved looked at me as if she wished I had never existed.
Viktor stepped forward.
“You have ten minutes.”
“For what?”
“To decide whether you want your daughter or your old life.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
He pointed toward a steel door.
Behind it was darkness.
“You walk through that door alone, and Emma goes free.”
Rachel immediately shouted:
“No!”
I looked at her.
She shook her head.
“Don't.”
Matteo smiled.
“You see?”
He turned toward me.
“She still knows you.”
I frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
“She knows exactly what happens when you choose your world over the people you love.”
Rachel's eyes filled with tears.
“I know what happens when he chooses his world.”
Matteo looked satisfied.
“You should listen to her.”
I looked at Rachel.
“Tell me.”
She stared at me.
“You want me to tell you?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
She took a breath.
“The night you left, you didn't just disappear.”
I felt something shift in my chest.
“You planned it.”
Rachel continued.
“You had already moved money.”
I said nothing.
“You had already arranged security.”
Nothing.
“You had already prepared another identity.”
I looked at Matteo.
He was watching me.
Rachel continued.
“You even had a new apartment ready.”
My jaw tightened.
“You knew?”
“I found out later.”
“Rachel—”
“You thought you were protecting us.”
She laughed bitterly.
“You weren't.”
I couldn't answer.
“You were protecting yourself.”
I closed my eyes.
She was repeating the words Marco had said.
Words I had already admitted to myself.
But hearing them from Rachel was different.
She continued.
“You didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth.”
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
“You didn't even give me a choice.”
“I couldn't.”
“You could.”
Her voice became sharper.
“You just didn't want to.”
Silence.
Emma looked up at me.
“Why did you leave Mommy?”
I looked down at her.
There was no escape from the question.
“I thought leaving would keep you safe.”
“Did it?”
I stared at her.
“No.”
She nodded.
Children sometimes accepted truth more easily than adults.
Rachel looked away.
Matteo stepped closer to the screen.
“Now we're getting somewhere.”
I turned toward him.
“You said you wanted the truth.”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me why you're alive.”
His smile vanished.
“My death was arranged.”
“By whom?”
“You.”
I froze.
“What?”
“You were supposed to inherit the Bellini organization.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“You did.”
“I didn't know.”
“You weren't supposed to.”
Matteo stepped into the light.
“Father believed you were easier to control.”
“My father?”
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“He arranged your death.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because I refused to become what he wanted.”
I remembered the funeral.
The rain.
The black umbrellas.
My mother's hand on my shoulder.
My father standing beside the grave.
The words:
Your brother died because he was weak.
I had believed them.
For eighteen years.
Matteo looked at me.
“He told you I was killed because I betrayed the family.”
“You did?”
“I betrayed him.”
“What's the difference?”
Matteo's expression hardened.
“I refused to kill a woman.”
I stared.
“Who?”
He didn't answer.
Rachel looked suddenly terrified.
I turned toward the screen.
“Rachel?”
She shook her head.
“I didn't know.”
“Know what?”
Matteo answered.
“Your mother.”
My breath stopped.
“My mother?”
“Your father ordered her killed.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“No.”
Matteo nodded.
“She knew too much.”
“What did she know?”
“The truth about the Bellini accounts.”
I looked at Rachel.
Then Emma.
Then back at Matteo.
“What truth?”
He smiled without humor.
“The Bellini fortune isn't what you think.”
I had spent my entire life inside that fortune.
I had been raised around private jets, warehouses, politicians, lawyers, restaurants, shipping contracts, and men who never asked where the money came from.
I had never questioned the foundation.
Because nobody questioned the foundation.
Matteo did.
And it nearly killed him.
“You want the accounts?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“You kidnapped Emma for them?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because you would never come willingly.”
I raised my weapon.
“Let Rachel go.”
Matteo shook his head.
“Not yet.”
“You're running out of time.”
“So are you.”
He pointed at my chest.
I felt my heart skip.
The monitor attached beneath my shirt beeped rapidly.
Matteo noticed.
His eyes narrowed.
“You're sick.”
I froze.
“How do you know?”
“I know everything.”
Rachel looked at me.
“You're sick?”
I didn't answer.
“Luca.”
“It's under control.”
Matteo laughed.
“Is it?”
My heart rate increased.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Rachel's face changed.
“What does he mean?”
I looked at her.
“I have a heart condition.”
She stared.
“When?”
“Recently.”
“How serious?”
I hesitated.
“Serious.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
For the first time since the kidnapping began, her anger disappeared.
Something else replaced it.
Fear.
“You could die?”
I looked away.
“Maybe.”
She whispered:
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't know if—”
I stopped.
If what?
If I would survive?
If she cared?
If I had the right?
None of the answers mattered.
Matteo stepped toward the camera.
“This is why you're here.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“You finally have something to lose.”
My eyes hardened.
“You're wrong.”
“Am I?”
He pointed toward Emma.
“You spent three years hiding because you were afraid somebody would use her against you.”
“Yes.”
“And now somebody has.”
I said nothing.
“You built your entire life around control.”
Matteo continued.
“And your daughter destroyed that control in less than ten minutes.”
I looked at Emma.
She was still holding Mr. Buttons.
Her eyes were fixed on me.
Not Matteo.
Not the guns.
Me.
I crouched beside her.
“Emma.”
“Yes?”
“I need you to do something.”
“What?”
“Stay very close to me.”
“Okay.”
“And if I tell you to run, you run.”
“Where?”
“To the people outside.”
“Will you come?”
I looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
I hesitated.
Then:
“I promise.”
She held out her little finger.
I stared.
Then hooked mine around hers.
A tiny gesture.
Nothing.
Everything.
Matteo watched us.
Something unreadable crossed his face.
Then the lights went out again.
A gunshot.
I moved instinctively.
The bullet struck the wall behind me.
I pulled Emma to the floor.
“Stay down.”
Men rushed through the warehouse.
Gunfire erupted.
But this time, I understood the pattern.
The attackers weren't firing at me.
They were firing around me.
Driving me toward the steel door.
Exactly where Matteo wanted me.
I looked toward the screen.
Rachel was shouting something.
I couldn't hear her.
Then I saw her mouth form two words.
Don't go.
I grabbed Emma.
We moved behind a stack of crates.
“Marco!”
Static.
Then:
“Luca!”
“Get Rachel.”
“We're trying.”
“Matteo is alive.”
Silence.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Marco's voice changed.
“That's impossible.”
“I know.”
“Where is he?”
“Inside.”
“Who else?”
“Sokolov.”
Marco swore.
“Get Emma out.”
“I'm working on it.”
“No.”
“What?”
Luca looked at the steel door.
“I'm going through.”
“Luca, that's exactly what they want.”
“I know.”
“Then don't.”
“They have Rachel.”
Marco went silent.
Luca looked down at Emma.
“And she has nowhere to go.”
He stood.
“I'm going.”
He took three steps.
Then his heart betrayed him.
Pain struck his chest.
Sharp.
Sudden.
His vision blurred.
He grabbed the crate.
Emma looked up.
“Daddy?”
Luca couldn't breathe.
The monitor screamed.
Beep-beep-beep-beep.
Then—
silence.
For one terrifying second, Luca's heart stopped.
He collapsed.
Emma screamed.
“Daddy!”
Somewhere beyond the darkness, Rachel screamed his name.
And Matteo whispered:
“Now.”
A defibrillator charge sounded.
Then another.
A shock hit Luca's chest.
His body convulsed.
Nothing.
Another shock.
Nothing.
Emma was crying.
“Daddy!”
Then—
Beep.
One heartbeat.
Beep.
Another.
Luca's eyes opened.
The first thing he saw was Emma.
The second was a gun pointed at her.
The third was Rachel standing behind the gunman.
And the fourth—
was Matteo.
Holding his hands up.
Not surrendering.
Stopping the gunman.
“Lower it,” Matteo ordered.
The man hesitated.
Matteo's voice became deadly.
“I said lower it.”
The gun slowly dropped.
Luca stared.
“What are you doing?”
Matteo looked at him.
“Saving your daughter.”
Luca struggled to stand.
“Why?”
Matteo's expression changed.
For the first time, he looked like the brother Luca remembered.
Not the ghost.
Not the enemy.
His brother.
“Because, Luca…”
He looked at Emma.
“…she was never supposed to be part of this.”
A gunshot exploded.
Matteo staggered.
Blood spread across his shirt.
Rachel screamed.
Luca caught Emma and dropped behind the crates.
Matteo fell to his knees.
The gunman ran.
Marco's team stormed the warehouse.
And as Luca held Emma against his chest, he watched his supposedly dead brother collapse onto the concrete.
Matteo looked toward him.
His lips moved.
Luca couldn't hear.
He crawled closer.
“What?”
Matteo coughed blood.
“Your mother…”
Luca leaned closer.
“She…”
Matteo's eyes closed.
Luca grabbed his shoulder.
“Matteo!”
His brother opened his eyes one final time.
“She's alive.”
Luca froze.
“What?”
“Your mother…”
He struggled for breath.
“She never died.”
Then his eyes closed.
And Luca Bellini realized that the night his daughter disappeared had uncovered something far more dangerous than a kidnapping.
His family had lied to him about his brother.
They had lied about his mother.
They had lied about the Bellini fortune.
And if Matteo was telling the truth—
the woman who had given birth to Luca Bellini had been alive all along.
Watching.
Waiting.
And possibly waiting for the right moment to come back.
Behind him, Emma whispered:
“Daddy?”
Luca turned.
“Yes?”
“Are we going home?”
He looked at his daughter.
Then at Rachel.
Then at his dying brother.
For the first time in three years, he knew exactly where home was.
Not the Bellini mansion.
Not the penthouse.
Not the empire.
Not the streets where men whispered his name.
Home was wherever Emma and Rachel were.
Luca pulled Emma closer.
“Yes.”
His voice broke.
“We're going home.”
But somewhere outside the warehouse, a phone began to ring.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Marco picked it up.
His face changed.
Luca saw it immediately.
“What?”
Marco looked at him.
“It's your mother's number.”
Luca stared.
The phone rang again.
May you like
And for eighteen years, he had believed his mother was dead.
Tonight, she was calling him.
