Chapter 9 – THE DOCTOR’S CONFESSION
The silence in the bank vault was deafening.
I stared at the letter, the elegant ink blurring as tears flooded my eyes. She’s alive. For twenty-seven years, I thought I was an orphan. For the last twenty-four hours, I thought my birth mother was a tragic ghost.
But she was out there.
“Elias Cross,” Matteo growled, his voice vibrating with a terrifying intensity. “He orchestrated this whole thing. He faked her death, kept her hidden, and sent his daughter to infiltrate my family to steal the estate.”
“But where is she?” I asked frantically, rifling through the rest of the papers in the box. “Does it say where he kept her?”
Matteo pulled a weathered property deed from the bottom of the stack.
“A private psychiatric facility in upstate New York,” Matteo read, his jaw clenched tight. “Owned entirely by a shell corporation under Elias Cross’s name.”
Matteo slammed the portfolio shut.
“Dante,” Matteo barked into his cell phone. “Have the jet fueled and ready in twenty minutes. We’re going to New York.”
We didn’t wait for the train. By noon, we were touching down on a private airstrip near the Catskill Mountains.
The facility was hidden deep in the woods, surrounded by high iron fences and security cameras. It looked less like a hospital and more like a fortress.
Matteo didn’t bother buzzing the intercom.
Dante and four armed security guards took a heavy battering ram from the trunk of our SUV and smashed the front gates wide open.
The receptionist screamed as Matteo walked through the glass double doors, completely ignoring the security guards drawing their batons.
“Where is Elias Cross?” Matteo demanded.
Before the guards could intervene, an old man in a pristine white coat stepped out of a back office. He was hunched over, his hair completely white, but his eyes held the same arrogant cruelty as Evelyn’s.
“Matteo Russo,” Dr. Cross said smoothly, though his hands trembled slightly. “To what do I owe this violent intrusion?”
Matteo crossed the lobby in three massive strides. He grabbed the old man by the throat and slammed him against the wall.
“Where is my sister?” Matteo roared.
Dr. Cross gasped for air, his face turning purple. “I don’t… know what you’re… talking about.”
“Liar!” I screamed, stepping forward and throwing Isabella’s letter onto the reception desk. “We found the safe deposit box! We know you hid her!”
Dr. Cross looked at the letter. The arrogance vanished from his eyes, replaced entirely by fear.
Matteo loosened his grip just enough to let the man speak.
“She was the key to everything,” Dr. Cross wheezed, coughing violently. “If the syndicate knew she was alive, my family would never get control. We went bankrupt, Matteo. I needed the Russo money to survive.”
“So you locked her up in a cage for twenty-seven years?” Matteo asked, pressing his forearm against the doctor’s windpipe.
“Not here,” Dr. Cross gasped.
Matteo froze. “What?”
“She isn’t here,” the old man confessed, terror leaking into his voice. “Three years ago, when your father died, I knew Evelyn was moving in to take the estate. Isabella begged me to let her go. She promised she wouldn’t interfere with the inheritance if I just let her leave.”
“And you let her?” I asked, not believing a word he said.
“I had to,” Dr. Cross whispered. “She found out about the poison. She knew Evelyn killed your father. She threatened to expose everything if I didn’t give her a passport and money.”
Matteo dropped the doctor to the floor in disgust.
“Where did she go?” Matteo demanded.
Dr. Cross pointed a shaking finger toward a filing cabinet in his office.
“Top drawer,” he coughed. “I kept tabs on her to make sure she kept her promise.”
I ran into the office and yanked the drawer open.
Inside was a thin file containing a single photograph and a handwritten address.
I stared at the picture.
It was recent. A woman with silver streaks in her dark hair, wiping down the counter of a small, sunlit bakery. She looked older, tired, but unmistakably beautiful.
She had my eyes.
“Where is this?” Matteo asked, coming up behind me.
I looked at the address.
“Vernazza,” I whispered. “It’s a small coastal village in Italy.”
Matteo grabbed the file. He turned back to Dr. Cross, who was still cowering on the floor.
“The police are on their way, Elias,” Matteo said coldly. “Enjoy the rest of your pathetic life behind bars with your daughter.”
As soon as we were back in the SUV, Matteo looked at me.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
I nodded, clutching the photograph to my chest. “Take me to my mother.”
Fourteen hours later, the sun was rising over the sparkling blue waters of the Italian Riviera.
We walked down a narrow cobblestone street lined with pastel-colored houses. The smell of fresh bread and espresso filled the salty ocean air.
At the end of the street, nestled near the cliffs, was a small bakery.
The wooden sign above the door read: La Speranza. Hope.
I stopped walking. My legs felt like lead.
“I can’t breathe,” I whispered, panic suddenly seizing my chest. “What if she doesn’t want to see me? What if I remind her of everything she lost?”
Matteo placed a warm, reassuring hand on my shoulder.
“She gave up her entire life so you could have one, Abigail,” Matteo said softly. “She wants to see you more than she wants to breathe.”
I took a deep breath, pushing the door open.
A tiny bell chimed above our heads.
The bakery was empty of customers. Behind the glass counter, a woman in a white apron was arranging fresh pastries. Her back was to us.
“Un momento, per favore,” she called out in flawless Italian, not turning around.
“Take your time, Izzy.”
The woman froze.
The tray of pastries slipped from her hands, crashing to the tile floor in a shower of powdered sugar.
She turned around slowly.
Her dark hair was tied back, and her face was lined with years of hidden grief, but it was her. Isabella Russo.
She stared at Matteo, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a sob.
“Nicky?” she whispered.
Matteo broke down. The fearless, untouchable man collapsed into tears as he rushed behind the counter, pulling his older sister into a desperate, crushing embrace.
“You’re alive,” Matteo sobbed into her shoulder. “You’re actually alive.”
Isabella wept, holding her little brother tight. “I’m so sorry, Nicky. I had to stay away. The syndicate… Evelyn… I was trying to protect you.”
“The syndicate is gone,” Matteo promised, pulling back to look at her. “I dissolved it yesterday. Evelyn and Elias are going to prison. It’s over, Izzy. You can come home.”
Isabella closed her eyes in pure relief.
Then, she looked past Matteo.
She looked at me.
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