Chapter 9 - The Mother We Lost
I had been eighteen when my mother vanished.
The official explanation was simple. She had become ill, traveled to a private medical facility, and died after a sudden complication.
My father attended the funeral with the expression of a man who had forgotten how to cry.
Michael was devastated.
I was angry.
I demanded to see the medical records, but Father told me the doctors had sealed them. When I pushed harder, he slapped me across the face and warned me never to question family matters again.
I remembered every detail.
The sting of his palm. The silence afterward. Michael standing in the doorway, too frightened to intervene.
For years, I had blamed myself for obeying.
Now my brother was telling me that none of it had been true.
"Start talking," I said.
Michael sat at the kitchen table.
"Mother discovered Father and Sloane were using their companies to funnel money into Project Lantern. She also found evidence that people were being held against their will."
"Why didn't she go to the police?"
"She did."
"Then what happened?"
"The agent she contacted was working for Sloane."
I felt a familiar rage building in my chest.
Michael continued.
"Father discovered she'd made copies of the records. He threatened to destroy everyone she loved unless she disappeared."
"So she ran?"
"She agreed to disappear. Father arranged a false medical report, a sealed death certificate, and a funeral with an empty coffin."
I looked at Elena.
"Did you know?"
She nodded.
"Your mother was the first person who helped us understand how deep the corruption went."
"Where is she now?"
Michael slid a photograph across the table.
An older woman stood in front of a small bookstore. Her hair had turned silver, and lines framed her eyes, but I recognized her immediately.
My mother.
Alive.
On the back was an address in Vermont.
I couldn't speak.
I had spent nine years believing I'd lost both my brother and my mother. I'd built an empire to ensure no one could ever make me feel powerless again.
Meanwhile, my mother had been living somewhere, looking over her shoulder, while I turned our family name into something that frightened every man in the city.
"Why didn't she contact me?"
"Because Father told her you'd become exactly like him."
The words hurt because I couldn't dismiss them.
Michael continued carefully.
"She said you had the same anger, the same obsession with control. She was afraid that if she returned, you'd try to solve everything with violence."
"She was wrong."
"Was she?"
I stepped toward him.
He didn't move.
For a moment, we stared at each other like the brothers we had been before our father taught us that love was weakness.
Then Clara appeared in the doorway.
"Are you fighting?"
"No," Michael said.
"You're talking like people who are fighting."
I looked at her.
"We're trying to understand something."
"Then ask each other questions instead of getting angry."
Neither of us had an answer.
Clara returned to the table and carefully arranged the birthday letters in a neat pile.
"Can we go see Grandma?"
I nearly laughed at the absurdity of the question.
We had armed men searching for us, a corrupt network hunting a witness, and evidence that could destroy an empire.
But the little girl wanted to meet her grandmother.
"Yes," I said.
Michael looked at me sharply.
"Dom, it's too dangerous."
"Then we'll make it less dangerous."
Elena folded her hands.
"If we find your mother, she'll know how to authenticate the original agreement. She was the only person who witnessed Anthony's final signature."
I returned to the handwritten contract.
The paper contained a tiny embossed seal I had never noticed. Beneath it were initials hidden in the ink.
A.M.
My father had signed it, too.
"There's a legal clause," I said slowly. "If Clara claims the estate, she needs proof that the agreement was executed before Anthony's death."
Elena nodded.
"And your mother holds the original witness statement."
My phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
A photograph of the little bookstore in Vermont.
A red circle marked the front door.
Beneath it were the words:
SHE'S BEEN FOUND.
I called my mother immediately.
The call went straight to voicemail.
Then my phone rang from a blocked number.
A woman's voice spoke, calm and unmistakable.
"Dominic?"
I couldn't breathe.
"Mother?"
"I have very little time."
"Where are you?"
"Listen to me. Do not come to Vermont."
"Why?"
"Because Sloane knows everything."
A crash sounded through the phone.
My mother's breathing became ragged.
Then she whispered the words I would remember for the rest of my life.
"Your father didn't create Project Lantern to protect the family, Dominic."
A pause.
"He created it because he was preparing to destroy the family."
The line went dead.
At that exact moment, every phone in the warehouse received the same notification.
A live news broadcast had begun.
The headline read:
MAFIA BOSS DOMINIC MORETTI WANTED IN FEDERAL ABDUCTION CASE. AUTHORITIES SEEK MISSING CHILD.
My photograph appeared on the screen.
Then Clara's.
The final image showed my mother, standing outside her bookstore with two armed men beside her.
A caption appeared beneath her face.
WITNESS REPORTED MISSING AFTER POSSIBLE CONNECTION TO ORGANIZED CRIME.
Michael stared at the screen.
"He's making us the criminals."
I looked at the little girl.
"No," I said. "He's making us the story."
May you like
I pulled my coat on.
"And now we're going to tell the truth."
