Chapter 12 - The Bullet Meant for Leandro Moretti“Put the gun down, Dad.”
My voice sounded strangely calm.
My father stood in the narrow tunnel, dust covering his shoulders, his injured arm hanging beside him. The pistol in his good hand never wavered.
Leandro stood between us.
He could have disarmed my father in seconds. I could see it in his posture, the slight shift of his feet, the careful angle of his shoulders.
But he didn't move.
“Claire,” my father said, “step away from him.”
“No.”
“He killed your father.”
“You raised me.”
“That doesn't change what he did.”
I looked at Leandro.
“Did you kill my father?”
His eyes met mine.
“I need you to tell me which father you're asking about.”
The words struck me as absurd.
I nearly screamed.
“How many fathers am I supposed to have?”
“As many as it takes to explain what happened.”
My father tightened his grip on the gun.
“Don't listen to him.”
Leandro ignored him.
“Your biological father was a man named Thomas Moretti. He was Salvatore's younger brother. Years ago, Thomas discovered that Salvatore was using the family business to conceal a much larger financial operation. Thomas tried to expose him.”
I stared at my father.
“Is that true?”
He said nothing.
Leandro continued.
“Thomas was killed during a raid on a warehouse outside Albany. I was seventeen. My father told me that Thomas had betrayed the family and sold our locations to federal investigators. I was ordered to find him before he escaped.”
My blood ran cold.
“What happened?”
“I found him.”
Leandro swallowed.
“He was wounded. He had a little girl with him. You.”
I stopped breathing.
“You were eight months old,” he continued. “Thomas begged me to take you somewhere safe. He told me your mother had been killed and that Salvatore would use you to control the organization.”
“And you?”
“I took you.”
My father flinched.
Leandro's voice grew quieter.
“I carried you out of that warehouse. Then Salvatore's men arrived. They found Thomas before I could get back to him.”
My hands began to shake.
“You let them kill him?”
“No.”
Leandro's face tightened.
“I shot him.”
The words landed like a stone.
I stumbled backward.
“You killed my father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he begged me to.”
I stared at him.
“That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.”
“He had been shot twice. Salvatore's men were seconds away. Thomas knew what they would do to him. He gave me the only order I couldn't obey without killing him.”
Leandro looked directly at me.
“He asked me to end his suffering and save his daughter.”
I couldn't speak.
My father lowered the gun slightly.
“That's what you told yourself afterward.”
Leandro turned toward him.
“And you know that because you were there?”
“Yes.”
The tunnel fell silent.
My father took a trembling breath.
“I was the man waiting outside the warehouse. Thomas was my brother.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“My real name is Richard Moretti. Thomas was my younger brother. After he died, I took you and disappeared. I changed my name to Bennett. I raised you as my daughter because I promised him I would.”
I felt the floor shift beneath me.
“You're my uncle?”
He nodded.
“You let me call you Dad.”
“I loved you as my daughter.”
“You let me believe you were my father.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Everyone has been trying to protect me. Apparently, nobody knows how to do it without destroying my life.”
Richard lowered the pistol.
“I know.”
“No. You don't.”
I turned toward Leandro.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't know who you were when you dragged me out of the lake. I recognized your name only after I saw your photograph.”
“My photograph?”
“In the plane's passenger records. Someone had placed your name on the emergency contact list.”
I stared at him.
“What plane?”
“The private jet.”
My stomach turned.
“You're saying the plane had my name on it?”
Leandro nodded.
“It was scheduled to transport the second ledger. I was supposed to meet a courier outside Albany. The plane crashed before it reached the rendezvous point.”
“Why were you on it?”
“Because I believed someone inside my organization was trying to kill me.”
“And someone wanted me to find you?”
“I think so.”
I looked at Richard.
“Did you arrange the crash?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Then who did?”
A metallic click came from behind us.
We all turned.
Isabella stood at the mouth of the tunnel, holding the black case from the basement.
Her face was expressionless.
“You're asking the wrong question,” she said.
Leandro raised his pistol.
“Where's Michael?”
“Gone.”
“Where's Salvatore?”
“Gone.”
“Where's Dante?”
She smiled faintly.
“Dead.”
I stared at her.
“You expect us to believe that?”
She opened the case and showed us a bloodstained photograph.
Dante lay on the floor of an unfamiliar room, his eyes closed, a single dark stain spreading across his shirt.
“Michael killed him,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because Dante was never his son. Dante was the man who inherited the network after Michael disappeared. He planned to transfer every asset into his own name before the succession agreement could be challenged.”
Leandro lowered his pistol.
“So Michael killed him.”
“Or someone wearing Michael's face did.”
Isabella shut the case.
“I don't know anymore. Every person in this family has been using someone else's name.”
I looked at her.
“Are you really my sister?”
She hesitated.
Then she shook her head.
“No.”
The answer should have been a relief.
Instead, it made me feel emptier.
“Then who are you?”
She looked toward Richard.
“Someone who was paid to become you.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Salvatore hired me to impersonate Claire Bennett. He wanted Leandro to believe his missing heir had returned. He thought he could use my resemblance to make Leandro surrender the second ledger.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“That explains the photograph.”
“And the DNA test?” I asked.
“Fabricated.”
My knees nearly gave way.
“You lied about everything.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was desperate. Salvatore promised to give me enough money to disappear. I thought I was playing a role in a harmless deception.”
She looked at Richard.
“Then I found the hospital records. I discovered that the woman who raised Claire had been trying to protect her from the moment she was born.”
I stared at her.
“Who am I?”
Isabella opened the case one final time.
Inside lay a small envelope marked with my birth date.
She handed it to me.
“This is the original hospital record. It names your biological parents.”
My hands shook as I unfolded the paper.
Mother: Elena Moretti.
Father: Thomas Moretti.
The date of birth matched mine.
The infant's identification number matched the bracelet in my pocket.
For the first time, the truth was simple.
I was Thomas Moretti's daughter.
The child Leandro had carried out of the warehouse.
The child Richard had raised as his own.
The heir Salvatore had spent eighteen years trying to find.
I looked at Leandro.
“You saved me once.”
He nodded.
“And tonight?”
“I'd do it again.”
I wanted to believe him.
Before I could speak, Isabella's phone rang.
She answered.
A man's voice came through the speaker.
“Is the girl with you?”
Isabella's face went pale.
“Who is this?”
“Someone who knows that the second ledger is not in the bakery.”
Richard grabbed the phone.
“Michael?”
The voice laughed.
“Not anymore.”
Then a video began playing on the screen.
A man sat inside a small room, his hands bound behind his back.
He had gray hair, a familiar face, and a scar across his forehead.
My father.
Not Richard.
Not Leandro.
The man I had never met.
Thomas Moretti.
Alive.
My heart stopped.
The man Leandro had supposedly killed seventeen years earlier was sitting in a chair, looking directly into the camera.
Then he spoke.
“Claire, sweetheart. If you're seeing this, it means someone has finally brought you home.”
He paused.
His eyes filled with tears.
“But you need to understand one thing.”
The camera moved closer.
May you like
“Leandro didn't kill me. I made him believe he had.”
The screen went black.
