Chapter 3: The Man Who Signed My Birth Certificate
The first thing I learned about Michael Moretti was that he could lie without moving a muscle.
The second thing I learned was that he could tell the truth in a way that made you wish he were lying.
As the gas filled the records room, he tore a metal cabinet away from the wall and exposed a narrow maintenance hatch.
“Get inside,” he ordered.
I coughed violently.
“What about you?””
“Move!””
He shoved me through the opening, then climbed in after me and slammed the hatch shut.
We crawled through a narrow tunnel beneath the hospital. Dust coated my tongue. My knees scraped against concrete, and every breath burned.
Behind us, the room filled with poisonous gas.
Ahead, a faint rectangle of daylight marked the end of the tunnel.
Michael reached it first.
He forced open the grate and pulled me into a weed-covered courtyard.
I collapsed beside a broken fountain.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I grabbed the front of his shirt.
“What did you sign?””
He caught my wrists.
“Let go.””
“What did you sign, Michael?””
His eyes were bloodshot from the gas.
“A transfer order.””
“What kind of transfer?””
“A document authorizing the removal of a newborn from Saint Agnes.””
I stared at him.
“Why?””
“Because someone told me the hospital was going to destroy evidence connected to Elena's death. They said a child was in danger.””
“And you signed a document without checking where the child was going?””
“I was twenty-nine. My wife had just died. I had enemies everywhere, and the people I trusted told me they were trying to save a baby.””
He released my wrists.
“I signed it because I thought I was saving my daughter.””
“But you weren't.””
“No.””
He looked at the ruined hospital.
“I may have signed away yours.””
I stepped backward.
The rain soaked my hair and ran down my face.
“Don't come near me.””
He stayed where he was.
“Anna, listen—”
“No. You listen. My brother disappeared trying to uncover what happened here.
My mother died with a secret she refused to tell me. And now you're standing in front of me telling me that you might have signed the paper that stole my life.””
“I know.””
“You don't know anything!””
My voice echoed through the courtyard.
“You get to drive around in armored cars. You get guards and lawyers and private doctors. You get to decide who enters a room and who leaves it. My brother vanished, and I had to put on a waitress uniform to find him!””
Michael didn't defend himself.
That made me angrier.
“Say something!””
He lowered his head.
“I am sorry.””
The words were so quiet that I almost missed them.
I had imagined this moment a thousand times.
I had imagined Michael threatening me, laughing at me, denying everything.
I had never imagined him apologizing.
I hated him for that, too.
A phone rang inside his coat.
He answered it.
“Speak.””
A man's voice came through the speaker.
“Sir, we found the vehicle that followed us from the estate.””
“And?””
“Empty. Driver missing. We recovered a phone and a set of keys.””
Michael looked at me.
“Anything else?””
“Yes, sir. There's a message on the phone.””
“What does it say?””
The man hesitated.
“Come alone to the old chapel. Bring the girl. If you want Luca Reed alive.””
Michael ended the call.
I reached for his arm.
“Luca's alive?””
“I believe so.””
“Then take me to him.””
“We will.””
“Now.””
He studied my face.
“Anna, whoever arranged this knows our movements. If we go where they tell us without a plan, we may not come back.””
“I don't care.””
“I do.””
“Why?””
His jaw tightened.
“Because your brother trusted me once, and I intend to find out why he stopped.””
For the first time, I saw something beneath his cold expression that looked like shame.
We returned to the SUV by a different route.
Michael ordered his men to take us to the old chapel, but he also called a second team and instructed them to approach from the opposite side.
As we drove, I unfolded the document I had taken from the hospital file.
The paper was brittle and yellowed.
At the bottom was Michael's signature.
Above it, in smaller print, was a line I hadn't noticed before.
*Receiving party: Bellini Family Charitable Foundation.*
My stomach twisted.
“Michael.””
He glanced at the document.
When he saw the foundation's name, his expression became murderous.
“Give me that.””
“No.””
“Anna—”
“You knew the Bellinis were involved?””
“No.””
“Then why is their name here?””
“I don't know.””
“You expect me to believe you?””
“No,” he said.
“I expect you to check the evidence.””
That answer stopped me.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“Call Margaret,” he told the driver.
The driver put the call on speaker.
Margaret answered after two rings.
“Mr. Moretti?””
“Tell me everything you know about Saint Agnes.””
Silence.
Then Margaret sighed.
“I was hoping you'd never ask me that.””
Michael's knuckles whitened around the phone.
“Start talking.””
“Twenty-eight years ago, I worked for your father. I handled his private correspondence. The Bellini Foundation was funding a neonatal unit at Saint Agnes, supposedly to help families who couldn't afford treatment.””
“And?””
“And some of the babies never appeared in the public records.””
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Margaret continued.
“Families were told their children had died. Other families were given children whose birth records had been altered. Your father discovered it, but by then the Bellinis had threatened to expose several members of his organization.””
Michael's voice turned icy.
“My father knew?””
“He tried to stop them.””
“Did he?””
Margaret hesitated.
“No.””
Michael closed his eyes.
“Why?””
“Because the Bellinis had something he wanted more than his conscience.””
“What?””
“A list of every judge, police officer, and politician who had taken money from his organization.””
The car fell silent.
Then Margaret added, “There was one more thing.””
Michael leaned forward.
“What?””
“The night of the fire, I saw Vanessa Bellini leave the hospital carrying a baby.””
I turned toward the phone.
“Which baby?””
Margaret's voice trembled.
“I couldn't see the child's face. But Vanessa was wearing a white coat over her dress, and there was blood on her sleeve.””
Michael's face became unreadable.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because two days later, someone left a photograph of my son outside my apartment.””
Her voice cracked.
“He was twelve. The message said that if I ever spoke about Saint Agnes, he would die.””
Michael stared at the phone.
“Where is your son now?””
“Dead.””
Nobody spoke.
Margaret took a shaky breath.
“He was killed in a car accident three months later. The police called it an accident. I never believed them.””
I looked at Michael.
For the first time, his anger had nowhere to go.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
Margaret gave a bitter laugh.
“Save your apologies for the living.””
The call ended.
The old chapel appeared through the rain.
It stood on a hill overlooking the river, abandoned for years. Ivy climbed its stone walls, and the wooden doors hung crooked on their hinges.
Michael's guards spread out around the grounds.
He handed me a small pistol.
I stared at it.
“I don't know how to use this.””
“Keep your finger off the trigger. Point it only if someone threatens you.””
“Is this supposed to make me feel safer?””
“No.””
He looked into my eyes.
“It's supposed to give you a chance.””
We entered the chapel.
Dust floated in the pale light. Wooden pews stood in crooked rows. At the altar, someone had placed a single white rose.
Beside it lay a phone.
Michael approached cautiously and picked it up.
A video began playing automatically.
Luca appeared on the screen.
His face was bruised, and one eye was swollen shut. But he was alive.
“Anna,” he whispered.
“If you're watching this, it means they brought you to the chapel.””
I stepped closer.
“Luca?””
His image flickered.
“Listen carefully. Don't trust Michael. Don't trust Vanessa. And whatever you do, don't believe the story about our mother.””
My heart stopped.
Luca looked directly into the camera.
“Anna, the woman who raised you was not the woman who gave birth to you.””
I shook my head.
“No.””
The recording continued.
“They told you she died when you were sixteen. They told you she was your mother. But she was paid to raise you because the real one was too dangerous to keep alive.””
Michael stood motionless beside me.
Luca swallowed painfully.
“Your real mother is alive, Anna. She's been alive this whole time.””
A shadow moved behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder.
Then he leaned toward the camera and whispered the words that shattered everything I thought I knew.
“Her name is Elena Moretti.””
The video ended.
I couldn't breathe.
Michael reached for me, but I stumbled away from him.
“No.””
He looked as shocked as I felt.
“Anna—”
“No! You said your wife died in the fire!””
“She did.””
“Then how can she be my mother?””
Michael stared at the blank phone screen.
“I don't know.””
A loud metallic crash came from behind the altar.
One of Michael's guards shouted.
“Sir! We have someone!””
Gunfire erupted outside.
Michael grabbed my hand and pulled me behind a stone pillar.
The chapel doors slammed open.
Vanessa Bellini walked down the center aisle in a cream-colored coat, carrying a small black handbag.
Two armed men followed her.
She looked at Michael, then at me.
“I'm glad you both came,” she said.
Her gaze settled on my face.
“You've been asking the wrong questions, Anna.””
She opened her handbag and removed a photograph.
It showed a woman standing in front of a hospital window, holding a newborn baby.
The woman had Michael's eyes.
My eyes.
And around her neck hung the same silver heart pendant I'd seen in the photograph of Daniel Cross's missing daughter.
Vanessa smiled without warmth.
“You want to know who your mother is?””
She placed the photograph on the altar.
“Ask why Michael Moretti married her after she was already dead.””
May you like
Then she raised her gun and pointed it at Michael.
“But first, you should know which one of us ordered the fire.””
