Her Mother's File

Chapter Fifteen

My mother's name stared back at me from the folder.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe.

ELENA MORETTI.

The letters were typed in black ink across a plain manila file.

My mother's name.

A name I hadn't seen written down in years.

My fingers tightened around Damien's.

"Where is it?" he asked.

Victor held the folder carefully.

"In the administrator's office."

"Take us there."

Victor hesitated.

"Boss, there are still people searching the building."

"Then they'll search with us."

He turned toward me.

"Stay beside me."

I nodded.

My father tried to sit up.

"Lena."

I immediately went to him.

"What?"

His eyes were fixed on the folder.

"Don't open it."

I stared at him.

"Why?"

"Because some things are better left buried."

I felt anger rise inside me.

"That's what you've been telling me my entire life."

He closed his eyes.

"I wanted to protect you."

"And now I'm nineteen and surrounded by armed men because everyone decided lying to me was protection."

He flinched.

I immediately felt guilty.

"I'm sorry."

"No."

His voice softened.

"You're right."

He looked toward Damien.

"Take her."

Damien nodded.

My father looked at me again.

"Whatever you find..."

He paused.

"Remember that your mother loved you."

My throat tightened.

"I know."

"Even if the file says otherwise."

I frowned.

"What does that mean?"

He looked away.

"Just remember."

Damien touched my shoulder.

"We need to go."

I nodded.

Before leaving, I kissed my father's forehead.

"I'll come back."

He squeezed my hand.

"I know."

The administrator's office was on the second floor.

The corridor was almost completely empty.

Almost.

Two of Damien's men stood outside the office.

Victor opened the door.

The room was dark.

The desk had been overturned.

Drawers were open.

Papers covered the floor.

Someone had searched the place.

Damien entered first.

His eyes scanned every corner.

"Nobody touch anything."

Victor nodded.

I stepped inside.

The smell of old paper and coffee filled the room.

A computer screen was still on.

There was a half-finished email.

Damien walked toward it.

"What does it say?"

Victor leaned over the desk.

"He's been communicating with someone."

"Who?"

"Encrypted."

"Can you trace it?"

"I'm trying."

I looked at the folder in Victor's hand.

"That's my mother's?"

He nodded.

"Yes."

"Give it to me."

Damien looked at me.

"Are you sure?"

"No."

I swallowed.

"But I need to know."

He took the folder from Victor.

Then handed it to me.

Our fingers touched.

"Whatever is inside," he said quietly, "you don't have to face it alone."

I nodded.

Then opened it.

The first page was a photograph.

My mother.

She was younger than I remembered.

Maybe twenty-five.

Her dark hair fell over one shoulder.

She was smiling.

I touched the photograph.

"She looks happy."

Damien stood beside me.

"She was."

I looked at him.

"You knew her?"

"No."

"Then how do you know?"

"Your father told me."

I looked back at the photograph.

The next page contained information.

ELENA MORETTI

Occupation: Financial analyst

Connection: De Luca organization

My eyes widened.

"She worked for your family?"

Damien nodded.

"Apparently."

I turned the page.

There were bank records.

Dates.

Account numbers.

Company names.

I recognized none of them.

Then I saw something familiar.

My father's name.

ANTONIO MORETTI.

My breathing stopped.

"Why is my father here?"

Damien leaned closer.

"Look at the date."

I did.

It was two years before I was born.

There was another name beneath his.

MARCELLO DE LUCA.

Damien went still.

"My father."

I nodded.

"What were they doing?"

Victor answered.

"Payments."

"To whom?"

He pointed to another page.

A list of names.

Politicians.

Judges.

Police officers.

Business owners.

My stomach turned.

"This is the ledger."

Damien's expression hardened.

"No."

He pointed to the bottom of the page.

"Look."

A handwritten note.

This is only part of it.

I turned the page.

More photographs.

My mother.

My father.

Damien's father.

And another man.

A man I'd never seen.

He was older.

Silver hair.

Expensive suit.

Cold eyes.

I looked at Damien.

"Who is he?"

He stared at the photograph.

"I don't know."

Victor stepped closer.

"Boss..."

"What?"

"I know him."

Damien looked at him.

"Who?"

Victor swallowed.

"Adrian Vasile."

The name meant nothing to me.

But Damien's expression changed.

"That's impossible."

"Why?"

"He died twenty years ago."

Victor shook his head.

"Apparently not."

I looked between them.

"Who was he?"

Damien took the photograph from me.

"The man who controlled my father."

My stomach dropped.

"The Black Circle?"

He nodded.

"The founder."

Silence.

I stared at the photograph.

"So he's alive."

"Maybe."

"Then he could be the one behind everything."

Damien didn't answer.

I looked at the papers again.

There was something handwritten on the back of the photograph.

I turned it over.

Three words.

Trust no one.

My stomach tightened.

"Damien."

He read it.

His expression hardened.

Then I noticed something else.

A small mark beneath the words.

A circle.

With a line through it.

"The Black Circle."

Victor nodded.

"Yes."

I turned another page.

This one was different.

It was a letter.

The handwriting was unmistakably my mother's.

I knew it immediately.

My hands began shaking.

I unfolded it.

The first line made my heart stop.

Antonio, if you're reading this, I've already disappeared.

I looked at my father through the glass door.

He couldn't see me.

I continued.

I know what Marcello is doing. I know who is above him. And I know they will come for our daughter if they discover what I've found.

My eyes filled with tears.

"Our daughter."

Damien watched me silently.

I read on.

If something happens to me, don't tell Lena the truth until she is old enough to understand. And if I don't survive, make sure she never goes near the De Luca family.

I covered my mouth.

Damien's face tightened.

The next sentence was worse.

Marcello knows about her.

I looked at Damien.

"He knew I existed."

"Yes."

"Before I was born?"

He nodded.

I continued reading.

He believes our daughter is the key to controlling Antonio. He thinks Antonio will do anything to protect her. He's right.

My tears fell onto the paper.

My father had known.

He'd known from the beginning.

My mother had known.

And Damien's father had known.

My entire life had been built around a secret.

I turned the page.

There was only one sentence.

If they ever force her into a marriage with a De Luca, make sure she knows the truth first.

I froze.

The room went silent.

Damien read the sentence over my shoulder.

His expression changed.

"No."

I turned toward him.

"What?"

He took the paper from my hand.

"That's impossible."

"Why?"

"Because this letter was written twenty years ago."

I stared at him.

"Then how did she know?"

He didn't answer.

Victor stepped closer.

"Boss."

"What?"

"There's something else."

He held up another photograph.

It was newer.

Much newer.

My mother was standing beside a man.

Adrian Vasile.

But this photograph had been taken years after my mother's supposed death.

I stared at it.

"That's her."

Damien looked at the date.

His expression became grim.

"Five years after the accident."

My knees almost gave out.

"She was alive."

Nobody spoke.

I grabbed the desk.

"She was alive."

Damien caught my arm.

"Lena."

"My mother was alive."

"I know."

"Then why did my father tell me she was dead?"

"I don't know."

I looked toward the hospital.

My father.

The lies.

The key.

The ledger.

Everything was collapsing around me.

"I need to talk to him."

"We will."

"Now."

Damien nodded.

We hurried back toward the medical wing.

But before we reached the elevator, the lights flickered.

Damien immediately pulled me behind him.

"What?"

"Stay back."

The corridor went dark.

Then emergency lights came on.

A phone began ringing.

Not mine.

Damien's.

He answered.

"Yes?"

Silence.

Then his face became completely still.

"What did you say?"

I watched him.

He ended the call.

"What happened?"

He looked at me.

"Your father is gone."

My heart stopped.

"What?"

"He disappeared from the medical wing."

"No."

I ran.

Damien caught up immediately.

We reached the room.

The bed was empty.

The machines were still running.

The blanket was on the floor.

And on the pillow was a piece of paper.

I picked it up.

My father's handwriting.

Three words.

Don't trust Damien.

I stared at them.

Then slowly looked up.

Damien was standing in the doorway.

His expression was unreadable.

Behind him, Victor was speaking rapidly into his phone.

I looked back at the note.

My father had vanished.

My mother might have survived.

The ledger was still somewhere.

And now my father was telling me not to trust the one person I'd started believing in.

I looked at Damien.

"Did you take him?"

His eyes widened slightly.

"No."

"Then who did?"

"I don't know."

For the first time since I'd met him, Damien looked genuinely shaken.

He stepped closer.

"Lena, listen to me."

I stepped backward.

"What if my father was right?"

His expression hardened.

"About what?"

"What if I shouldn't trust you?"

He stopped.

The silence between us felt unbearable.

Then he said quietly:

"Then don't."

I stared at him.

"What?"

"Don't trust me blindly."

His eyes remained on mine.

"Question everything I tell you."

He stepped closer.

"But don't let someone else's fear decide what you believe."

I swallowed.

"What are you going to do?"

His expression turned cold.

"I'm going to find your father."

"And if someone has him?"

"Then I'll get him back."

"And if they hurt him?"

Something dangerous flashed in Damien's eyes.

"They won't get the chance."

He took my hand.

This time, I let him.

But neither of us noticed the small black car leaving the hospital parking lot.

Inside it sat my father.

And beside him sat a woman with dark hair.

A woman who looked exactly like the photograph in my mother's file.

She smiled as she watched the hospital disappear behind them.

"She's finally with him," she whispered.

My father looked at her.

"Yes."

The woman turned toward him.

"Then everything is going exactly as planned."

And for the first time in nineteen years, my mother was no longer dead.