Chapter 15 - The Man Behind the NameI couldn't breathe.
Daniel stared at me.
“It's me.”
“No.”
“Nora.”
“Don't come closer.”
He stopped.
Matteo lowered his gun.
“Tell her.”
The man in front of me looked at him.
Then at Emma.
His face crumbled.
“I never wanted her hurt.”
“That isn't Daniel.”
I whispered.
“No.”
The man closed his eyes.
“My name is Adrian.”
I stumbled backward.
“Who are you?”
“Daniel's brother.”
“Daniel had no brother.”
“He did.”
Matteo smiled.
“Daniel's identity was part of the cover.”
My mind raced.
The accident.
The funeral.
The photographs.
The man beside me.
All lies.
Adrian continued.
“Daniel died before the accident.”
I stared.
“Then who was I married to?”
“Me.”
The room seemed to disappear.
“You pretended to be him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To protect Emma.”
“From Matteo?”
“From everyone.”
I looked at Matteo.
He nodded.
“For once, he is telling the truth.”
I hated both of them.
“Where is Alessandro?”
Adrian looked down.
“Alive.”
“Take me to him.”
“He won't survive the night.”
I grabbed his shirt.
“Take me.”
Matteo stepped forward.
“The hospital is a trap.”
“Then where?”
“The old Moretti estate.”
I stared.
“The forbidden west wing.”
My stomach dropped.
“The place where I first found Emma.”
Matteo nodded.
“The wheelchair was never Alessandro's prison.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“He was pretending to be helpless.”
I froze.
“What?”
“He can stand.”
My mind shattered.
“The accident…”
“Real.”
“The paralysis…”
“Mostly real.”
“Mostly?”
Matteo smiled.
“Alessandro can walk.”
“Then why does he stay in the wheelchair?”
“Because every criminal in Chicago thinks a helpless man is harmless.”
I remembered Emma asking him:
Why don't you stand?
And his answer:
I can't.
A lie.
The mansion.
The forbidden wing.
The untouched medicine.
The cookie.
Everything suddenly felt different.
We drove back to Moretti House.
The gates opened by themselves.
Inside, the house was dark.
The west wing door stood open.
Exactly as it had on my first day.
I walked into the office.
The wheelchair sat beside the desk.
Empty.
I heard footsteps behind me.
Slow.
Steady.
I turned.
Alessandro stood in the doorway.
No wheelchair.
No cane.
No mask.
He was pale, blood staining his shirt.
But he was standing.
Emma gasped.
“You can walk!”
He smiled.
“For you.”
I couldn't speak.
He looked at me.
“Nora, I'm sorry.”
I shook my head.
“How long?”
“Two years.”
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if they knew I could walk, they would know I had survived.”
“Who are they?”
Alessandro glanced toward the hallway.
Then he said:
“The people who killed your father.”
My blood ran cold.
“Matteo?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Alessandro's eyes moved toward Emma.
“Someone much closer.”
The lights came on.
And every portrait in the hallway changed.
Hidden behind the paintings were surveillance screens.
Dozens of them.
All showing Emma.
Sleeping.
Eating.
Playing.
Walking through the mansion.
Watching me.
Watching Alessandro.
For years.
I whispered:
“Who has been watching her?”
Alessandro looked at the largest screen.
A live feed appeared.
A woman sat in a dark room.
Silver hair.
Calm smile.
My mother's face.
Alessandro whispered:
“Your mother.”
The screen flickered.
The woman leaned toward the camera.
And smiled directly at me.
“Hello, Nora.”
May you like
Then she said the sentence that made every secret collapse at once:
“It's time you came home.”
