Chapter 13 - Three Weeks to Live
Salvatore turned the penthouse into a fortress.
Bullet-resistant panels covered every window.
Food came from three separate suppliers and was tested before serving.
No staff entered without biometric verification.
Leo hated it.
"Can I go outside?"
"No."
"Can I go downstairs?"
"No."
"Can I open the window?"
"No."
"It doesn't open anymore."
"Exactly."
Leo threw his book onto the sofa.
"This is prison."
Salvatore looked up from his phone.
"It's protection."
"Same thing if you can't leave."
The words struck harder than they should have.
Salvatore remembered Elena.
Staying away from him for eight years because she believed isolation meant safety.
Perhaps Leo was right.
Perhaps fear built prisons faster than enemies did.
"I'm working on it."
"You always say that."
Salvatore sat across from him.
"What do you want?"
"School."
"No."
Leo glared.
"You asked."
"I asked what you wanted, not what you were getting."
"That's stupid."
Carmine turned away to hide a smile.
Salvatore pointed at him.
"Don't."
Carmine raised both hands.
That afternoon, Salvatore compromised.
A private tutor.
Leo lasted eleven minutes before asking if algebra had ever saved anyone's life.
The tutor did not know how to answer.
Matteo did.
"Ballistics."
Everyone looked at him.
"If you calculate angles."
Leo smiled.
Salvatore did not.
Matteo had remained close because Dominic was now their common enemy.
Trust did not exist.
Only temporary alignment.
Yet Leo seemed fascinated by him.
"Did you really teach Salvatore to shoot?"
"Yes."
"Was he good?"
"No."
Salvatore looked up.
Matteo continued, "He closed one eye."
"I was fourteen."
"You still missed."
Leo laughed.
Salvatore wanted to be annoyed.
Instead he found himself watching them.
A brother he had never known.
A son he had nearly never met.
For a few minutes, they resembled something dangerously close to family.
Then Carmine entered with a file.
"We found Elena's doctor."
Salvatore stood.
Dr. Helen Price had retired to Vermont.
She agreed to video call.
The gray-haired woman appeared on screen and began crying the moment she saw Leo.
"Oh, sweetheart."
Leo went still.
"You knew my mom?"
"Yes."
"Did you know me?"
"I delivered you."
Salvatore's throat tightened.
Dr. Price described Elena's pregnancy.
The constant fear.
The false names.
The instructions that no records be released.
Then she revealed something else.
"Elena came back to see me six months ago."
"Why?" Salvatore asked.
"She was ill."
"With what?"
The doctor hesitated.
"Leukemia."
Leo looked down.
He knew.
Salvatore didn't.
"Could she have been treated?"
"Possibly."
"Why wasn't she?"
"She refused hospitalization."
Anger and grief mixed inside him.
"Why?"
"She was afraid someone would find Leo."
Of course.
Everything returned to fear.
Dr. Price continued.
"She asked me to perform a DNA test."
Salvatore frowned.
"On Leo?"
"Yes."
"Against who?"
"Against a stored sample from Vittorio Moretti."
Matteo stood abruptly.
"What?"
Dr. Price looked startled.
Salvatore leaned closer.
"Why would she compare Leo to Vittorio?"
"To prove lineage independently."
"Results?"
"Ninety-nine percent grandparent relationship."
Already expected.
But Dr. Price wasn't finished.
"She requested another comparison."
"Against Matteo?" Salvatore asked.
"No."
"Then who?"
Dr. Price looked directly at him.
"You."
Salvatore stared.
"How did she have my DNA?"
"She had a blood sample from years ago."
Matteo laughed softly.
"Elena kept everything."
"Result?"
"Biological father."
Salvatore exhaled.
Leo's shoulders visibly relaxed.
Then Dr. Price said, "There was something unusual."
Salvatore's expression changed.
"What?"
"Vittorio's sample showed a rare genetic marker."
"So?"
"Leo had it."
"Expected."
"Yes."
Dr. Price looked uncomfortable.
"But your sample did not."
Silence.
Salvatore frowned.
"How can my son share a genetic marker with my father that I don't have?"
"It's possible for some traits to skip inheritance pathways, but this particular sequence raised questions."
Matteo's face had gone pale.
"What questions?"
Dr. Price looked at him.
"About whether Vittorio Moretti was Salvatore's biological father."
Nobody moved.
Salvatore heard the words.
Did not process them.
Leo whispered, "What?"
Dr. Price continued carefully.
"I am not saying he wasn't. I am saying the available sample suggested further testing."
Salvatore looked at Matteo.
His half brother.
Perhaps not his brother at all.
Matteo seemed equally shaken.
"If Vittorio wasn't your father," Matteo said slowly, "then Leo couldn't be his biological grandson through you."
"But the test says he is."
Salvatore understood first.
His stomach turned.
Leo was Salvatore's son.
Leo was genetically Vittorio's grandson.
Yet Salvatore might not be Vittorio's biological son.
There was only one explanation.
Elena's DNA?
No.
Unless Salvatore's mother—
Matteo suddenly sat.
"Oh, God."
Salvatore looked at him.
"What?"
Matteo's voice became hollow.
"Your mother."
"What about her?"
"Before she married Vittorio..."
He stopped.
Salvatore grabbed his shirt.
"What?"
Matteo met his eyes.
"She was engaged to Vittorio's younger brother."
Salvatore released him.
"My uncle?"
"Gabriel Moretti."
Salvatore had heard the name.
Gabriel died before Salvatore's birth.
Car accident.
At least officially.
Matteo continued.
"Rumor was she was pregnant when Gabriel died."
Salvatore backed away.
Vittorio had raised him.
Named him heir.
Tormented him.
But might never have been his father.
Leo looked terrified.
"Does that mean I'm not a Moretti?"
Salvatore turned instantly.
"It means nothing about you."
"But the money—"
"I don't care about the money."
Leo searched his face.
"Really?"
Salvatore crouched.
"You could inherit nothing but that torn backpack and you'd still be my son."
The boy's eyes filled.
Salvatore touched his cheek.
"Understand?"
Leo nodded.
Behind them, Matteo stared at the floor.
Then his phone buzzed.
A message.
His expression changed.
"What?"
Salvatore asked.
Matteo turned the screen.
A photograph of a grave marker.
GABRIEL MORETTI.
Below it:
DIG UP THE RIGHT FATHER THIS TIME.
May you like
Dominic knew.
And he wanted them to uncover whatever Vittorio had buried forty-nine years ago.
