Chapter 5 - THE BROTHER WHO DIED TWICE
I stared at Luca’s face until my vision blurred.
Seven years earlier, I had stood beside a closed coffin.
My father told me Luca’s injuries were too severe for viewing.
I never questioned it.
That was the thing about powerful fathers.
Their certainty becomes your reality.
Tony picked up the photograph.
“This was taken at Prospect Park.”
Elena looked sick.
“That can’t be him.”
“You just told me his death might not have been an accident.”
“I thought your father arranged the crash. I thought Luca died.”
Emma pointed at the photo.
“Daddy.”
Elena covered her mouth.
I crouched beside her.
“You’ve seen this man?”
Emma nodded.
“With Mommy?”
“No.”
“When?”
“Park.”
“With who?”
“Aunt Vivien.”
Every answer pulled the floor farther away.
Tony opened the laptop.
Password protected.
“I’ll get into it.”
“Do it downstairs.”
Emma started crying.
Not loudly.
Just exhausted tears.
Elena held her.
“I’m taking her out of this house.”
“No.”
Her eyes hardened.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“There may be men outside.”
“There are men inside!”
Fair.
I lowered my voice.
“Use the panic room in my bedroom.”
She blinked.
“You have a panic room?”
“Everyone should.”
“Normal people don’t.”
“I’m not normal people.”
She almost smiled despite everything.
Almost.
Tony’s radio crackled.
“Boss, Vivien’s missing.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Her room’s empty. One window open.”
“The gates?”
“Still locked.”
So she hadn’t left.
Unless she knew another way.
We moved Emma and Elena to the panic room.
Before the door closed, Emma caught my hand.
“Uncle Dom?”
The word hurt more the second time.
“Yes?”
“Don’t be mad at Daddy.”
I looked at Elena.
Then back at the girl.
“I’m not.”
The steel door shut.
Tony and I searched Vivien’s suite.
Her jewelry was still there.
Her passport.
Clothes.
Wedding dress.
Everything.
On her vanity, her engagement ring sat in a glass dish.
That was deliberate.
A message.
I checked the closet.
The hidden passage opened behind a full-length mirror.
Inside, we found another phone taped beneath a beam.
One message thread.
No names.
Only numbers.
The latest message:
HE CAME HOME EARLY.
Reply:
THEN MOVE THE TIMELINE.
Another message:
ELENA KNOWS TOO MUCH.
Reply:
LUCA WILL HANDLE HER.
I read it twice.
Tony looked over my shoulder.
“So your brother’s alive.”
“Maybe.”
“And working with Vivien.”
“Maybe.”
Tony shook his head.
“What kind of family is this?”
“The expensive kind.”
The phone buzzed in my hand.
New message.
DON’T SIGN ANYTHING TOMORROW.
Then another.
IF YOU WANT THE CHILD SAFE, CHECK YOUR FATHER’S GRAVE.
We drove to the Moretti family cemetery before dark.
Rain turned the gravel black.
My father’s mausoleum stood at the top of the hill.
Tony brought tools.
We opened the crypt.
My father’s coffin was exactly where it should be.
Beside it was Luca’s.
I stared at the bronze nameplate.
LUCA ANTHONY MORETTI
1989–2019
Tony looked at me.
“You sure?”
“No.”
We opened it.
The smell of old wood and sealed air filled the crypt.
Inside was a body.
Male.
Similar height.
Similar build.
But the skull told the truth.
A gold dental implant in the upper jaw.
Luca never had dental work.
Tony muttered, “That isn’t your brother.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A familiar voice said, “Took you long enough.”
My knees nearly failed.
“Luca?”
A quiet laugh.
“Hey, Dom.”
Seven years of grief turned into one second of rage.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Trying to stop you from marrying the woman who helped Dad bury me alive.”
May you like
Then the mausoleum door slammed shut behind us.
And the lock clicked from the outside.
