Chapter 10: The Father Who Was Supposed To Be Dead
The hospital smelled like every hospital I had ever been inside.
Antiseptic.
Plastic.
Cold air.
The strange mixture of hope and fear that seemed to live permanently in the walls.
But this time, I wasn’t walking through those doors because someone I loved was dying.
I was walking through them because someone I loved had supposedly been dead for twelve years.
And apparently wasn’t.
My entire life had become a collection of impossible sentences.
Your grandmother disappeared.
Your grandfather was a monster.
Your mother knew dangerous people.
The mafia boss’s baby chose you.
Your dead father is alive.
At some point, I expected someone to laugh and tell me it was all a test.
Nobody did.
Because Luca Moretti was standing beside me looking like he had spent the last hour preparing himself for a war.
Not a conversation.
A war.
“You don’t have to go in,” he said.
I looked at him.
“Are you serious?””
“Yes.””
“My father might be alive.””
“I know.””
“And you’re telling me I don’t have to go in?””
His expression softened.
“I’m telling you that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.””
That answer caught me off guard.
Because everyone else had spent my entire life deciding things for me.
My mother decided I was safer without the truth.
My grandmother decided I was safer without the truth.
Even Luca had tried.
But now he was giving me a choice.
I looked away.
“Why are you different?””
The question slipped out.
Luca didn’t pretend not to understand.
“Different how?””
“You keep trying to protect me.””
“Yes.””
“But you don’t ask anything in return.””
His eyes held mine.
“Not everything has a price.””
For some reason, that hurt.
Because I had spent so long believing everything did.
The hospital doors opened.
A nurse approached.
“Are you here for Michael Marino?””
My heart stopped.
Hearing his name spoken by a stranger felt unreal.
“Yes.””
The nurse looked between us.
“Family only.””
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because technically…
Was I?
A man who raised me.
A man I buried.
A man who apparently had been alive this entire time.
Luca stepped forward.
“She’s his daughter.””
The nurse looked at me.
Then nodded.
“Room 407.””
I walked.
I didn’t remember walking.
The hallway stretched forever.
Every step felt like moving toward a version of my life I had never been allowed to know.
When I reached the door, my hand froze on the handle.
Luca stopped behind me.
“You can wait.””
I looked back.
“You’re not coming?””
“No.””
“Why?””
“Because this moment belongs to you.””
That was the first time I saw Luca Moretti choose not to enter a room.
Not because he was afraid.
Because he respected a boundary.
I opened the door.
The man inside looked older than the father I remembered.
Of course he did.
Twelve years had passed.
Gray touched his hair.
Lines marked his face.
But his eyes…
His eyes were the same.
The same eyes that used to watch baseball games with me.
The same eyes that checked under my bed when I was afraid of monsters.
The same eyes I saw when I was fifteen and stood beside a coffin.
Except now they were looking at me.
“Avery.””
I stopped breathing.
His voice.
It was his voice.
“Dad?””
The word broke apart coming out.
His face crumpled.
And suddenly he wasn’t the mysterious man everyone had been searching for.
He was just my father.
The person I had missed every day.
The person I had mourned.
I walked closer.
Slowly.
“You’re alive.””
Tears filled his eyes.
“I’m sorry.””
That was the first thing he said.
Not hello.
Not I missed you.
I’m sorry.
I wanted to be angry.
I wanted to scream.
But then he reached for my hand.
And I remembered being eight years old.
His hand holding mine while we crossed the street.
His voice telling me not to let go.
My anger collapsed.
“You died.””
“I know.””
“I buried you.””
“I know.””
“Why?””
He closed his eyes.
“Because I had to disappear.””
“No.””
My voice sharpened.
“You chose to disappear.””
He looked away.
“Yes.””
The honesty hurt more.
“You let me believe you were dead.””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
He swallowed.
“Because if Victor Moretti found out you existed…”
He stopped.
I froze.
“Victor?””
My father looked toward the door.
Toward Luca.
Even though Luca wasn’t visible.
He knew.
“You know who he is.””
“Yes.””
“Who is he to you?””
My father’s face changed.
Pain.
Regret.
Fear.
“He’s my father.””
I went completely still.
The room seemed to tilt.
“What?””
Michael looked at me.
“My real name isn’t Michael Marino.””
I couldn’t speak.
“My name is Michael Moretti.””
The words landed harder than anything else.
“No.””
“I’m sorry.””
“No.””
I backed away.
“You’re telling me my father is a Moretti too?””
“Yes.””
“And my mother?””
“Loved me.””
His voice cracked.
“And I loved her.””
“Then why did you leave?””
“Because loving her almost got her killed.””
Silence.
I thought about my mother.
Her tired smile.
Her quiet sadness.
The secrets.
All the secrets.
“What happened?””
Michael looked toward the window.
“Your grandfather wanted control over everything.””
“His family?””
“His empire.””
“Your mother found out what he was doing.””
“What was he doing?””
Michael’s face hardened.
“Selling information. Destroying rivals. Killing anyone who threatened him.””
My stomach twisted.
“And you?””
“I wanted out.””
“Out?””
“Your mother helped me leave.””
I sat down.
Because suddenly the story was becoming clearer.
My mother wasn’t just hiding.
She was running.
“You knew Luca?””
Michael nodded.
“He was different.””
I looked toward the door.
“Everyone says that.””
“Because it’s true.””
My father looked at me.
“Luca was the only one who tried to stop Victor.””
“Then why didn’t he tell me?””
“Because he promised your mother.””
A painful silence followed.
Then Michael reached toward the table beside him.
There was a small box.
Old.
Worn.
He pushed it toward me.
“Your mother left this.””
My fingers touched the box.
“What is it?””
“The truth.””
I opened it.
Inside was a flash drive.
And another photograph.
My mother.
Luca.
Matteo.
My father.
And someone else.
A man standing behind them.
Older.
Cold eyes.
My grandfather.
Victor Moretti.
On the back of the photograph were four words.
*The traitor is among us.*
I looked up.
“Who?””
My father’s face changed.
“Avery…”
“Who betrayed you?””
He looked toward the door.
May you like
Then whispered:
“Someone you trust.””
