Chapter 78 Buried Secret
ENZO
The meeting with my father had gone as expected.
"The Santoro alliance is solid," I'd said, laying out the contracts on his desk. "Territory agreements finalised. Trade routes established. Jeremy Santoro is competent. Professional. This partnership will benefit both families."
My father—Roberto Morano, head of the Morano family for the past eighteen years—had nodded slowly. "And what did you think of him? Personally?"
"Santoro? He's dangerous. Focused. Keeps his cards close to his chest." I'd leaned back in my chair. "But he's fair. He is indeed honourable, and I believe we can rely on him to fulfil his responsibilities.
"Good. We need this alliance. The Volkovs are getting aggressive. Having the Santoros on our side gives us leverage." My father had stood and walked to the window. "Continue building the relationship. Make sure Jeremy Santoro sees us as partners, not competitors."
"I will."
"And Enzo? Jeremy may be the heir, but Dominic Santoro is the real power behind that family. He makes the final decisions."
"Understood."
The meeting had ended there. I'd left my father's office and headed to my own—two doors down in the east wing of the Morano estate.
I'd been reviewing contracts for twenty minutes when I remembered.
The shipping manifest. My father needed to sign it before business ended today.
I grabbed the document and headed back down the hallway.
My father's office door was closed. This was unusual because he usually left the door open when he was working alone.
I was about to knock when I heard voices inside.
My mother's voice. Sharp and emotional.
"I wonder if the baby lived or died."
I froze. My hand raised to knock. I did not move.
My father's voice, quieter: "What, baby?"
"Don't pretend you don't remember." My mother's voice cracked. "The baby you forced me to abandon. Your daughter. My daughter."
Silence. Long and heavy.
My father then asked, "Could you please explain why you're enquiring about this matter now, after eighteen years, Isabella?"
"Because I saw her blanket today. It's the same blanket I used to wrap her. I kept it. I've been holding onto it for all these years. There was a sound that resembled a sob. "I wonder if she survived. If someone found her. I wonder if she's out there somewhere."
"She's not. She couldn't have survived. She was blind, Isabella. Helpless. No one would have taken her in. No one would have."
I pushed the door open.
Both of them turned to look at me. My mother's face was tear-streaked. My father's was cold. Controlled.
"Enzo." My father's voice was steady. "I didn't hear you knock."
"I didn't knock. Sorry." I held up the document. "The shipping manifest. You need to sign it before five."
"Of course." He took the paper and scrawled his signature. Handed it back. "Anything else?"
I looked between them. My mother had turned away, wiping at her face. My father stood there, his expression blank, waiting for me to leave.
"No. That's all." I turned to go.
"Enzo?" He called me.
I stopped. I glanced back at my father.
"Close the door on your way out."
"Yes, sir."
I left. Closed the door. Stood in the hallway for a long moment.
What the hell had I just overheard?
I went back to my office. Sat at my desk. Stared at the wall.
I wonder if the baby lived or died.
The baby you forced me to abandon.
Your daughter. My daughter.
She was blind.
They'd had a daughter. Eighteen years ago. A blind daughter.
And my father had forced my mother to abandon her.
I had a sister.
Because, according to my father, she hadn't survived. Couldn't have survived.
But my mother—my mother wasn't sure. My mother wondered. After eighteen years, she still wondered.
Which meant—what? Maybe the baby had survived? That maybe I had a sister out there somewhere?
Or that my mother was torturing herself with false hope?
I pulled out my phone. Opened a new note. Typed:
Baby girl. Abandoned eighteen years ago. Blind. Mother: Isabella Morano. Father: Antonio Morano. Status: unknown.
Eighteen years ago.
I would have been twelve. I was old enough to recall whether or not my mother had been pregnant. Old enough to notice.
But I didn't remember. I had no recollection of my mother becoming pregnant. Didn't remember a baby. Didn't remember anything.
Which meant they'd hidden it. Kept it secret. From me. From the Family. From everyone.
Why?
Why abandon a baby? Why hide a daughter? Why—
She was blind.
That's what my father had said. She was blind. Helpless.
And in our world—weakness was dangerous. A liability.
A blind heir would have been considered weak. Vulnerable. Unsuitable.
So they'd gotten rid of her. Abandoned her. They left her in a place where she was left to die.
And my mother—my mother had lived with that guilt for eighteen years.
I stood up. Paced my office.
I needed to know more. Needed to understand what had happened. Why they'd done it. Whether the baby—my sister—had really died or if there was a chance—
A knock on my door interrupted my thoughts.
"Come in."
Marco, my brother and the second-in- command, entered. ". The Volkov meeting is in an hour. You ready?"
"What? Yes. Right." I'd forgotten about the Volkovs. "Give me ten minutes. I'll meet you in the conference room."
"You okay? You look—distracted."
"I'm fine. I'm justthinking about something." I grabbed my jacket. "Ten minutes."
Marco left.
I stood there for a moment longer. Thinking.
I had a sister. Maybe. Possibly. A sister who'd been abandoned because she was blind.
A sister who'd be eighteen now. An adult. If she'd survived.
I needed to find out. Needed to investigate. Needed to know if my parents' secret was buried in the past or if it was out there somewhere...
Alive.
Later – After the Volkov Meeting
The Volkovs were their usual selves. Aggressive. Testing boundaries. Viktor Volkov and his son Alexei had pushed for concessions we weren't willing to give.
I'd held firm. Maintained our position. Left them frustrated but not angry enough to break off negotiations.
The meeting was successful, even by our standards.
But I couldn't focus. I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd overheard.
Back in my office, I pulled up my laptop. Started searching.
Abandoned babies. New York. Eighteen years ago.
Nothing useful. Too broad. Too many results.
Blind babies. Abandoned. New York.
Still nothing.
I needed more information. I felt compelled to speak with someone who could potentially provide additional information.
My mother.
But approaching her directly would alert my father. Would make him suspicious.
I needed to be careful. Strategic.
I closed the laptop and leaned back in my chair.
A baby. Abandoned eighteen years ago. Blind. Helpless.
If she'd survived—if someone had found her, taken her in, raised her—
She'd be eighteen now. An adult. Possibly still blind. Possibly living in the city somewhere.
And she'd have no idea who she was. No idea she was a Morano. No idea she had a family—a brother—who might want to find her.
If she existed.
If she'd survived.
I pulled out my phone. Texted my most trusted investigator:
I require your assistance in conducting an investigation. Discreetly. Eighteen years ago, a baby girl was abandoned in New York. Possibly blind. I need to know if there are any records. Hospitals, orphanages, police reports. Anything. This issue is priority one. And this stays between us. No one else can know.
His response came a minute later:
Understood. I'll start digging. This pertains to the Morano family, correct?
Yes. But no one can know I'm looking. Especially not my father.
Got it. I'll be in touch.
I put the phone down.
This was dangerous. I was going behind my father's back. Investigating a secret he'd kept buried for eighteen years.
But I needed to know.
If I had a sister out there—if she was alive—
She deserved to know who she was. Where she came from. She had a brother who would have cherished her. Who would have protected her?
He still would, if it weren't too late.
I turned back to my computer and continued searching.
Somewhere out there, maybe, was the sister I'd never known I had.
And I was going to find her.
I was determined to find her, even if it meant destroying my relationship with my parents.
Even if it meant tearing the family apart, it was still worth it.
Even if it meant losing everything, it was still worth it.
She deserved that much.