Chapter 5: The Father I Was Told to Forget
The gunfire lasted less than a minute.
But a minute can change everything.
One moment, I was holding a letter written by a man I thought had been dead for twenty years.
The next, I was lying on the floor of Belladonna Restaurant while Vincent Moretti’s men moved around us like shadows.
The smell of expensive wine and fresh herbs was replaced by smoke.
Broken glass covered the marble floor.
The elegant restaurant where people came to celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, and business deals had become a battlefield.
And somehow, the most impossible thing in the room was not the gunfire.
It was the name written on that paper.
*Matteo Bellandi.*
My father.
I stared at those words until they blurred.
My hands shook.
Not because of the bullets.
Because my entire life had just become a lie.
“Luca!””
Vincent grabbed my shoulder.
“Are you hurt?””
I looked at him.
For a second, I couldn’t answer.
Then I held up the letter.
“My father.””
Vincent’s eyes dropped to the paper.
His expression changed.
He understood immediately.
“You knew?””
The question came out colder than I expected.
Vincent looked at me.
“No.””
“Then why does my grandmother know your mother?””
No answer.
“Why does Antonio know my father?””
Still nothing.
I pushed his hand away.
“You all knew something.””
“Luca—”
“No.””
My voice surprised even me.
“I spent my entire life thinking my family was ordinary.””
I looked around the damaged restaurant.
“At least I thought we were.””
Vincent stayed silent.
Maybe because there was nothing he could say.
Maybe because, for once, he understood what it felt like to have your world collapse.
A guard approached.
“Boss.””
Vincent turned.
“What happened?””
“They’re gone.””
“Who?””
The guard looked uncomfortable.
“We don’t know.””
That answer clearly bothered Vincent.
“You don’t know?””
“They escaped before we reached the entrance.””
Vincent’s eyes became cold.
“How many?””
“Two vehicles.””
“Any identification?””
The guard hesitated.
“One thing.””
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object.
A piece of black fabric.
Pinned to it was a symbol.
Vincent took it.
The second he saw it, his face changed.
“What is that?”” I asked.
He closed his hand around it.
“Nothing.””
I laughed bitterly.
“Everyone keeps saying that.””
I looked at him.
“Nothing is always something with you people.””
Before Vincent could respond, another voice spoke.
“You’re right.””
Antonio stepped out from behind the wall.
His suit was covered in dust.
“But you still don’t understand how deep this goes.””
Vincent turned toward him.
“Explain.””
Antonio looked at the letter in my hand.
Then at me.
“Your father was never supposed to exist.””
My anger returned.
“What does that mean?””
Antonio sighed.
“It means Matteo was born into the wrong family.””
I stared at him.
“He was my father.””
“Yes.””
“And your family wanted him gone?””
Antonio looked at Vincent.
“Not my entire family.””
A pause.
“His father.””
Vincent’s expression darkened.
“My grandfather?””
Antonio nodded.
“The old man believed the Moretti bloodline had to remain pure.””
The word disgusted me.
“Pure?””
Antonio looked ashamed.
“He believed power belonged only to certain people.””
I looked at Vincent.
“And your father?””
Vincent’s face hardened.
“My father believed many things.””
“That’s not an answer.””
“No.””
His voice became quieter.
“It isn’t.””
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Antonio walked toward the table.
“The letter.””
I held it closer.
“What about it?””
“You need to read the whole thing.””
“Why?””
“Because Matteo knew this day would come.””
I looked down.
The paper was old, but the ink was still clear.
I unfolded it fully.
The first lines were written in a steady hand.
*Luca,*
*If you are reading this, Rosa could not keep you away from the truth forever.*
My heart tightened.
I continued.
*I wish I could have told you everything myself. I wish I could have watched you grow without secrets between us. But some secrets are not meant to protect the person hiding them. They are meant to protect the person they love.*
I swallowed.
My father’s voice existed only in memories.
A laugh.
A hand on my shoulder.
A song he used to hum while cooking.
I had been five years old when he died.
At least, that was what I believed.
The letter continued.
*Your grandmother will tell you that I left. She will tell you that I had no choice. Believe her. She carried this burden because I asked her to.*
I looked up.
“Why would she lie to me?””
Antonio answered softly.
“Because she loved you.””
I looked back at the letter.
*Luca, there are three things you must know.*
*First: your mother was never the enemy.*
My breathing slowed.
*Second: Vincent Moretti is not responsible for what happened.*
I looked at Vincent.
He looked surprised.
*Third: if Vincent ever finds you, it means the past has returned.*
A cold feeling moved through me.
The letter continued.
*Do not hate him. He lost more than anyone.*
I looked at Vincent again.
For years, I had heard his name spoken like a warning.
A monster.
A criminal.
A man without mercy.
But my father’s letter described him differently.
Like someone who had been hurt.
*The person you need to fear is not Vincent.*
The next line was darker.
*It is the person who made both our families suffer.*
I turned the page.
The next sentence made my blood freeze.
*Your uncle is alive.*
I looked at Antonio.
He went completely still.
“Which uncle?”” I asked.
Nobody answered.
Then Vincent spoke.
“My uncle Antonio?””
Antonio shook his head slowly.
“No.””
His voice was barely audible.
“There was another.””
I stared at him.
“What?””
Antonio looked like he had aged ten years.
“A man your father and my sister were trying to escape from.””
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“Who?””
Antonio looked at the letter.
Then at me.
“Your uncle.””
I felt confused.
“My uncle?””
“Yes.””
“Who?””
Antonio’s face became serious.
“Your father’s brother.””
The silence that followed felt impossible.
I had grown up believing I barely had a family.
Now I was discovering I had a family tree filled with ghosts.
“His name?””
Antonio hesitated.
Then he said:
“Gabriel Bellandi.””
The name meant nothing to me.
But Vincent reacted.
Immediately.
“You know him.””
Antonio looked at Vincent.
“Yes.””
“Who is he?””
Antonio’s expression darkened.
“The man who started the war between our families.””
The restaurant went quiet again.
A war.
That word sounded too large.
Too impossible.
I looked at Vincent.
“What does this have to do with your mother?””
Antonio answered.
“Everything.””
He walked closer.
“Your father and Elena discovered Gabriel was stealing from both families.””
Vincent frowned.
“My mother?””
“She wanted to expose him.””
Antonio looked at the floor.
“Matteo helped her.””
I remembered my grandmother’s fear.
The bracelet.
The warnings.
The years of silence.
“Then what happened?””
Antonio didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
The pain on his face did.
Vincent spoke.
“Gabriel killed them.””
“No.””
Antonio’s response was immediate.
Everyone looked at him.
“He didn’t kill Elena.””
Vincent froze.
“What?””
Antonio looked at him.
“Your mother survived.””
The room seemed to stop.
Vincent stared.
“What did you say?””
“Your mother survived.””
His voice shook.
“But she was taken.””
“By Gabriel.””
“Where?””
Antonio looked toward the broken windows.
“I don’t know.””
Vincent stepped forward.
“You don’t know?””
“I lost track of them.””
“When?””
“Twenty-five years ago.””
Vincent’s expression became something I had never seen before.
Hope.
Terrifying, painful hope.
“She’s alive?””
Antonio didn’t answer.
That was enough.
Vincent turned away.
His hand covered his mouth for a moment.
The feared Vincent Moretti looked like a child hearing his mother might come home.
Then his phone rang.
Everyone froze.
Vincent answered.
“Speak.””
A voice came through.
I couldn’t hear the words.
But I saw Vincent’s face change.
The hope disappeared.
Replaced by shock.
“Where?””
A pause.
“No.””
Another pause.
Then his voice dropped.
“Keep him alive until I arrive.””
He ended the call.
I looked at him.
“What happened?””
Vincent looked at me.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he handed me his phone.
On the screen was a picture.
An old man lying in a hospital bed.
A man I had never seen before.
But beneath the picture was a name.
A name that made my stomach twist.
*Gabriel Bellandi.*
Vincent looked at me.
“Your uncle was found tonight.””
I stared at the image.
“Is he alive?””
Vincent’s expression was unreadable.
“Yes.””
A pause.
“But before he lost consciousness, he said one thing.””
I felt my heartbeat quicken.
“What?””
Vincent looked directly at me.
“He said…”
May you like
The room became silent.
“He knows where your father is.””
