Chapter 4 - The Fifth ChildThe secret Elena buried deeper than the boysI found Elena three hours later in a small apartment hidden above a bakery in South Boston.
She had four armed men guarding the stairwell.
I knocked anyway.
No one answered.
I kicked the door open.
Elena stood inside holding a kitchen knife.
She lowered it when she saw me.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“You have another child.”
Her face collapsed.
The four boys were asleep in the next room.
Elena whispered.
“Who told you?”
“The ring.”
She stared at it.
Then she covered her mouth.
“Oh God.”
“Where is the fifth?”
She shook her head.
“I can't.”
“You're going to tell me.”
“Dominic, if you know about him, then they know too.”
“Who?”
She stepped closer.
“You don't understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
She looked toward the bedroom.
“When you left me six years ago, I was pregnant with five.”
Five.
I struggled to breathe.
“What happened?”
“Your father found out.”
She sat down.
“I went into labor early.”
Her hands trembled.
“The boys survived.”
She swallowed.
“The fifth didn't.”
I stared at her.
“Then why does the ring say find the fifth?”
“Because the fifth wasn't dead.”
Silence.
I felt something cold move through my chest.
“What?”
Elena began crying.
“They took him.”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
I clenched my fists.
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I wish I was.”
She reached into a drawer and pulled out a small envelope.
Inside was a hospital bracelet.
BABY BOY MORETTI.
No first name.
No date.
Only a handwritten number.
“What does seventeen mean?”
“I don't know.”
“Who wrote it?”
“My sister.”
“Isabella?”
Elena nodded.
“She came to the hospital after the birth.”
“She was alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she now?”
Elena looked at me with tears in her eyes.
“She died six years ago.”
I stared at her.
“Then who was the woman in the photograph?”
Elena froze.
I knew immediately.
“You lied to me.”
“She wasn't Isabella.”
“Who was she?”
Elena whispered.
“Her name was Mara.”
The apartment suddenly filled with the sound of breaking glass.
Someone had thrown a rock through the kitchen window.
Wrapped around it was a note.
I picked it up.
STOP ASKING ABOUT THE FIFTH.
A second later, the lights went out.
The boys screamed.
I pulled my gun.
Elena grabbed them.
I moved toward the door.
Three men stormed inside.
The first fired.
I shot him before he could fire again.
The second came from behind.
Elena slammed a chair into his knees.
The third grabbed Luca.
I fired.
He dropped.
Luca ran into my arms.
His small hands grabbed my jacket.
“Daddy.”
I froze.
He was the first to say it.
Not Dominic.
Daddy.
The word nearly broke me.
Then something crashed upstairs.
A voice shouted:
“They found us!”
Elena grabbed Nico.
“We have to go.”
“Who?”
“Everyone.”
We escaped through the bakery basement.
Outside, a black SUV waited.
I opened the driver's door.
Elena grabbed my arm.
“Dominic, don't.”
“Why?”
She stared at the vehicle.
“Because that's not your car.”
The headlights turned on.
The passenger window lowered.
Sloane Barrett sat inside.
She looked directly at me.
And beside her sat a little boy.
Six years old.
Dark hair.
My eyes.
He stared through the glass.
Then raised his hand.
May you like
On his wrist was a hospital bracelet.
The same number.
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