Chapter 8 - Adrian looked at me as though we were old friends.But I had never met him.
Not truly.
I had spent twenty-nine years believing I was the oldest surviving son of Matteo Ferraro.
Now I was staring at the man who had been erased from every family photograph.
“Where is Grace?”
Adrian smiled.
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“Above us.”
I heard a muffled sound.
A baby crying.
I immediately looked up.
Adrian pointed toward the ceiling.
“She's upstairs.”
I aimed at him.
“Bring her down.”
He didn't move.
“You still trust your father.”
“I trust nobody.”
“Good.”
He stepped closer.
“Then you're finally ready to hear the truth.”
He told me everything.
My father had tried to leave the mafia.
Elena had discovered he planned to take both children and disappear.
She killed Adrian's mother first.
Then she staged the massacre.
My father survived.
Adrian was hidden by one of his father's soldiers.
For years, he watched the Ferraro family from the shadows.
When Grace discovered the ledger, Adrian helped her.
“He wasn't the one who imprisoned her.”
I looked at my father.
“Mother did.”
My father nodded.
“Then why did Adrian keep her?”
“She found out too much.”
Adrian looked toward the stairs.
“She discovered your mother intended to fake the baby's death.”
I went still.
“She was going to tell you the baby died during labor.”
My hands curled into fists.
“Why?”
“To make you break.”
Adrian stepped forward.
“She needed you unstable.”
“For what?”
“For control.”
He opened another ledger.
“The Ferraro family's money was frozen years ago.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Your mother's been moving dirty money through political foundations.”
He pointed toward the papers.
“Grace found the accounts.”
I looked at the numbers.
Billions.
Offshore holdings.
Names.
Judges.
Governors.
Federal agents.
Everything was there.
Adrian continued.
“She wasn't just imprisoned.”
“She was being forced to sign documents.”
“What documents?”
“A transfer.”
“To whom?”
He stared at me.
“To your unborn child.”
I understood.
My mother wanted legal control over the family fortune by naming the unborn child as the beneficiary.
But there was more.
A second document.
I read it.
My blood froze.
The child listed wasn't Grace's baby.
It belonged to another woman.
“Who is this?”
Adrian said:
“Your mother's daughter.”
I looked at him.
“We don't have a sister.”
“You do.”
He handed me a photograph.
A young woman.
Late twenties.
Dark hair.
Same eyes as my mother.
“She has been running the family's operations overseas.”
I stared at the photograph.
“What is her name?”
Adrian's expression changed.
“Elena named her after herself.”
“Why didn't I know?”
“Because she doesn't exist legally.”
A sound came from upstairs.
A scream.
Grace.
I ran.
Adrian followed.
We reached the bedroom.
The door was locked.
I kicked it open.
Grace sat on the bed holding our son.
A woman stood beside her.
She had a gun against Grace's head.
Dark hair.
Cold eyes.
My mother's face.
Only younger.
She smiled.
“Hello, Luca.”
My father stopped behind me.
His face went white.
“No.”
The woman smiled wider.
“It's been a long time, Father.”
She looked at me.
“I'm Elena.”
May you like
She raised the gun.
“And I am your sister.”
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