Chapter 8 - The Dead Patriarch
Matteo laughed once.
“My father is dead.”
Victor closed his eyes.
“I saw him last month.”
Lucia whispered:
“No.”
Anthony DeLuca had built the family empire.
Ruthless.
Strategic.
The man Matteo spent his life trying not to resemble.
He supposedly died of cancer.
Private hospice.
Cremation.
No public funeral.
Of course.
By now, I wanted to ban closed coffins, private cremations and rich people saying “trust me.”
Victor explained.
Helena sometimes left late at night.
He followed her once.
She drove to an old DeLuca warehouse.
Inside, she met an elderly man.
Anthony.
Alive.
Victor overheard enough to understand one thing.
Anthony had orchestrated the trust conflict from the beginning.
Why?
He never intended Lucia to dissolve the family network.
When she tried, he needed her removed.
But he couldn’t kill his own daughter directly.
So Helena did it.
In exchange, Anthony helped secure the Serrano fortune.
Two families.
One partnership.
Twenty-two years of deception.
Matteo stared at Lucia.
“Did you know?”
She shook her head.
“I thought Father died.”
Then Victor said something else.
“He’s sick.”
“Cancer?”
“No.”
Neurological disease.
Progressive.
He was losing memory.
Control.
Time.
He wanted succession settled before he deteriorated completely.
And he did not trust Matteo.
“Why?”
Victor looked at me.
“Because Anthony believes Elena should inherit.”
I almost laughed.
“I don’t want anything.”
“That’s why.”
Matteo understood.
Anthony believed unwilling heirs were less corruptible.
Interesting philosophy from a monster.
But why destroy me?
Because Anthony didn’t want me.
He wanted the unborn child.
A genetically direct descendant of Lucia and Gabriel.
A clean heir raised under controlled guardianship.
A child he could shape.
That was the plan.
My baby wasn’t merely a trust key.
He—or she—was Anthony’s chosen successor.
I put both hands over my stomach.
“No.”
Then Nora’s cloud archive revealed another file.
ANTHONY.
Hundreds of messages from Helena.
Updates on me.
Victor.
Pregnancy.
Violence.
One message from Anthony:
Do not kill Elena before viability.
My vision went red.
Matteo read it twice.
Then quietly:
“He knew.”
Every bruise.
Every threat.
Every moment.
Anthony knew.
Maybe ordered some.
Then a new message arrived on Helena’s phone.
She had been arrested by then.
Police allowed us to view it.
From an encrypted number.
Bring Elena to the warehouse.
Alone.
Matteo smiled without humor.
“He’s not getting her.”
I looked at him.
“He is.”
“No.”
“He wants me. That gives us leverage.”
“You’re six months pregnant.”
“I know.”
“You were unconscious twelve hours ago.”
“I know.”
“You’re not going.”
I looked toward Lucia.
Then Gabriel.
Then Victor.
Then Nora.
Every one of us had been manipulated because other people decided what we could handle.
“No more.”
Matteo’s expression changed.
I continued:
“You can protect me without controlling me.”
He stared for a long moment.
Then nodded.
“Fine.”
At midnight, we entered the old warehouse.
Police outside.
Federal investigators too.
Inside, one chair.
One lamp.
One old man.
Anthony DeLuca.
My grandfather.
Alive.
He looked at me.
Then smiled.
“Lucia’s eyes.”
I didn’t sit.
“You ordered my mother’s disappearance.”
“Yes.”
“You worked with Helena.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Victor hurt me.”
Pause.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked toward my stomach.
“For that child.”
I almost lunged.
Matteo moved closer.
Anthony raised one hand.
“Before you judge me, Elena, ask your mother who the embryo really belongs to.”
I stopped.
“What?”
Lucia’s face appeared behind us.
She had followed.
Anthony smiled.
“Tell her.”
My mother began crying.
May you like
And suddenly I understood—
Gabriel had lied again.
