Chapter five

THE HEIR WHO NEVER DIED

For several seconds, I forgot how to breathe.

Gio stood beside me, his phone pressed against his ear, while the corridor filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood.

His brother was alive.

The boy who had supposedly died in a fire. The child whose funeral had taken place without a body. The man who had apparently been waiting eight years to meet me.

“What was his name?” I whispered.

Gio lowered his phone.

“Luca.”

“Did you love him?”

His eyes shifted towards the dead man.

“He was my brother.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

Silence.

“Yes, Amelie. I loved him.”

Something in his voice made my chest tighten. For the first time, I understood that beneath the ruthless reputation of Gio Locatelli was a man who had spent years grieving someone who might never have died.

“Where is he?”

Gio’s phone rang again.

“They found a body outside the city. The identification papers say it’s Luca.”

“Then let’s go.”

“Amelie, you’re staying here.”

I folded my arms.

“You really need to learn another sentence.”

“Someone just tried to kill you.”

“And someone might be holding my mother!”

He studied me before removing his jacket and placing it around my shoulders.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m angry.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Despite everything, a small laugh escaped me.

For a moment, his fingers lingered against my collarbone. His gaze held mine, and something unfamiliar passed between us.

Then he stepped away.

“Stay close to me.”

This time, I did.

The abandoned warehouse stood beyond the industrial district. Rain poured over its rusted gates as we approached.

Inside, two armed men stood beside a body covered with a white sheet.

Gio stopped.

“Uncover him.”

The sheet was pulled away.

A pale man lay beneath it, his dark hair falling across his forehead. A scar marked the skin above his right eyebrow.

Gio’s face changed.

“Luca.”

He touched the man’s cheek.

For a moment, the most feared man in New York looked like a little boy who had just found his missing brother.

Then he noticed the silver ring on the dead man’s finger.

His initials were engraved inside.

“G.L.”

“Why would your brother wear your ring?” I asked.

“I gave it to him when I was seventeen. He stole it the morning he disappeared.”

Before I could respond, one of the guards approached with an envelope.

“Someone left this beside the body.”

Gio opened it.

Inside was a photograph of my mother standing beside a little boy.

I recognised her immediately.

The boy looked about seven.

Beneath the photograph was a handwritten sentence.

She took one child and left the other behind.

I looked at Gio.

“What does that mean?”

He turned the photograph over.

The date was the night my mother supposedly died.

Behind them stood Daniel Pearce and Gio’s father.

My blood ran cold.

“Our fathers knew each other.”

“They knew each other long before we were born,” Gio replied.

“Then why did they pretend to be enemies?”

“Because sometimes hatred is the easiest way to hide an agreement.”

I stared at the little boy.

Something about him reminded me of the red wooden car I’d discovered in my mother’s study years ago.

“Gio, I think I’ve seen that toy before.”

“Where?”

“My mother’s study.”

Before he could respond, a phone began ringing beneath the body.

Gio retrieved it and answered on speaker.

“Who is this?”

Static.

Then a man’s voice emerged.

“Hello, little brother.”

Gio went completely still.

“Luca?”

A quiet laugh followed.

“You took your time.”

“Where are you?”

“Somewhere you should have looked eight years ago.”

“Are you alive?”

“Look at the body.”

Gio glanced down.

“Whose body is this?”

“A man who thought he could buy my silence.”

Then the voice changed.

“Ask your bride.”

I felt my stomach tighten.

“I’ve never met you,” I said.

The man laughed.

“Oh, Amelie. You’ve met me.”

Gio stepped between me and the phone.

“Don’t speak to her.”

“Still playing the hero, little brother? You couldn’t save Father, couldn’t save Mother, and now you think you can save her?”

“Tell me where you are!”

“Always so impatient.”

His voice dropped.

“The wedding must happen, Gio. If you want to know what really happened to our father, you’ll marry Amelie Pearce.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then your bride will discover the truth about the night she was born.”

My heart stopped.

“Your father wanted her dead, Gio. Perhaps she’ll understand why when she learns the truth.”

The call ended.

I turned towards Gio.

“What happened the night I was born?”

He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw genuine fear in his eyes.

“I don’t know.”

I wanted to believe him.

But something about that photograph was bothering me.

I looked at the body again.

“That’s not Luca.”

Gio turned sharply.

“What?”

“The scar. Look at the photograph. The boy has a scar above his right eyebrow, but the man on the floor has it on the opposite side.”

Gio crouched and examined the body.

Then he removed the ring.

The engraving was too bright. Someone had recently altered it.

His expression darkened.

“We’ve been played.”

His phone vibrated.

A new photograph appeared.

My mother sat beside a window, looking directly at the camera.

Alive.

Beside her stood a young man with dark hair and a familiar scar above his right eyebrow.

Gio’s brother.

A message appeared beneath the photograph.

YOUR BROTHER IS ALIVE, GIO. AND HE’S STANDING BESIDE YOUR FUTURE WIFE’S MOTHER.

I stared at the screen.

Then I noticed something.

The silver ring on Luca’s finger was identical to the one Gio had just removed from the dead man’s hand.

“He’s wearing it,” I whispered.

Gio took the phone.

His expression became dangerously cold.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he looked at me.

“If Luca has your mother, this wedding isn’t an alliance anymore.”

“What is it?”

He stepped closer, his voice barely audible.

“A ransom.”

My phone suddenly vibrated.

An unknown number.

A photograph of my mother filled the screen.

Beneath it was a message.

My darling Amelie, there’s something your future husband hasn’t told you.

Another message followed.

Luca isn’t the only child who survived that night.

I stared at the words.

Then the final message appeared.

ASK GIO WHY HIS FATHER REGISTERED YOUR BIRTH BEFORE DANIEL PEARCE DID.

I slowly raised my eyes.

Gio was already looking at me.

Neither of us spoke.

Because suddenly, I wasn’t just questioning who my father was.

I was beginning to question whose daughter I had been all along.

END OF CHAPTER FIVE