The Bride Who Tried to Destroy My Daughter

I had not spoken my uncle's name in nearly thirty years.

Thomas Moretti had vanished when I was twelve, during a storm off the coast of Maine. The family story was simple: his boat had capsized, the search had lasted three days, and no body had ever been found.

My father had refused to discuss him afterward.

When I asked questions, he'd say that Thomas had made his choices and that the dead deserved to be left alone.

I had believed him.

Now I was holding a notebook that suggested my uncle was alive.

And that Isabella had known where to find him.

I called Samuel from the car.

“Find Thomas Moretti.””

There was a pause.

“Your uncle?””

“Yes.””

“I thought he died when you were a child.””

“So did I. Apparently, we were wrong.””

Samuel began typing.

“I'll search public records, financial filings, and any documents connected to Isabella's estate.””

“Check the address in Boston. It may be a private residence or a business.””

“I'll send you what I find.””

I ended the call and told the driver to head directly to the airport.

But before we reached the highway, Marco called.

“Sir, Livia is safe. We're at Rosalie's house.””

I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

“What about the package?””

“Police are examining it. It contained a photograph and a note.””

“What photograph?””

“Your father. Or someone who looks exactly like him.””

My stomach tightened.

“What does the note say?””

Marco hesitated.

“It says, 'The family always gets what belongs to it.''”

I stared through the window at the passing buildings.

“Keep Livia away from the package. Don't let her see the photograph.””

“Understood.””

I called Rosalie.

She answered immediately.

“Alessandro, what is happening?””

“I don't know yet. But I need you to listen carefully. Someone is threatening Livia because of what happened at St. Catherine's.””

Rosalie began crying.

“I knew this would happen. I knew Isabella was right to be afraid.””

“Tell me what you know about Thomas.””

She went silent.

“Rosalie?””

“I've never met him. But Isabella told me she'd received a letter from someone claiming to be your father's brother. It arrived about six months before she died.””

“Why didn't you tell me?””

“Because I didn't know whether it was real. Isabella asked me to keep it secret until she could verify the identity.””

“Do you still have the letter?””

“I think so. It was among the documents she left me.””

“Find it.””

“I will.””

I ended the call.

Samuel sent a message a few minutes later.

The address in Boston belonged to a private legal office that had closed eleven years earlier. The property had since been purchased by a holding company registered in Delaware.

The company had one director.

Thomas Moretti.

I stared at the screen.

My uncle had not simply survived.

He had built a legal identity, maintained a business presence, and concealed himself from the family for decades.

I called Samuel again.

“Can you find a current address?””

“I'm working on it. But I found something else. Thomas was involved in a civil dispute with the Bellini family twelve years ago.””

“What kind of dispute?””

“An ownership claim involving several commercial properties and a charitable foundation. The case was dismissed before trial.””

“Why?””

“The plaintiff withdrew the claim. The settlement documents are sealed.””

“Who was the plaintiff?””

“Thomas Moretti.””

I leaned back.

The Bellinis had been connected to my family long before Bianca entered my life.

And my uncle had once tried to challenge them in court.

“Find the settlement,” I said.

“I want every page.””

“I'll do my best.””

When I reached Rosalie's house, Livia was asleep in her room. Marco stood outside the door, and two officers were examining the package on the dining table.

Rosalie met me in the hallway.

She looked exhausted.

“I found the letter.””

She handed me a yellow envelope.

The handwriting on the front was unfamiliar.

Inside was a single page.

Isabella,

If you are reading this, then the Moretti family has finally begun to ask questions. I cannot return to the life I once knew, but I can tell you this: your husband was not the only person who believed Thomas died that night.

The child was never meant to become part of a business arrangement. But someone changed the plan, and the consequences have followed all of us.

Find the man who signed the original hospital record. He is the only one who knows which baby left the ward.

The letter was unsigned.

At the bottom, someone had written a phone number.

I called it.

A recorded message answered.

“The number you have dialed is no longer in service.””

Rosalie watched me.

“Does it mean anything to you?””

“No.””

I folded the letter.

“Not yet.””

A police officer approached.

“Mr. Moretti, we examined the package. The photograph appears to be an original print, but the note has no fingerprints we can use. We're sending both items for further analysis.””

“Can you identify the person in the photograph?””

“Not from the image alone.””

He handed me a copy.

My father stood beside a black car outside a hospital entrance. His hair was darker than in the family photographs I remembered, but the resemblance was unmistakable.

A second man stood beside him.

The face had been scratched out.

I turned the photograph over.

On the back was a date.

The night Livia was born.

I felt sick.

The same night.

The same hospital.

The same impossible contradiction.

I looked at Rosalie.

“Did Isabella ever mention a man named Dr. Peter Lang?””

Rosalie nodded.

“Yes. She said he had treated your father for years. She once asked whether I knew where he lived.””

“Did you?””

“No. He retired shortly after your father's death.””

“Did she tell you why she was looking for him?””

Rosalie shook her head.

“She said she needed to ask him about something he witnessed.””

I thought of Elena's notebook.

Dr. Lang had been the physician who authorized the temporary transfer of newborns.

He was the man who could explain the identification discrepancy.

If he was still alive, he might be the only person who could confirm whether the hospital had made a mistake—or whether someone had deliberately changed the records.

I called Samuel.

“Find Dr. Peter Lang.””

“I've already started. He appears to have retired to a property outside Providence.””

“Get me the address.””

Samuel hesitated.

“Alessandro, there's another issue. The hospital records from the night Livia was born were transferred to a private archive after St. Catherine's closed its maternity ward.””

“Who controls the archive?””

“A foundation established by the Bellini family.””

I closed my eyes.

Of course.

Every road led back to the same people.

“Can we get access?””

“Not without a court order. But I found a former administrator who may be willing to cooperate.””

“Who?””

“Daniel Cross.””

I stared at the phone.

“Daniel is involved in this.””

“Possibly. He worked for the Bellini family during the period when the archive was established. He may know how the records were transferred.””

I thought of the message he'd sent me.

He wanted to meet alone.

Now I understood why.

He wasn't simply trying to explain the trust transfer.

He wanted to control what I learned about the hospital records.

“Arrange a meeting,” I said.

“But make sure the police know where we are.””

Samuel agreed.

I looked toward Livia's bedroom.

She was still asleep, one hand resting beside her face. The butterfly clip lay on the nightstand.

I stood in the doorway for several minutes, listening to her breathe.

Then I returned to the dining room.

Rosalie was sitting with Isabella's letter in front of her.

“Alessandro,” she said quietly, “there's something I haven't told you.””

I stopped.

“What?””

“Isabella came to see me the night before she died. She was very weak, but she insisted on bringing me a box.””

“What box?””

“A small metal box. She said it contained the truth about Livia's birth.””

I felt my heartbeat quicken.

“Where is it?””

“I don't know.””

“What do you mean?””

“She asked me to hide it somewhere safe. I put it in the storage room beneath the house, but when I went back to retrieve it after the funeral, it was gone.””

“Did you tell the police?””

“No. I thought someone had taken it by mistake. I didn't understand how important it was.””

I stared at her.

“Why didn't you tell me this earlier?””

“Because I was ashamed. I thought I had failed Isabella. I thought if I admitted the box was missing, you'd blame me.””

I rubbed my face.

“Rosalie, I'm not interested in blaming anyone right now. I need to know what was inside that box.””

“So do I.””

My phone rang.

Samuel.

“I found Dr. Lang's address. There's a complication.””

“What?””

“He died eleven months ago.””

I felt the last thread of hope snap.

“Did he leave any records?””

“Yes. His estate includes a storage unit containing personal medical files. His executor has agreed to preserve the materials while we seek a legal order.””

“Good. Get the order.””

“I'll begin immediately.””

I ended the call.

Then another message arrived.

It was from an unknown number.

*You have been looking for Thomas. Stop.*

A second message followed.

*He is not the man you remember.*

I stared at the screen.

Then the phone rang.

The caller ID showed a blocked number.

I answered.

A man's voice came through, low and rough.

“Alessandro?””

“Who is this?””

“You don't know me anymore.””

My heart began pounding.

“Thomas?””

There was a long silence.

Then the man said, “Your father wasn't the man who raised you.””

I felt as if the floor had disappeared beneath my feet.

“What did you say?””

“Your father knew the truth. He spent his entire life trying to bury it.””

“Where are you?””

“I can't tell you that.””

“Then why are you calling me?””

“Because Isabella asked me to protect Livia if the Bellinis ever came looking for her.””

I gripped the phone.

“Protect her from what?””

“From the people who believe she belongs to them.””

“Who?””

The man took a shaky breath.

“Adrian Bellini is not Livia's biological father.””

I closed my eyes.

I didn't know why I'd expected something else.

“Then who is?””

The man whispered a name.

And everything I'd believed about my family began to collapse.

“Your brother,” he said.

I couldn't breathe.

“My brother is dead.””

“No,” Thomas replied.

“Your brother disappeared the night Livia was born.””

I stared at Rosalie.

She had gone pale.

“That's impossible,” I whispered.

“Your father told you he died in a car accident. He lied. Your brother was taken to St. Catherine's that night, and someone made sure his name never appeared in the final records.””

I felt my knees weaken.

I had never known I had a brother.

Not a living one.

Not one who might be connected to Livia's birth.

“Thomas, where are you?””

“I'll send you an address. Come alone.””

“No. I'm bringing the police.””

“Then you'll never learn what happened to your brother.””

The line went dead.

I stood motionless, staring at the phone.

Rosalie slowly rose from her chair.

“What did he say?””