Chapter 3 - The Woman Vincent Had BanishedThe woman Vincent contacted was named Sofia Romano.
He did not take him to the Moretti estate in Westchester.
He did not call the police.
Not yet.
Five years earlier, Vincent would have called all three.
But five years earlier, Vincent had believed people who had apparently buried another child under his son’s name.
Trust had just become a luxury he could no longer afford.
He took Luca to a three-story brownstone in Brooklyn Heights owned under a corporation nobody associated with the Moretti family.
Only one person knew it existed.
Dr. Evelyn Shaw.
She had been Elena’s closest friend and Luca’s pediatrician since birth.
When Evelyn opened the door and saw Vincent standing beside a filthy eleven-year-old boy, she initially smiled politely.
Then she saw the child’s face.
The color vanished from hers.
“Oh my God.”
Luca stepped behind Vincent.
Evelyn gripped the doorframe.
“Vincent?”
“You tell me.”
She stared at the scar.
The eyes.
The crooked little finger.
Then she covered her mouth.
“Luca?”
The boy looked at her uncertainly.
“You gave me grape medicine.”
Evelyn began crying.
“I did.”
“You lied and said it tasted good.”
A laugh escaped through her tears.
“It was supposed to.”
“It didn’t.”
She dropped to her knees and hugged him.
For the first time since the cemetery, Vincent felt something resembling certainty.
But emotion was not evidence.
And Vincent Moretti survived because he respected evidence.
Two hours later, Evelyn drew blood from both father and son.
She used a private laboratory controlled by an old colleague in Connecticut. No Moretti employees. No family physicians. No insurance records.
The expedited DNA result would come by morning.
Meanwhile, she examined Luca.
Her expression grew darker with each bruise.
Some were old.
Some new.
A badly healed fracture showed beneath the skin of his right forearm.
There were scars on his back.
One looked like a cigarette burn.
Vincent saw it.
He walked out of the room before his son could see his face.
The brownstone’s kitchen became dangerously silent.
Vincent gripped the marble counter until his knuckles whitened.
Evelyn followed several minutes later.
“Don’t,” she said.
Vincent didn’t turn.
“Don’t what?”
“Become who everyone says you are.”
His jaw tightened.
“Someone did that to my son.”
“And Luca needs his father more than he needs an executioner.”
Vincent looked at her.
“What happened to him?”
“He’s malnourished. Dehydrated. He has signs of repeated trauma.”
“Was he—”
“No evidence of sexual abuse.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
The relief was immediate and terrible because it meant his standards for good news had fallen that low.
“He needs a hospital.”
“Then take him to one.”
“And create a record that Luca Moretti is alive?”
Evelyn hesitated.
Exactly.
If the people responsible believed Luca was still missing, that advantage might be the only thing keeping him alive.
“Can you treat him here?”
“For tonight. After that, we need specialists.”
Vincent nodded.
“Do it.”
When he returned upstairs, Luca sat wrapped in a blanket, eating grilled cheese as if someone might take it away.
He ate too quickly.
Vincent remembered a child who used to complain when the crust wasn’t cut off.
Now Luca didn’t leave crumbs.
Vincent sat across from him.
“Slow down.”
Luca stopped instantly.
The fear in his eyes punched Vincent harder than any enemy ever had.
“No,” Vincent said softly. “I’m not angry.”
Luca nodded but continued eating more slowly.
Vincent studied his son.
“Tell me what happened.”
Silence.
“You said the man who put that child in your grave still works for me.”
Luca stared at his plate.
“His name was Mr. R.”
Vincent’s pulse changed.
“What did he look like?”
“I didn’t see him for a long time.”
“But you eventually did?”
Luca nodded.
“He came to the house.”
“What house?”
“The first one. Upstate.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. There were trees everywhere. No neighbors.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“Tell me from the beginning.”
Luca’s hands tightened around the sandwich.
“The car accident wasn’t an accident.”
Vincent’s expression became stone.
Luca had been traveling with Vincent’s longtime driver, Paul Benton, and security chief Marcus Reed.
Marcus had supposedly been thrown clear and survived with severe injuries.
Paul’s body had been recovered.
Luca’s body had supposedly been recovered two days later.
“What do you remember?”
“Mr. Benton was driving. Marcus was in the front.”
Vincent said nothing.
“Someone called Marcus. They started arguing.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Then Marcus told Mr. Benton to take the service road.”
Vincent’s heartbeat slowed.
The official report stated Benton had taken the service road because the expressway was flooded.
“Keep going.”
“Marcus made the car stop.”
Luca squeezed his eyes shut.
Vincent waited.
“A white van was there. Two men got out.”
His breathing became shallow.
“They hit Mr. Benton.”
Vincent’s hand curled into a fist.
“They pulled me out. Marcus said everything was going to be okay.”
“Marcus Reed?”
Luca nodded.
Vincent felt the room become very small.
Marcus had served him for twenty-three years.
Marcus had stood beside him at Elena’s funeral.
Marcus had organized Luca’s search.
Marcus had carried Vincent away from the river when divers found the body.
Marcus had stood beside the grave every year.
Vincent wanted to reject it.
Instead he asked, “What happened to the SUV?”
“They put another boy inside.”
Vincent’s stomach turned.
“You saw him?”
Luca nodded.
“He was asleep.”
“Alive?”
“I think so.”
The words struck Vincent like a blade.
Luca’s face crumpled.
“I asked who he was. Marcus told me not to look.”
Vincent struggled to control his breathing.
“What happened next?”
“They put me in the van.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where did they take you?”
“A house.”
“And Marcus?”
“He disappeared after that.”
“For how long?”
“Years.”
Vincent stared at him.
“Who kept you?”
“A woman named Mrs. Bell. She said my father didn’t want me anymore.”
Luca looked at Vincent.
“She showed me newspapers.”
Vincent frowned.
“What newspapers?”
“Articles about you.”
Of course.
Vincent Moretti photographed at charity galas.
Vincent Moretti outside federal court.
Vincent Moretti described as ruthless, dangerous, untouchable.
“She told me you knew I was alive.”
Vincent’s voice nearly failed.
“She said I was being hidden because you had a new family.”
“I never had another family.”
“I know that now.”
“How?”
“Because I escaped.”
Vincent leaned closer.
Luca’s voice dropped.
“Three weeks ago, Mrs. Bell got sick. They moved me to a different place in the Bronx.”
“Who is they?”
“I only knew one name.”
“Marcus?”
Luca shook his head.
“Daniel.”
Vincent’s blood went colder.
Daniel Moretti.
His younger brother.
His only living blood relative.
His consigliere.
The man who had helped Vincent survive Luca’s death.
“No.”
Luca flinched.
Vincent immediately softened his voice.
“Sorry. Keep going.”
“I heard Daniel talking to somebody. He said I couldn’t be moved again because people were asking questions.”
“What people?”
“I don’t know.”
“What else?”
Luca stared directly at him.
“He said if you ever learned the truth, everything would fall apart.”
Vincent rose from the table.
His brother had been beside him yesterday.
Daniel had poured him whiskey.
Daniel had asked whether Vincent planned to visit Luca’s grave.
Daniel had hugged him before leaving.
Vincent’s phone vibrated.
He looked down.
DANIEL MORETTI.
Luca saw the name.
The sandwich slipped from his fingers.
His face turned white.
“Dad.”
Vincent answered.
“Daniel.”
His brother sounded relaxed.
“Where are you? Marcus said you left the cemetery early.”
Vincent looked at his terrified son.
“Had something to handle.”
A pause.
Then Daniel laughed lightly.
“You all right?”
Vincent had negotiated with murderers while guns were beneath tables.
He had lied to federal agents.
He had looked enemies in the eye and convinced them they were safe.
But nothing had ever required more control than his next sentence.
“I’m fine.”
“Dinner tonight?”
“Of course.”
“Seven?”
“Seven.”
Daniel hung up.
Luca whispered, “You’re going there?”
Vincent crouched beside him.
“Yes.”
“He’ll kill you.”
“Maybe.”
“No.”
Luca grabbed his sleeve.
Vincent covered his son’s hand.
“Listen to me. Five years ago, someone took you because I trusted the wrong people.”
He looked toward the rain beyond the window.
“I will not make that mistake again.”
By sunset, Vincent arrived at the Moretti estate.
Marcus Reed opened the door.
The same man Luca had named.
Gray hair.
Broad shoulders.
Calm eyes.
“Boss.”
Vincent handed him his coat.
Marcus smiled.
“How was the cemetery?”
Vincent looked into the eyes of the man who might have stolen his child.
“Quiet.”
Marcus nodded.
“Probably for the best.”
Vincent walked into the dining room.
Daniel was pouring wine.
His younger brother opened his arms.
“There he is.”
Vincent embraced him.
Over Daniel’s shoulder, he saw Marcus watching.
Two men he had trusted with his life.
Possibly two men who had destroyed it.
Daniel handed him a glass.
“To family.”
Vincent looked at the dark red wine.
Then at his brother.
“To family.”
They drank.
For the next ninety minutes, Vincent laughed.
He discussed business.
He complained about the Yankees.
He told an old story about their father.
He pretended not to notice Marcus texting beneath the table.
Then Daniel leaned back.
“You know, something strange happened this morning.”
Vincent raised an eyebrow.
“Oh?”
“Marcus saw a kid near the cemetery.”
Vincent’s pulse did not change.
“What kid?”
Marcus studied him.
“Homeless-looking. About ten or eleven.”
Vincent shrugged.
“It’s Queens. There are kids everywhere.”
Daniel smiled.
“Yes.”
The smile never reached his eyes.
“But this one apparently followed your car.”
Silence settled around the table.
Vincent set down his wine.
“Is that a question?”
Daniel’s smile widened.
“No.”
Across the room, Marcus’s hand moved subtly toward his jacket.
Vincent noticed.
So did Daniel.
Then Daniel said quietly:
“Vincent, is there something you want to tell us?”
Vincent leaned back.
For the first time that evening, he smiled sincerely.
“Yes.”
Daniel waited.
Vincent picked up his napkin and placed it beside his plate.
“Dinner was excellent.”
He stood.
“Good night, brother.”
Daniel stared after him.
Vincent reached the front door before Marcus caught up.
“Boss.”
Vincent turned.
Marcus looked almost nervous.
“If you ever need anything…”
Vincent held his gaze.
“I know exactly where to find you.”
Outside, Vincent climbed into his car.
His driver pulled away.
Only after the gates disappeared behind them did Vincent unlock a second phone.
A message waited from Evelyn.
DNA RESULTS CONFIRMED.
99.9997% PATERNITY PROBABILITY.
Vincent stared at the screen.
His hands began shaking.
Not from grief.
Not anymore.
He typed one sentence to a number he had not contacted in six years.
Luca is alive.
May you like
Thirty seconds later, the reply arrived.
Then God help whoever took him.
