Chapter 4 - THE FORGED SIGNATURE
The grandfather clock in the corner of the study ticked loudly, counting the seconds as Grace stared at the birth certificate in her trembling hands. The heavy parchment paper bore the seal of the State of Illinois, and there, clearly printed under "Mother," was the name Celia Antoinette Moretti.
"My... my mother?" Grace whispered, her voice barely audible. She looked up at me, her dark eyes swimming in a sea of absolute bewilderment. "But... she's my grandmother. She's old. She told me my parents died in a car crash."
I looked at the polaroid again. The younger Celia in the photo looked exhausted but fiercely protective. Doing the math in my head, Celia would have been in her early forties when Grace was born. Not impossible, but highly scandalous for a prominent, unmarried society woman leading a mafia family's public image.
"She lied to you, Grace," I said softly, feeling a surge of protective anger for the young girl. "She lied to everyone. She sent Anna's baby away, and then she brought you home, claiming you were an orphan she adopted. She hid you in plain sight."
"But why?" Grace cried, tears finally spilling over her cheeks. "If I'm her real daughter, why didn't she just claim me? Why make me call her Grandma?"
Answer One, Open Two. We knew who Grace really was, but the mystery of why Celia had orchestrated this massive, cruel deception was completely baffling. Who was Grace’s father? What was so dangerous about her birth that a ruthless woman like Celia felt compelled to erase her own motherhood?
Before I could answer, the heavy oak door of the study rattled violently. The brass doorknob turned, but the lock held.
"Emma!" Luca's voice boomed through the thick wood. "Open the door!"
I stood up quickly, giving Grace's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and hurried to unlock it. Luca pushed past me the second the door opened. His suit jacket was gone, his tie was loosened, and he looked like a man who had just walked through a war zone. Anna was right behind him, her eyes red and swollen, looking utterly exhausted.
Luca stopped in the center of the room, looking at Grace, then at the papers scattered on the leather sofa. His sharp eyes immediately locked onto the birth certificate.
He walked over, picked it up, and read it. I watched his jaw clench, the muscles ticking dangerously.
"Where did you get this?" Luca asked, his voice deathly calm.
"Celia's vanity," I admitted, standing my ground despite the intense intimidation radiating from him. "Grace knew about a locked drawer. I went upstairs and got it."
I expected him to yell at me for snooping, to remind me I was just a fired maid. Instead, Luca looked at me with a strange, unreadable expression. "You took a massive risk going back up there, Emma. Celia is currently tearing the dining room apart looking for her leverage."
Anna stepped forward, looking at the polaroid in Luca's hand. When she saw the picture of Celia holding the newborn, a gasp tore from her throat.
"She... she's the mother?" Anna whispered, sinking into an armchair. "Celia had a baby? But... she told us she was barren. She used it as an excuse to control our lives after our parents died. She claimed she sacrificed her own chance at a family to raise us."
"It was a lie," Luca said bitterly. He looked at Grace, his expression softening into profound sorrow. "I am so sorry, Grace. You have lived in a house of mirrors for thirteen years."
Grace wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "If she's my mom... who is my dad? Is he dead too?"
Luca looked down at the birth certificate. His eyes scanned the line for "Father."
He froze.
I watched as all the color drained from the powerful mafia boss's face. He didn't just look shocked; he looked physically ill. The paper trembled in his grip.
"Luca?" Anna asked, standing up quickly. "What is it? What does it say?"
Luca didn't answer. He just stared at the name, shaking his head slowly as a horrifying Reversal took root in his mind. He dropped the paper onto the coffee table and backed away, running a hand through his dark hair.
I stepped closer to the table and looked down at the document.
Under "Father," the name was clearly printed: Vincent Moretti.
My breath hitched. Vincent Moretti. Luca and Anna's deceased father. Celia's own brother.
"No," Anna gasped, reading the name over my shoulder. "No, that's sick. That's a mistake. Celia and our father..." She couldn't even finish the sentence, gagging on the implication.
"It's a forgery," Luca said, his voice hard, desperate to reject the horror of the document. "It has to be. My father was a hard man, but he wasn't a monster. He wouldn't have..."
"He didn't," a cold, sharp voice said from the doorway.
We all spun around. Celia stood in the entrance of the study. She looked disheveled, her expensive dress wrinkled, but her eyes burned with a venomous, calculating light. She was holding a small, silver revolver, pointing it directly at the floor, but the threat was unmistakable.
"Celia, put the gun down," Luca ordered, stepping instinctively in front of Grace and Anna.
"I didn't forge the name," Celia said, ignoring him. She stepped into the room and kicked the door shut behind her. "Vincent is the father on paper. Because Vincent is the one who arranged the entire thing."
Anna shook her head violently. "You're lying! Our father died two years before Grace was born!"
"He died," Celia agreed, a twisted, bitter smile touching her lips. "But his legacy didn't. Vincent was obsessed with bloodlines, Anna. When you ran away at nineteen, shaming the family, Vincent realized he had no pure heirs left to continue the Moretti empire. Luca was wild, unpredictable. Vincent didn't trust him to marry well."
"So he forced you to have a child?" Luca demanded, disgust dripping from his words.
"Don't be grotesque, Luca," Celia snapped. "Of course not. I used a donor. The finest, most expensive private clinic in Switzerland. I chose the genetics meticulously to ensure the child would be strong, intelligent, and worthy of the empire."
"Then why list my father on the birth certificate?" Luca asked.
Celia’s eyes narrowed. "Because a child born to a single, aging aunt has no legal standing in the syndicate. But a child born to the previous Boss? A child recognized legally as Vincent Moretti's direct offspring? That child holds immense power. I forged his signature on the paternity acknowledgment backdated before his death. I paid off the right judges. I created the perfect, legitimate heir to the Moretti throne."
I stared at her, horrified. Grace wasn't a daughter to her. Grace was a carefully manufactured piece of leverage.
"But why pretend she was an orphan?" Anna cried out. "Why make me believe she was my baby that you took away?"
Celia looked at Anna, and the sheer malice in her eyes was chilling. "Because, you stupid girl... you came back pregnant at the exact worst time."
Celia reached into her pocket and pulled out a tarnished, silver pocket watch. The metal was scratched and worn.
May you like
Anna gasped, her knees buckling. "Where did you get that?"
Celia smiled coldly. "I took it off his body, Anna. Before I had my men dispose of him."
