Chapter 6 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be DeadLena laughed.
It was not because anything was funny.
It was the same strange, broken laugh that had escaped her the night her father first told her she was being traded for debt.
“My mother is dead.”
Victor said nothing.
“She died when I was 8.”
“I know what your father told you.”
“No. You do not understand. I was at the funeral.”
“Did you see the body?”
The question struck like a slap.
Lena opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
She remembered black dresses. Rain against the church windows. Her father’s hand crushing hers. A closed casket covered in white lilies.
She had been 8.
“The accident,” she whispered.
“Car accident.”
Victor nodded.
“Your father identified her?”
“I think so.”
“You think.”
Lena stepped back.
“No.”
“Lena.”
“No.”
She turned away.
Victor caught her wrist.
Not hard.
“Do not.”
“Do not what?”
“Disappear into your own head.”
She ripped her hand free.
“My mother is dead.”
“I did not say she is alive.”
“You said my father paid somebody to disappear her!”
“I said that is what the money was for.”
Her breathing became shallow.
Victor lowered his voice.
“I only learned this today.”
“From the man you just tortured?”
He did not flinch.
“Yes.”
For once, Lena did not care about the morality.
“What did he say?”
“That Robert contacted Salvatore Bianchi six months ago.”
“Who is Bianchi?”
“A broker.”
“For what?”
“People.”
Her stomach twisted.
Victor saw her expression.
“Not trafficking. Information. False papers. relocations. Finding people who do not want to be found.”
“Like your sister.”
“Similar.”
Lena stared at him.
“My father borrowed 300,000 euros from you to pay Bianchi?”
“Most of it.”
“Why?”
“Bianchi claimed he had found someone.”
Lena’s voice barely existed.
“My mother.”
“Yes.”
The word shattered something.
Questions crashed through her mind.
Why had Robert never told her?
Why borrow money from criminals?
Why bring Lena to Italy?
Why would somebody who had been dead for 11 years suddenly need to be found?
“Take me to my father.”
Victor’s expression hardened.
“Not yet.”
She moved so close their faces were inches apart.
“This is not a request.”
Something almost approving passed through his eyes.
“Your father’s apartment is being secured. We go when Marco confirms it.”
“Now.”
“Lena.”
“Victor, I swear to God—”
His hands closed around her shoulders.
“Listen to me. Whoever went to his apartment knows enough to connect him to Bianchi. That means there may be surveillance, additional men, perhaps an ambush. I will not put you inside until I know it is safe.”
“I do not care.”
“I do.”
The words stopped her.
Victor stared down at her.
“I care.”
Lena hated how much that mattered.
Forty minutes later, Marco gave approval.
Robert’s apartment was small, neat, and painfully normal.
Lena stormed inside before Victor could stop her.
Her father sat on the sofa with a Moretti guard beside him.
He looked up.
“Lena.”
She slapped him.
The sound filled the room.
Robert’s head snapped sideways.
Victor froze behind her.
So did Marco.
Lena had never hit anyone outside training.
She had never hit her father.
Robert slowly touched his cheek.
“You lied to me.”
His face collapsed.
“Lena—”
“Is Mom alive?”
He closed his eyes.
That was answer enough.
Lena nearly fell.
Victor caught her elbow.
She pulled away instantly.
“Do not touch me.”
He obeyed.
Robert stood.
“I do not know.”
“You borrowed hundreds of thousands of euros because you do not know?”
“I received a photograph.”
“What photograph?”
Robert’s eyes moved toward Victor.
“Show me.”
“Lena—”
“Show me!”
Robert walked to a drawer.
His hands shook as he removed a small envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Lena took it.
The world stopped.
The woman in the image was older than Lena remembered.
But she knew the face.
Dark-blonde hair. Fine features. A small crescent-shaped scar beside the left eyebrow.
Her mother had gotten that scar falling from a bicycle at 13.
Lena’s hands began to shake.
The woman stood outside what looked like a café, wearing sunglasses and holding a shopping bag.
A date was printed in the lower corner.
Six months ago.
“No.”
Robert’s voice cracked.
“I received it anonymously.”
“Who sent it?”
“I do not know.”
“What did the message say?”
Robert retrieved a folded sheet.
Lena read the single typed sentence.
EMILY HAYES DID NOT DIE IN 2015. IF YOU WANT THE TRUTH, COME TO ROME.
The room blurred.
Lena sat down.
She stared at the photograph until the image lost meaning.
“My mother.”
Victor crouched in front of her.
She barely registered him.
“Lena.”
“Eleven years.”
“I know.”
“Eleven years.”
She looked at Robert.
“You knew for six months.”
“I suspected.”
“You knew enough to borrow money from the mafia!”
“I was trying to protect you.”
Lena stood so abruptly Victor had to move.
“Stop saying that!”
Robert flinched.
“Everyone keeps destroying my life and calling it protection!”
Her voice broke.
“You let me believe she was dead!”
“I believed it too.”
“For eleven years?”
“Yes!”
Robert’s own anger finally surfaced.
“I buried my wife, Lena! I raised you alone. I cried every night for 2 years after she died. I did not know.”
Silence.
Robert’s shoulders dropped.
“Then the photograph came.”
“Why did you not tell me?”
“Because I did not know if it was real.”
“So you investigated.”
“Yes.”
“With Bianchi.”
“Yes.”
“What did he find?”
Robert looked toward Victor again.
Lena slammed the photograph onto the table.
“Stop looking at him! I am asking you.”
Robert swallowed.
“Bianchi found evidence your mother entered Europe under another name shortly after the accident.”
Lena felt sick.
“What name?”
“Elizabeth Hale.”
“Where?”
“Switzerland first. Then France. Later northern Italy.”
“Why?”
“I do not know.”
“Did you find her?”
“I got close.”
“How close?”
“Bianchi arranged a meeting.”
Lena stared.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Did she come?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“He called afterward and said the woman had disappeared again.”
“And you owed Victor because?”
“I had already paid Bianchi. The loan was due.”
It suddenly made horrifying sense.
Robert had borrowed money from Victor believing that finding Emily would justify everything.
Then the trail vanished.
The debt remained.
“Why did you tell Victor it was an investment?”
“Because I was ashamed.”
Lena stared at him.
“You were ashamed of looking for Mom, but not ashamed of offering me as payment?”
Robert’s face drained.
Victor straightened.
“Enough.”
Lena whirled.
“Do not tell me when it is enough.”
“I am not protecting him. I am protecting you from saying something you cannot take back.”
“I have plenty to say.”
“Later.”
Victor turned to Robert.
“Everything. Now.”
The room changed instantly.
This was no longer Lena’s husband speaking.
This was Don Moretti.
Robert obeyed.
He described Bianchi’s investigation, coded emails, payments, false identities.
Victor listened without interruption.
When Robert finished, Victor asked one question.
“Why would Bianchi send men here now?”
Robert went pale.
“I do not know.”
“I think you do.”
“No.”
Victor stepped closer.
“Robert.”
“I swear.”
Lena watched her father.
Something was wrong.
She had learned to notice hesitation.
Victor had taught her that without realizing it.
“Dad.”
Robert looked at her.
“What else?”
His eyes filled.
“Two weeks before the wedding, Bianchi contacted me.”
Victor went still.
“What did he say?”
“He said Emily agreed to meet.”
Lena stopped breathing.
“Where?”
Robert whispered.
“Rome.”
“When?”
“The same week I brought you here.”
Lena felt her entire body turn cold.
“You brought me to Italy knowing Mom might be here?”
“I was going to tell you.”
“When? After the wedding?”
“I did not know if she would appear.”
“Did she?”
Robert looked at the floor.
“No.”
Victor spoke quietly.
“Who knew about the meeting?”
“Bianchi. Me.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
Victor looked at Marco.
They exchanged something silent.
“What?” Lena demanded.
Marco answered.
“If Bianchi’s men are coming for Robert now, either Bianchi lost control of his operation or somebody wants to know what Robert learned.”
Lena looked at the photograph.
Her mother might be alive.
And someone wanted that secret buried.
“I want to find her.”
Victor’s answer was immediate.
“No.”
Lena turned.
“What?”
“This is bigger than we understand.”
“I do not care.”
“I do.”
“You do not get to decide this.”
“I absolutely do when pursuing it could get you killed.”
Lena stepped toward him.
“That is my mother.”
“And you are my wife.”
“I am not a possession.”
“No. You are a responsibility.”
“I did not ask to be.”
“That changes nothing.”
Something inside Lena snapped.
“You helped Giuliana.”
Victor’s face hardened.
“You helped your sister escape because she wanted a different life. You broke alliances. You made enemies. You risked everything because she was family.”
“Lena.”
“My mother may be alive.”
He said nothing.
“If you tell me to sit quietly inside your villa while other people decide whether I deserve the truth, then you were right.”
“About what?”
“I will hate you.”
Victor stared at her.
The room became absolutely silent.
Then he looked at the photograph.
Finally he spoke.
“You do nothing alone.”
Lena’s heart kicked.
“What?”
“I will investigate Bianchi. Quietly. Marco will handle the photograph and identities. You remain at the villa unless I am with you.”
“That is not—”
“That is the deal.”
She studied him.
“You are going to help me?”
“I am going to find out whether a dead woman has been walking around Europe for eleven years.”
“Why?”
Victor looked at her.
The answer was simple.
“Because you asked me.”
That night, Lena could not sleep.
Victor lay beside her, equally awake.
After midnight, she finally spoke.
“If she is alive, she left me.”
Victor did not answer immediately.
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt.
“She left an 8-year-old girl who thought her mother died.”
“Maybe.”
Lena turned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you do not know why yet.”
“What reason could possibly justify that?”
“I can think of several.”
“Of course you can.”
Victor ignored the bitterness.
“If someone threatened you and the only way to keep your child alive was to disappear, would you?”
Lena went silent.
“That is speculation.”
“Yes.”
“But possible.”
“Yes.”
She stared at the ceiling.
“What if she just did not want us?”
“Then you learn that truth too.”
“How are you so calm about this?”
“I learned young that truth is rarely kind. That does not make lies better.”
Lena turned toward him.
“Will you tell me everything you find?”
Victor hesitated.
“Everything relevant.”
“No.”
“Lena.”
“Everything.”
He watched her for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
“Everything.”
She believed him.
That realization frightened her almost as much as the possibility her mother was alive.
May you like
Because somewhere between the forced wedding and this impossible night, Lena had begun trusting Victor Moretti.
And trust, she was starting to understand, might be a far more dangerous chain than fear.
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