Chapter 2 - The Doctor Who Recognized a Ghost
Nobody moved.
Enzo stood beside the wrestling mat, the humiliation of his defeat forgotten. Leo stared at Dr. Bellini. Mateo remained perfectly still, his hand resting against the metal railing.
I was the first to speak.
"What did you just say?"
Bellini looked at me, then away.
"A mistake. You resemble someone."
"You said I was supposed to have died."
His jaw tightened.
"Young lady, don't misinterpret—"
"No." I took a step closer. "You don't get to point at a stranger and announce she's dead, then call it a misunderstanding."
Leo moved beside me.
"Dad, what's going on?"
Mateo stared at the doctor.
"Answer her."
Bellini adjusted his cuffs.
"Twelve years ago, there was another young woman named Gia Moretti. She was involved in the same accident that injured you."
The warehouse went silent.
My stomach seemed to drop.
I had been sixteen when my mother came home one November evening, packed two suitcases, and told me we were leaving Chicago.
She never explained why.
Only that something terrible had happened and that I should never speak to anyone connected to the Moretti family.
I had assumed she was protecting me from ordinary family trouble.
Now I wasn't so sure.
"Who was that girl?" I asked.
Bellini swallowed.
"An unfortunate young relative."
"Relative to whom?"
He did not answer.
Mateo stepped forward, wincing as his back tightened.
"Bellini."
The doctor looked at him.
"Who was Gia Moretti?"
For the first time, I saw genuine fear in Bellini's eyes.
He whispered, "Your father's daughter."
Mateo stared.
"My father's what?"
Bellini looked at me.
"Your half-sister."
For several seconds, I heard nothing except the ventilation system.
I had spent twenty-eight years believing my father's name was Anthony Bellandi, a man my mother told me had died before I was born.
My surname was Moretti because my mother had registered it that way.
I never questioned why.
Now I was standing before Chicago's most feared mafia boss, listening to a physician claim we shared a father.
I laughed.
It was an ugly, frightened sound.
"That's impossible."
Bellini looked down.
"Apparently not."
Mateo reached for the railing.
Leo hurried toward him.
"Dad?"
"I'm fine."
He wasn't.
His face had gone pale.
But he looked directly at me.
"What's your mother's name?"
I hesitated.
"Sofia."
His expression changed.
"Sofia Bellandi?"
I nodded.
He closed his eyes.
"I remember her."
I felt cold.
"From where?"
"My father's office. She handled correspondence years ago."
Bellini stepped backward.
"I should go."
Mateo's eyes opened.
"No."
The word was quiet.
The doctor froze.
Mateo continued.
"You've just told me my sister died twelve years ago, yet she's standing in front of me. You don't get to disappear before explaining yourself."
I felt the old instinct to leave.
To grab my bag and walk out.
But then I looked at Leo.
Fourteen years old.
Terrified.
Watching the adults around him unravel a secret that involved his dead mother.
I crouched beside him.
"Leo, none of this is your responsibility."
He swallowed.
"Are you really my aunt?"
I couldn't answer.
Not yet.
So I told him the truth.
"I don't know. But we're going to find out."
---
Bellini refused to explain anything further without legal counsel.
Mateo's attorney was contacted.
The doctor left only after the immediate conversation was documented and arrangements were made to preserve relevant medical records.
I went home.
My mother was sitting at our kitchen table.
She had been peeling oranges.
When she saw my face, the knife slipped from her hand.
"Gia?"
I put my coaching bag on the floor.
"Who is Lorenzo Moretti?"
Her face went white.
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then she whispered, "Where did you hear that name?"
"From a doctor who said I died twelve years ago."
My mother's eyes filled with tears.
She covered her mouth.
May you like
And I knew.
Whatever had happened that night, she'd been carrying it alone ever since.
