Chapter 4: The Brother Buried Twice
For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the ticking clock behind me.
My brother had been dead for four years.
I had stood beside his coffin. I had watched them lower it into the ground. I had paid for the marble headstone myself, choosing the inscription because I couldn't bear the thought of him being remembered as anything less than the man I'd loved.
And now my wife stood in my dead wife's bedroom, telling me he had helped steal my daughter.
“Explain,” I said.
Vanessa folded her arms across her white robe.
“You always do this, Dante. You ask questions as though the world owes you answers.””
I crossed the room and placed the forged death certificate beside the photograph of Evelyn.
“Where is my brother?””
She glanced at the documents.
“I told you. Ask him.””
I seized her wrist before she could turn away.
“Don't play games with me.””
Her bracelet slid down her arm. She looked at my hand, then slowly raised her eyes to mine.
“Let go.””
“Tell me where Evelyn is.””
“I don't know.””
“You knew about her existence. You knew Isabella was alive. You knew what was in this room before Leo ever opened the door.””
Vanessa pulled free.
“And what will you do when you find out the truth? Kill everyone who knew? Burn down the hospitals? Dig up your brother's grave?””
I stepped closer.
“If that's what it takes.””
She laughed bitterly.
“There it is. The great Dante Moretti. The man who thinks violence can repair anything.””
“Careful.””
“No. You be careful.”” Her voice sharpened.
“You spent years looking for Isabella, but every time you came close to discovering something, you stopped. You accepted whatever explanation allowed you to return to your business.””
The accusation struck deeper than I wanted to admit.
She was right about one thing.
After Isabella disappeared, I had hired investigators, questioned witnesses, and searched every property she had ever visited. But when the trail led nowhere, I had buried myself in work.
Then Vanessa had arrived.
She had been kind to Leo. Patient with me. She'd helped organize the household when grief made even the smallest decisions exhausting.
I'd mistaken convenience for comfort.
And eventually, I had married her.
“Who was at the clinic?”” I asked.
Vanessa's expression changed.
For the first time, she looked genuinely uncertain.
“I wasn't there.””
“Then how do you know my brother was involved?””
She hesitated.
I watched her carefully.
“Because,” she said at last, “your brother arranged the transfer.””
My stomach tightened.
“Transfer to where?””
“I don't know.””
“You expect me to believe that?””
“I expect you to understand that your brother didn't tell me everything.””
She picked up the photograph of Evelyn and ran her thumb across the little girl's face.
“Your brother believed he was protecting the family.””
“From what?””
Vanessa looked at me.
“From you.””
Before I could answer, the bedroom door opened.
Marco stood in the doorway, holding a thick brown envelope.
“Sir, the old security records have arrived.””
I took the envelope from him.
“Anything unusual?””
“Yes. The original logs from the night Isabella disappeared are incomplete. Three pages were removed.””
“Who had access?””
Marco glanced at Vanessa.
“Your brother, sir.””
I looked up.
“When?””
“Two days before his death.””
Vanessa's fingers tightened around the photograph.
I turned to her.
“What happened to my brother?””
She didn't answer.
I walked past her into the corridor, carrying the envelope. I needed air, distance, something that wasn't soaked in the memories of the woman I had lost.
Leo was waiting near the staircase with Grace.
He hurried toward me.
“Dad, are you going to find my sister?””
I crouched in front of him.
“Yes.””
“Even if she's angry with you?””
The question caught me off guard.
“Why would she be angry with me?””
Leo glanced at Grace.
Then he looked down at his shoes.
“Because you didn't look for her.””
I felt the words like a knife between my ribs.
I could have explained that I hadn't known she existed. That someone had forged documents and hidden the truth. That I had spent years believing the worst thing that could happen to a father was losing his wife.
But Leo was eight.
He didn't need another excuse from an adult.
“You're right,” I said quietly.
“I didn't look for her because I didn't know she was alive. But now I do, and I won't stop.””
He studied my face.
“Promise?””
I held out my little finger.
He wrapped his around mine.
“I promise.””
Then Grace spoke.
“Sir, there's something I should tell you.””
I turned.
“What is it?””
She looked frightened, but this time she didn't lower her eyes.
“When Mrs. Moretti brought me to the house, she told me never to enter the east wing. She said the room belonged to a dead woman and that opening it would bring bad luck.””
“And?””
“Three months ago, I found a photograph in the laundry room. It showed a little girl with the same birthmark as the baby in the picture.””
“Where is the photograph now?””
“Mrs. Moretti burned it.””
My jaw tightened.
“Did she say anything?””
Grace nodded.
“She said the child was supposed to have died a long time ago.””
I straightened.
“Marco, find out where Vanessa lived before she married me. Every address, every employer, every bank account we can legally access.””
Marco nodded.
“And send a team to my brother's grave.””
Grace went pale.
“Sir?””
“If he arranged Evelyn's transfer, I want to know whether he's really in that grave.””
That evening, I drove to the cemetery myself.
Rain tapped against the windshield as we approached the hill where my family's graves stood beneath towering cypress trees.
My brother, Adrian Moretti, had been buried beside our parents.
I remembered his funeral vividly. His widow had cried so violently that she had to be helped from the church. The priest spoke about a tragic accident on a mountain road. The coroner's report identified Adrian's body through dental records.
I had never questioned it.
Why would I?
He was my brother.
Marco and two men were waiting at the grave when I arrived. A cemetery worker stood nearby, nervously twisting his cap.
“Mr. Moretti,” the worker said, “we can open the grave, but I need your authorization.””
I handed him the signed document.
“Do it.””
The work took nearly an hour.
Rain soaked my coat. Mud gathered around my shoes. I barely noticed.
When the coffin was finally lifted, Marco opened it under the temporary lights.
Then he turned toward me.
His face had gone rigid.
“Sir.””
I stepped forward.
The coffin was empty.
No body.
No clothing.
Only a folded newspaper and a small envelope resting where a man's chest should have been.
I reached inside and pulled out the envelope.
My name was written across the front.
The handwriting belonged to Adrian.
I tore it open.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Dante,
If you ever find this, it means Vanessa failed to keep the secret.
I am alive.
And Evelyn is the reason I had to disappear.
At the bottom was an address.
And beneath it, one final sentence.
Do not come alone. The man who helped us is still inside your house.
I lifted my head toward the rain-darkened sky.
My brother was alive.
My daughter was alive.
And someone inside my own home had been watching me search for them both.
My phone vibrated.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
*Stop digging, Dante. Your son is already in danger.*
Then another message arrived.
May you like
It contained a photograph of Leo sleeping in his bed.
Taken less than five minutes earlier.
