Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN IN ROOM 614
The drive to St. Catherine's took seventeen minutes.
Luca didn't speak once.
Daniel drove while two security vehicles followed. I remained at the mansion with Mrs. Carter, but Luca called me from the hospital before he reached the entrance.
“Olivia?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is Mrs. Carter all right?”
“The doctor examined her wrists. They're bruised, but she says the pain is manageable.”
“Don't leave her alone.”
“I won't.”
He hesitated.
“Thank you.”
Then the call ended.
At the hospital, Eleanor was in room 614. A nurse stood beside her bed, checking the monitor. Her face was pale, and an oxygen tube rested beneath her nose.
Luca stopped in the doorway.
For thirty-nine years, he had believed the woman who gave birth to him had died.
Now she was lying in front of him.
Her eyes opened.
She looked at his face, and tears immediately slipped down her cheeks.
“Luca?”
He couldn't answer.
She tried to lift one hand. He crossed the room and took it.
“I'm here.”
Her fingers trembled against his.
“I thought I would never see you.”
He pulled a chair close to the bed.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I tried.”
“Twenty-three letters?”
She closed her eyes.
“Twenty-three that I know reached the estate. There were more before that.”
“Why didn't you come yourself?”
“I did. Today.”
He looked down.
“I know.”
“I brought your blanket.”
“The blue one?”
She nodded.
“I kept it in a box all these years. I thought if I ever found you, I would bring it.”
Luca swallowed.
“Why did Salvatore take me?”
Eleanor's expression changed. Fear moved across her face.
“He came to the hospital when you were born. He said there had been a threat. He told me he would take you somewhere safe until the danger passed.”
“And you believed him?”
“I was twenty-two. I was exhausted. They had told me you needed extra care, and Salvatore said his people could protect you better than I could.”
She paused to catch her breath.
“He promised to bring you back in two days.”
“But he didn't.”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“He sent a message saying you had died.”
Luca stared at her.
“He told you I was dead?”
“He sent a hospital document. It had your name and date of birth. I didn't know it was false until I tried to visit the hospital and found no record of your death.”
“Then why didn't you go to the police?”
Eleanor looked toward the window.
“Because Salvatore came to my apartment. He told me that if I kept looking, he would make sure I never had another chance to see you. He said people around him could make a person disappear without leaving a trace.”
Luca's hand tightened around hers.
“So you stopped.”
“I stopped going to him. I never stopped looking.”
She told him she had moved between towns, changed jobs, and used public records to follow the Moretti family. Each time she came close, someone told her Luca had moved, married, or was out of the country. Eventually, she found Mrs. Carter through an old newspaper photograph from the estate.
“Mrs. Carter answered my letter,” Eleanor whispered. “She told me you were alive. She said you had grown into a good man.”
Luca looked away.
“She risked everything to help you.”
“I know.”
Eleanor watched him carefully.
“Did you see the certificate?”
He nodded.
“Salvatore is listed as my father.”
“He is your biological father.”
The words settled between them.
Luca stared at her.
“And Vanessa?”
Eleanor's eyes filled again.
“Salvatore's daughter.”
Luca stood so quickly the chair scraped the floor.
“She's my sister?”
Eleanor began crying.
“Half-sister. You share the same father.”
He pressed one hand against his forehead.
“The wedding is Saturday.”
“I know.”
“Did he know?”
“Yes.”
Luca turned back toward her.
“He knew?”
Eleanor nodded.
“He knew from the beginning.”
Luca looked as if the room had tilted beneath him.
“Then why would he let us—”
“I don't know what he planned,” Eleanor said. “I only know he never cared about what was right. He cared about control.”
Luca sat down again.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Then Eleanor reached beneath her pillow and pulled out a small folded photograph.
It showed a young woman holding a newborn wrapped in a blue blanket.
On the back was a handwritten sentence.
My son. My whole heart. June 14.
“I wanted you to have it,” she said.
Luca took the photograph.
He stared at it until his eyes blurred.
Then he leaned forward and rested his forehead against her hand.
“I don't know how to be your son.”
May you like
Eleanor stroked his hair.
“You don't have to know tonight.”
