Chapter 3 - Unopened Letters
The rubber bands snapped as Dominic caught the shoebox against his chest.
He moved to his desk, setting the box down beneath the soft light of his brass reading lamp. Inside were dozens of letters—at least fifty of them—all addressed to Dominic Moretti at various addresses in Rome, Florence, and Milan.
Every single letter was unopened. Every single envelope bore the official blue stamp of the Italian Postal Authority: Returned to Sender - Address Unknown.
Dominic’s hands trembled as he picked up the first envelope, dated September 2006. He slid his thumb under the flap and pulled out the yellowed paper inside.
Dearest Dominic, Your father came to our cottage today. He told my father that if we ever tried to contact you again, he would ensure the Moretti Group foreclosed on our land and destroyed my father's business. I don't care about the money, Dominic. I care about you. Please tell me you didn't agree to this. Please write back. I am scared, and I am carrying your memory with me every day...
Dominic opened a second letter, dated six months later.
Dominic, My father passed away last week. Your family bought his debts and took the house. I am moving to Brooklyn. I don't know if you are receiving these, or if you truly gave up on us like your father said you did. I pray you are safe...
And then, he opened a letter dated four years later. September 2018.
Dominic, I saw your picture in the newspaper today. They say you are the new Chairman now. I am writing this to tell you that I have a daughter. Her name is Lily. She has your dark hair and your quiet way of looking at the world. I don't want your money or your syndicate. I just want you to know she exists...
Dominic dropped the letter onto the desk.
The air left his lungs in one ragged, painful gasp. His father had intercepted every letter, lied to him about Clara accepting a financial bribe, and spent a decade ensuring Clara remained trapped in poverty so she could never reach the inner circle of the Moretti empire.
And all the while, Dominic had lived in total darkness, unaware that he had a daughter.
Dominic slowly turned his head to look at Lily, who was watching him quietly from her mother's arms. The dark hair. The subtle, proud tilt of her chin. The way she held her ground even when terrified.
She wasn't just a child off the street. She was a Moretti.
"Marco," Dominic called out, his voice terrifyingly quiet.
Marco stepped forward immediately. "Boss?"
"Where is Julian?"
"He just arrived downstairs in the underground parking garage," Marco replied. "He thinks he's attending a routine budget meeting."
Dominic picked up the shoebox, carefully placing the letters back inside. He looked at Clara, whose face was stained with fresh tears.
"You kept these," Dominic said softly.
"I kept them to remind myself never to trust a man named Moretti again," Clara replied, her voice steady despite her tears.
Dominic walked over to her, stopping inches away. He looked directly into her eyes, then down at Lily.
"You were right not to trust my father," Dominic said, his dark eyes filled with an absolute, lethal resolve. "And you were right to hate my family. But you are wrong about one thing, Clara."
May you like
"What?" she whispered.
"I am not my father," Dominic said. "And nobody harms my blood under my watch."
