Chapter 8 - The Sister Who Never DiedHer name was Sofia Moretti.
Alessandro had been twenty-one when she supposedly died.
A fire in Sicily.
No body recovered.
Their father had told him there was nothing left to bury.
Alessandro believed him.
Now a hospital camera showed a woman entering Salvatore’s room.
Forty-one years old.
Dark hair.
Gray-blue eyes.
Same chin as Elena.
Same expression Alessandro saw in the mirror.
Sofia.
Alive.
He watched the footage five times.
Luca remained silent.
Finally Alessandro asked.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“Think carefully.”
“I swear.”
Alessandro almost believed him.
Almost.
Rosa touched his arm.
“You should go.”
He looked at her.
“To the hospital.”
“It could be a trap.”
“Yes.”
“But if she is your sister…”
Rosa looked toward Lily.
“Some chances don’t come twice.”
The words hurt.
Alessandro went.
St. Catherine’s private oncology floor was guarded by Moretti men within twenty minutes.
Salvatore lay in bed when Alessandro entered.
Machines surrounded him.
The old man looked smaller.
His skin had become yellow-gray.
For the first time in Alessandro’s life, Salvatore seemed mortal.
“So,” Salvatore whispered.
“You found out.”
“Where is Sofia?”
Salvatore smiled.
“Still impatient.”
Alessandro approached.
“You killed my mother.”
“Yes.”
No denial.
No excuse.
The simplicity nearly made Alessandro lose control.
“Why?”
“She was going to destroy us.”
“She was your brother’s wife.”
“She was weak.”
Alessandro hit him.
Salvatore’s head snapped sideways.
A nurse rushed toward the door.
Marco blocked her.
Salvatore laughed weakly.
“There he is.”
Alessandro stared.
“The real Moretti.”
“No.”
“You think you’re different?”
“Yes.”
“You kill.”
“When I choose.”
“You threaten.”
“When necessary.”
“You built your empire on fear.”
Alessandro leaned closer.
“And I can choose to stop.”
Salvatore’s smile faded.
“That’s what your father thought.”
“Where is Sofia?”
The door opened.
A woman stood there.
Alessandro turned.
For seventeen years, he had imagined what his sister would look like older.
None of those imaginings prepared him.
Sofia stared at him.
Her eyes filled immediately.
“Alex?”
No one called him that.
Not since Elena died.
Alessandro could not move.
Sofia crossed the room.
Then stopped a few feet away.
She looked afraid to touch him.
“You got old.”
His laugh broke into something close to a sob.
“So did you.”
She smiled.
Then they embraced.
Alessandro held his sister like he was twenty-one again.
Like every funeral had been a lie.
Maybe they had.
Sofia cried against him.
“I’m sorry.”
He pulled back.
“Where have you been?”
“Canada. France. Argentina.”
“Why?”
She looked at Salvatore.
“Because he tried to kill me.”
Alessandro turned slowly.
Salvatore closed his eyes.
Sofia continued.
“I found Mom’s letters.”
“What letters?”
“She knew Salvatore was stealing. She wrote everything down.”
“And you confronted him.”
“Yes.”
“The fire?”
“Set for me.”
“How did you survive?”
“Dad.”
Alessandro stared.
“Vittorio got me out before the house burned.”
“Then he knew.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He said you were being watched.”
Alessandro laughed bitterly.
“Everyone protected me by destroying me.”
Sofia’s face broke.
“I wanted to contact you.”
“But?”
“Dad begged me not to.”
“Of course.”
Salvatore coughed.
Blood stained the cloth near his mouth.
Sofia stared at him with hatred.
“He called me two months ago.”
“Why?”
“To make a deal.”
“What deal?”
“He wanted me to convince you to leave the country.”
Alessandro looked at Salvatore.
“You were trying to save me?”
Salvatore smiled faintly.
“No.”
The honesty was chilling.
“I was trying to move you out of the way.”
“Why?”
“Because Romano wouldn’t kill you.”
Everyone froze.
Luca’s name.
Again.
Alessandro leaned closer.
“Explain.”
Salvatore closed his eyes.
“I recruited Luca when he was twenty.”
Alessandro went cold.
“Before I met him.”
“Yes.”
The laundromat beating.
The rescue.
The beginning of their friendship.
All of it suddenly looked staged.
“What was his job?”
“To get close.”
Sofia whispered.
“Oh my God.”
Salvatore smiled.
“He was useful.”
“Was?”
“He became sentimental.”
Alessandro’s chest tightened.
“He chose you.”
Alessandro stared.
Salvatore continued.
“At first Luca reported everything.”
“Everything?”
“Meetings. Girlfriends. Weaknesses.”
Alessandro’s stomach turned.
“Then he stopped.”
“When?”
“After the Queens ambush.”
The bullet.
Luca taking it for him.
“Why?”
“Maybe nearly dying improves character.”
Salvatore laughed.
“Or ruins employees.”
Alessandro walked away.
He did not know whether to hate Luca or understand him.
Then Salvatore said one final thing.
“Vivian knows where Miguel is buried.”
Rosa, waiting in the corridor, entered.
“What?”
Salvatore looked at her.
“Your husband.”
She stopped breathing.
“Where?”
“Ask the bride.”
Rosa ran from the room.
Alessandro followed.
Vivian was at the mansion.
Under guard.
They returned within forty minutes.
Vivian sat in the library.
When Rosa entered, she stood.
“Where is Miguel?”
Vivian went pale.
“Rosa…”
“Where?”
“I can explain.”
Rosa slapped her.
“Where is my husband?”
Vivian cried.
“North Shore.”
“Where?”
“An abandoned orchard outside Huntington.”
Rosa’s knees weakened.
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
“Were you there?”
“Yes.”
Rosa screamed.
Alessandro caught her.
Vivian covered her mouth.
“I didn’t know what Salvatore planned.”
“What happened?” Alessandro asked.
Vivian looked at Rosa.
“Miguel was supposed to hand over the records.”
“He refused,” Rosa whispered.
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“Salvatore shot him.”
Rosa closed her eyes.
Vivian continued.
“I begged him to call an ambulance.”
Rosa opened her eyes.
“He was alive?”
“For ten minutes.”
“What did he say?”
Vivian began crying harder.
“He kept saying Lily’s name.”
Rosa broke.
Vivian moved toward her.
Rosa raised a hand.
“Don’t.”
Vivian stopped.
“He gave me something.”
“What?”
Vivian reached beneath her necklace.
Removed a tiny silver pendant.
Inside was a folded piece of paper.
Rosa opened it.
Miguel’s handwriting.
Three words.
Tell Lily Papa loved her.
Rosa collapsed.
Lily entered the room from the hallway.
She saw her mother on the floor.
Ran to her.
Rosa pulled her close.
For a long time, she could not sign.
Then she forced her hands to move.
Papa loved you.
Lily stared.
Papa?
Rosa nodded.
Papa cannot come home.
Lily understood slowly.
Her face changed.
She touched Hopper.
Then signed.
Papa sleep?
Rosa sobbed.
Forever.
Lily crawled into her mother’s arms.
Alessandro turned away.
Outside the window, dawn touched the gardens.
The family empire had survived decades.
But inside that room, a three-year-old child was learning that her father would never return.
And Alessandro understood something he had never learned from Vittorio.
May you like
Power could buy silence.
But it could not make grief disappear.
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