Chapter 5 - The Second Child
For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood her.
The room around us was filled with federal agents, shattered glass, overturned furniture, and men shouting instructions.
But all I heard was Alina.
Sophia wasn’t the only child I was trying to protect.
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
Alina looked toward Vittorio.
He smiled.
I wanted to wipe that smile from his face.
Instead, I took Alina’s hand.
“Tell me.”
She whispered, “Not here.”
Vittorio laughed.
“Still keeping secrets, Alina?”
Matteo turned on him.
“Enough.”
Federal agents led Vittorio away.
He did not resist.
That worried me.
Men like Vittorio only remained calm when they believed they still controlled something.
At the hospital, Alina was examined.
Dehydration.
Exhaustion.
Bruising from being restrained.
Nothing life-threatening.
I waited outside the room.
Six years ago, I would have forced answers immediately.
But six years changed things.
Sophia changed everything.
At dawn, Elena brought her.
Sophia walked into the hospital room.
She stopped.
Alina looked up from the bed.
Neither moved.
Then Sophia screamed, “Mommy!”
She ran.
Alina opened her arms.
They collided.
I turned away.
Not because I didn’t want to watch.
Because I did.
Too much.
Alina kissed Sophia’s hair repeatedly.
“My baby.”
“I found Daddy.”
“I know.”
“He came.”
“I knew he would.”
Sophia looked proudly at me.
“He found me.”
I smiled.
“No, sweetheart. You found me.”
She shook her head.
“Same thing.”
For an hour, none of the larger questions mattered.
We sat together.
Sophia between us.
She talked nonstop.
About St. Margaret’s.
Her teachers.
A girl named Emma who stole crayons.
How she knew I was her father immediately.
“How?” I asked.
Sophia looked surprised.
“Your eyes.”
Alina smiled.
“I told her.”
Then Sophia touched the tattoos on my hand.
“And these.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You described my tattoos?”
Alina laughed quietly.
“I told her you had too many.”
For the first time in six years, laughter existed between us.
Fragile.
Uncertain.
But real.
Later, Elena took Sophia for breakfast.
The door closed.
I looked at Alina.
“The second child.”
Her smile disappeared.
She looked out the window.
“When I left Chicago, I didn’t know.”
“Know what?”
“That I was pregnant.”
Everything inside me stopped.
I stared at her.
“No.”
She nodded.
“How far?”
“Maybe three weeks when I disappeared.”
I sat down slowly.
“You had another child.”
“Yes.”
My voice became quiet.
“Boy or girl?”
“A boy.”
My throat tightened.
“Where is he?”
Alina started crying.
“I don’t know.”
I stood.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Marco—”
“Where is my son?”
She covered her face.
“When Sophia was three, we were living outside Detroit. Vittorio found us.”
I could barely breathe.
“He took him?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I knew he was close. I had two children. I couldn’t keep moving with both safely.”
My anger fought with understanding.
“What did you do?”
“I arranged a private adoption.”
The words hit me.
“You gave our son away?”
“For his life.”
“You should have told me.”
“How?”
“Anything. Somehow.”
“I tried!”
Her voice broke.
“I tried to reach you more times than you will ever know.”
I turned away.
I wanted to be angry.
It was easier.
But I pictured her alone.
Two children.
Running.
Watching cars.
Changing names.
Sleeping in cheap hotels.
Terrified every day.
“What is his name?”
Alina whispered, “Nicholas.”
Nicholas.
My son.
“How old?”
“Five.”
“Who adopted him?”
“I never knew their real names.”
I turned.
“What?”
“The adoption was arranged anonymously.”
“Through Mercer?”
“No.”
“Who?”
Alina hesitated.
“Matteo.”
I stared.
Of course.
Matteo was waiting in the hallway.
I opened the door.
“Inside.”
He entered.
Alina looked at him.
“You didn’t tell him?”
“No.”
I closed the door.
“Where is my son?”
Matteo’s expression became guarded.
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“I promised Alina.”
“She is sitting here telling you to answer.”
Alina nodded.
Matteo exhaled.
“I arranged placement with a family I trusted.”
“Name.”
“Thomas and Rebecca Hale.”
I recognized Thomas Hale.
A former accountant who once worked for a Vitelli-controlled construction company.
Quiet.
Honest.
He left Chicago five years ago.
“Where?”
“Wisconsin.”
“Do they know who Nicholas is?”
“No.”
“Does Nicholas know?”
“No.”
I felt sick.
Another child had grown up without knowing me.
“How far?”
“Three hours.”
I reached for my jacket.
Alina stopped me.
“Marco.”
I looked at her.
“You can’t just appear.”
“Why not?”
“Because he has parents.”
“I am his father.”
“And Thomas Hale is the man who has raised him.”
The truth hurt.
She continued gently.
“You need to think about Nicholas, not what we lost.”
I hated that she was right.
Matteo spoke.
“There’s another problem.”
I looked at him.
“What now?”
“My father knew about Nicholas.”
Silence.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“When?”
“Recently.”
“How recent?”
“Two weeks ago.”
I stared.
Before Alina was abducted.
Before the photograph.
Before the message.
Vittorio knew about both children.
“What did he do?”
Matteo removed his phone.
He showed me a message.
A photograph.
A little boy standing outside a farmhouse.
Dark hair.
My eyes.
Again.
Below the picture was a sentence.
One child makes Marco vulnerable.
Two children make him obedient.
I felt something inside me turn to ice.
“Is Nicholas still there?”
“I called Thomas yesterday.”
“And?”
“No answer.”
I looked at Alina.
Her face drained of color.
We left Chicago within twenty minutes.
No convoy.
No obvious security.
Just me, Alina, Matteo, Antonio, and two unmarked cars.
The farmhouse sat outside a small Wisconsin town.
Quiet fields.
Trees.
A blue pickup truck.
No movement.
I exited before the car fully stopped.
The front door was open.
“Thomas!”
No answer.
Inside, a chair lay overturned.
Alina grabbed my hand.
On the kitchen table sat a child’s drawing.
A man.
A woman.
A boy.
A dog.
Normal family.
The life Nicholas deserved.
Then I heard a sound upstairs.
A child crying.
I ran.
Bedroom.
Closet.
I opened it.
A boy looked up at me.
Five years old.
Dark hair.
Tears.
My son.
A woman crouched beside him.
Rebecca Hale.
She held him tightly.
“Please.”
I raised my hands.
“You’re safe.”
Rebecca recognized me.
Her expression changed.
“Marco Vitelli.”
I nodded.
Alina appeared behind me.
Rebecca looked at her.
Then at Nicholas.
She understood.
“Oh God.”
Nicholas looked at me.
“Who are you?”
I had imagined hearing those words differently.
Maybe someday.
Maybe after preparing him.
Not like this.
I knelt.
“My name is Marco.”
Nicholas wiped his face.
“Bad men came.”
“I know.”
“Daddy made them go.”
I looked at Rebecca.
“Where is Thomas?”
She started crying.
“He followed them.”
“Who?”
“The men who came.”
“Why?”
“They took something.”
“What?”
Rebecca looked at Alina.
“A folder Matteo gave Thomas five years ago.”
Matteo stiffened.
“What folder?”
Rebecca stared at him.
“You said never open it.”
“I remember.”
“They knew about it.”
“What was inside?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Nicholas spoke quietly.
“I do.”
Everyone looked at him.
Thomas had apparently shown him the folder once by accident.
Nicholas climbed out of the closet.
He walked to his toy chest.
Reached behind it.
Pulled out an envelope.
Matteo became pale.
“That isn’t possible.”
Nicholas handed it to me.
On the front was my name.
Inside was a legal document.
A DNA report.
And a handwritten note from Vittorio.
I read it.
Then looked at Matteo.
Because the document did not say Nicholas was my son.
May you like
It said Nicholas Rizzo.
And according to the DNA report, his biological father was Matteo.
