The Moretti Daughter They Denied

The day I was diagnosed with leukemia, my first reaction wasn't fear. It was relief. I wasn't really a Moretti anyway. If I died, I wouldn't owe anyone anything. When I was six, Bianca and I fought over a stuffed bear. My mother dragged me into a corner and said each word slowly enough to make sure I understood. “You are not our biological child. Everything in this house is something we've given you out of kindness.” After that, I never asked for anything again. Bianca got new dresses. I wore her old school uniforms. Bianca took piano lessons. I washed dishes in the kitchen to earn money for breakfast the next morning. I lived like a piece of luggage someone had left in the Moretti house, always ready to be claimed and taken away. After my diagnosis, Dr. Patel told me a stem-cell transplant was my best chance. A parent or biological sibling might be a match. I didn't tell the Morettis. Instead, I searched for my birth family in secret and used seven years of savings to prepay for the cheapest cremation in Chicago. Then, last night, I heard my parents talking inside my father's study. “Do you ever think we went too far?” my mother asked. “Serena acts more like a stranger every year.” My father sighed. “What choice did we have? Bianca is the adopted one. After her father died saving my life, I had to make sure she never felt like she came second. If Serena knew she was our biological daughter, why would she ever keep stepping aside for Bianca?” The cup slipped from my hand and rolled across the floor. I was their biological daughter. The girl they had raised as their real child was the one they had adopted. For eighteen years, my parents had erased me from their family so Bianca would never have to feel insecure. Standing outside that door, I started laughing. But the truth had come too late. My leukemia was already high-risk. My bone marrow was failing. Chapter 1 The bone-china espresso cup slipped from my hand and shattered outside my father's study. The conversation inside stopped. I stood beneath the hallway lights, shaking so hard from fever that my teeth clicked. White porcelain lay around my shoes, the painted Moretti crest split down the middle. My mother opened the door and looked at the broken cup before looking at me. “Serena, what is wrong with you? It's the middle of the night.” My skin burned with a fever of nearly 103 degrees. I had one hand against the wall just to remain standing. She noticed none of it. “I came down for water,” I said. “It slipped.” Behind her, my father remained at his desk. Matteo Moretti was the Don who controlled Chicago's most powerful Mafia family. Later that week,he would induct Bianca into the Moretti council as his chosen successor. But I had just heard the truth. Bianca was adopted. I was their biological daughter. For eighteen years, they had lied about my birth so I would surrender everything to her without fighting back. My mother folded her arms. “Clean this up before you wake Bianca. She needs to rest before her induction.” My father's voice came from the study. “Make sure she gets every piece. I don't want her causing another scene at the gala.” I crouched to collect the porcelain. The floor tilted beneath me, and dark spots swam across my vision. A sharp edge sliced my finger. Blood dripped onto the pale runner. My bone marrow was failing, and my blood could barely clot. Within seconds, my palm was covered. My mother finally noticed. “Serena, did you do that deliberately?” I looked up at her. “Bianca chose this runner for her induction photographs. Are you trying to ruin tomorrow because you're jealous of her?” She didn't ask why I couldn't stop bleeding. She only saw another threat to Bianca. For eighteen years, I had lived in the Moretti estate like a thief afraid of taking something that wasn't mine. I wore Bianca's old school uniforms instead of asking for new clothes. I worked after hours in Moretti restaurants instead of asking for an allowance. I learned to hide illness because needing anything made me greedy. Now I knew my parents had stripped me of my name, protection, and place in the Family so Bianca would never have to feel like an outsider. “I'm sorry,” I said, closing my hand around the cut. “I'll clean it.” “You should be sorry.” My mother's expression hardened. “And don't start imagining we owe you something because Bianca is becoming Matteo's heir. The Morettis have already given you more than you deserve.” She shut the door in my face. I scrubbed my blood from the runner, then climbed the back staircase to my room above the garage. The estate had twelve bedrooms, most of them empty. I slept in a former maid's room because Bianca said seeing me in the main house reminded her of losing her birth parents. My parents moved me out that same day. Even the estate security plan excluded me. If the compound was attacked, no guard was assigned to evacuate the girl who supposedly carried no Moretti blood. I lay on the narrow bed and pressed an old towel against my hand. Nine days earlier, Dr. Asha Patel had handed me my test results at Cook County Medical Center. “High-risk acute lymphoblastic leukemia,” she said. “Your bone marrow is failing, and you're already fighting an infection. We need to admit you immediately.” She turned to the next page. “If you respond to treatment, a stem-cell transplant may give you a chance. We need to test your biological parents and any full siblings. Can you contact them?” I shook my head. “I don't have biological family.” According to my father, I had been abandoned at a church-run children's home. The Morettis had never formally adopted me because my unknown origins didn't deserve a place in the Family archive. So I left the hospital alone. I searched public DNA databases for relatives and used seven years of savings to prepay for the cheapest cremation in Chicago. I never told the Morettis I was dying. They had taught me that I had no right to ask for their blood. Now I knew two possible donors had been living beneath the same roof all along, but after hearing why they had lied, I couldn't bring myself to ask them for anything. By morning, the bleeding had slowed. I washed my hand, pulled on my old wool coat, and went downstairs as usual. Bianca sat at the dining table in an ivory cashmere dress. At her throat was the obsidian brooch my grandfather had worn when he led the Moretti council. It marked the chosen successor. When I was eight, I had asked my father whether I might wear it someday. He told me an adopted child had no right to something that belonged to Moretti blood. Now Bianca was wearing it. “Morning, Sera.” She studied my face. “You look awful.” “I don't feel well.” She pushed her half-finished orange juice toward me. “You can have this. I don't want the rest.” Before I could touch it, my mother handed the glass to a maid. “Pour it out. Serena looks contagious, and Bianca can't get sick before the gala.” Leukemia wasn't contagious, but explaining that would have required someone to care. I placed Bianca's revised induction speech beside her plate. I had rewritten it so she would sound as though she understood the businesses she was about to inherit. My father lowered his newspaper. “Where are you going?” “I have an appointment in the city.” “Cancel it. Someone needs to check Bianca's gown and the guest list.” “I already finished the guest list.” “Then go with her and carry what she needs.” I tightened my grip on my bag. “Am I invited to the gala?” The table fell silent. “Every Moretti captain and allied family will be there,” my father said. “What exactly would your place be?” I looked at the brooch around Bianca's throat. “Of course.” My mother frowned at my coat. “Where are you going dressed like that?” “To take care of something.” “Don't waste the day on some charitable stunt because you're jealous of Bianca. Donating a few dollars won't make you less ungrateful.” I didn't explain. I walked beyond the estate gates and called the city's low-cost cremation service. “Grant Memorial Services,” a woman answered. “How can I help you?” “I prepaid for a direct cremation under the name Serena Moretti. I need to confirm something.” “Of course.” I looked back at the estate. “If no relatives claim my body, how long will you keep my ashes in the public columbarium?” Chapter 2 “Who are you calling?” An armored black Cadillac stopped beside me. The rear window lowered, revealing my father in the back seat. “Get in.” I ended the call and climbed inside. Before the car moved, he threw a gray envelope into my lap. My DNA search request, hospital invoice, and blood-sample barcode spilled across my knees. Moretti security monitored everyone connected to the Family. They had flagged my name as soon as I entered it into a public DNA database. “You submitted a blood sample without permission,” my father said. “What were you looking for?” “My biological family.” His expression hardened. “And if the test connected you to the Morettis? Were you planning to show the council and claim Bianca's seat?” The hospital invoice lay between us. The name of the hematology department was printed across the top, but he never looked at it. I had searched for my birth parents because I wanted to live. He saw only an attack on Bianca. “I wasn't trying to take anything from her.” “After everything we've given you, you went behind our backs looking for another family.” “I only wanted to know where I came from.” He leaned back, his voice quiet with contempt. “Luca Russo died saving my life. Everything Bianca has is what the Morettis owe his daughter. If you're trying to use your blood to take it from her, you will fail.” “So protecting Bianca meant I had to have nothing?” It was the first time I had asked him directly. His eyes narrowed. “So you have been keeping score.” The Cadillac turned back toward the Moretti estate. When we arrived, two guards searched me at the door. One handed my fever medicine to my father. The other found the brochure from the cremation service. He barely glanced at either. “More theatrics?” “Planning ahead.” He dropped them back into my bag. My mother and Bianca were choosing jewelry for the gala. Behind them hung last year's family portrait. My parents and Bianca stood in the center. I wasn't in it. My father threw the DNA request onto the table. “She was trying to prove she has a claim to the Moretti inheritance.” My mother stared at me. “You know how important this week is to Bianca.. Why would you do this now?” Bianca came toward me, her eyes already shining with tears. “If you want the council seat, I won't take it. I never meant to steal anything from you.” She spoke softly enough to sound frightened and loudly enough for my father to hear. His patience disappeared. “Dominic.” His consigliere stepped forward. “Yes, Don?” “Send her to Black Pine.” My mother looked up. “Matteo, that's five hours away.” Black Pine was a Moretti safe house in the northern Wisconsin woods. The Family used it to hide witnesses and punish soldiers who had forgotten how to obey. “She needs distance from the council,” my father said. “She can come home after she admits the DNA test was about Bianca's inheritance.” “I didn't do anything to Bianca.” “Then a few days alone should help you understand that.” He turned to Dominic. “No phone, no car, no visitors. She doesn't leave until I authorize it.” Dominic sent the order to Rocco, the enforcer who managed Black Pine. A reply arrived seconds later. [Understood. Subject remains secured until the Don authorizes release.] I picked up the hospital invoice and folded it into my pocket. “What if I need medical care?” My father's gaze moved over my fever-flushed face without changing. “Sign the confession, and you can come home.” For a moment, no one spoke. Then I nodded. “Fine.” My mother seemed surprised by how easily I agreed. She had probably prepared another speech about gratitude and everything the Morettis had done for me. I no longer had the strength to argue. I went upstairs and packed everything I owned into one faded canvas bag: three sweaters, four paperbacks, my fever medicine, and the receipt for a cremation already paid in full. When I came down, Bianca was standing beside the family portrait. “I'll be here when you get back,” she said. I walked past her. At the door, my mother called my name. “Serena.” I stopped. “Think carefully while you're away,” she said. “When you finally understand how much this family has given you, call us. We'll bring you home.” I looked at my father. “Will the people at Black Pine let me call?” “They answer to me,” he said. “Until I give the word, that door stays shut.” I opened the front door. “Then I won't call.” Chapter 3 It was after midnight when I arrived at Black Pine. The isolated house belonged to the Moretti Family. My father used it to hide witnesses and discipline people who had disobeyed him. Rocco, one of his longtime enforcers, ran the property with his wife, Dana. The moment I entered, Rocco took my phone and ID. Dana emptied my bag onto the floor. Three sweaters, four paperbacks, a bottle of fever medicine, and my prepaid cremation receipt fell at her feet. She picked up the medicine. “The Don warned us that you like putting on a show when you want sympathy.” “I have a fever. I need that.” “You need to confess.” She locked the medicine in a kitchen cabinet and dropped several sheets of paper onto the table. The title had already been printed across the top: Statement Admitting My Attempt to Steal the Moretti Succession Rocco pushed a pen toward me. “Sign it.” “I didn't try to steal anything.” “Then you stay here until you're ready to tell the truth.” The first night, my fever climbed until I could barely see. Dana left canned stew on the counter, but I vomited after the first bite. When I asked for my medicine, she said discomfort was part of the lesson. At two in the morning, I knocked on the communications-room door. “Please call an ambulance.” Rocco didn't open it. “Save your strength for the confession.” The next morning, he ordered me to inventory weapons in the basement. I made it through seven crates before blood began dripping from my nose onto the manifest. Rocco snatched the paper away. “Are you trying to destroy Family records now?” “I'm bleeding.” “You're making a mess.” He handed me a rag and ordered me to finish. On the third day, Dana sent me outside with two cans of diesel for the generator. I made it halfway across the yard before my knees gave out. Snow soaked through my clothes as I lay there, too weak to stand. Dana watched from the porch. Dana watched from the porch and laughed. “Still think you're some kind of Moretti princess? You're an adopted stray living on the Don's charity. Miss Bianca is the Don's biological daughter and the Family's chosen heir. You tried to steal the place that belongs to her, so you deserve every day you spend here.” When I still couldn't stand, she called Rocco and had him drag me back inside by one arm. “I thought you didn't believe I was a Moretti.” Her expression hardened. She called Rocco, and he dragged me back inside by one arm. By the fourth day, bruises covered my skin and my gums had started bleeding. I unfolded the hospital invoice in front of Rocco and pointed to the diagnosis. “Call Dr. Hayes. He knows my father. Just read him what's written here.” For the first time, Rocco hesitated. He carried the paper into the communications room and contacted Dominic, my father's consigliere. When he returned, he crumpled the invoice and threw it into the woodstove. “Dominic says the Don's order stands. No hospital and no release until you confess.” The red hematology stamp curled in the flames. “I have leukemia.” “The Don said you've faked illness for attention before.” “I could die.” Rocco looked at me without emotion. “Then sign.” That evening, they locked me in a storage room without food. I curled against the wall, pressing my sleeve beneath my nose as blood continued to soak through it. Later that evening, I remembered the emergency satellite phone in the hallway. Dana had forgotten to lock the inner door. I dragged myself across the floor, reached the phone, and dialed my mother's number. This was the last time I would ask that family for help. Not because I still believed my mother would save me. I needed to know how far they were willing to go. The phone rang for a long time before she answered. “Hello?” She sounded annoyed. Behind her, music and voices filled the St. Vita ballroom. Bianca's induction rehearsal was underway. “Mom.” My legs folded beneath me, and I clung to the phone bracket. “I'm sick. I can't stop bleeding.” She went silent. “They won't give me my medicine,” I continued. “They won't call an ambulance. Please tell them to take me to a hospital.” “Enough, Serena.” Her voice sharpened. “Your sister is preparing for the most important night of her life, and you choose now to do this?” “I'm not trying to ruin her induction.” “Then sign the statement.” “I didn't do what Dad accused me of.” “Black Pine is supposed to teach you gratitude, not give you another stage for your little performances. When you stop lying and apologize to Bianca, we'll consider bringing you home.” “Mom, I'm bleeding everywhere.” “And I'm done listening.” The line went dead. I remained on the floor with the receiver against my ear. They called it discipline. With that one word, they had turned my death into something they believed I deserved. Rocco rushed into the hallway and ripped the phone from my hand. He dragged me downstairs and threw me into the unheated storm cellar. The lock turned behind him. I curled beside the military cot and closed my eyes. “Fine,” I whispered. “I won't ask any of you to believe me again.” Chapter 4 By sunrise, I could no longer stand. Fever pulled me in and out of consciousness, and each time I opened my eyes, another memory waited in the dark. When I was nine, I wore a borrowed black dress to Sunday dinner, but my father stopped me at the door and said, “This table is for blood relatives and sworn members of the Family.” When I was fifteen, gunmen attacked a Moretti restaurant. The guards evacuated Bianca and left me behind because my name wasn't on the protection list. After a bullet grazed my shoulder, I took a bus to the hospital alone. My father arrived two hours later and asked why I had made myself visible to the shooters, not whether I was hurt. For eighteen years, I had believed they treated me that way because I wasn't their biological daughter. Now, as I lay dying in their cellar, I understood that blood had never been the reason. They had simply chosen Bianca. Near noon, Dana unlocked the cellar and froze when she saw the blood beneath me. “Rocco, her lips are turning blue.” Rocco came down and touched my forehead, then jerked his hand away. “She needs a hospital,” Dana said. “The Don said she doesn't leave without permission.” “She could die.” Rocco went upstairs to call Dominic. I heard him explain my condition twice, but when he returned, he locked the door again. “Dominic says the order stands. You stay isolated until the Don makes his decision after the gala.” By afternoon, I was coughing blood. Every breath scraped through my chest, and I no longer had the strength to call for help. A phone suddenly began ringing beneath the cot. Rocco must have dropped it when he checked me. I dragged myself across the floor and reached under the bed. My father's name glowed on the screen because he was calling Rocco. I answered. “Rocco?” My father's voice was cold, while applause and music from Bianca's induction ceremony sounded behind him. I tried to speak, but blood filled my throat. “Dad.” After a moment of silence, his voice hardened. “Your mother says you're still pretending to be sick. How long are you planning to keep this up?” “I'm not pretending.” “You searched for your birth family, threatened Bianca's position, and refused to confess. Now you're trying to frighten your mother on the most important night of your sister's life.” “I can't breathe.” “Then stop wasting your strength and sign the statement.” I closed my eyes. “I'm dying.” He exhaled sharply. “You're twenty-four years old, Serena. Saying something that vile won't make me bring you home.” “Rocco and Dana won't take me to a hospital.” “They answer to me. Until you admit what you did, that door stays locked.” Only then did I understand that he truly believed I couldn't die without his permission. “Dad,” I whispered, calling him that for the last time. “I could have lived.” After a brief pause, he said, “Come back and talk to me about living when you've learned to tell the truth.” The call ended, and the phone slipped from my hand. My body suddenly felt weightless as the pain disappeared, followed by the cold. When I opened my eyes again, I was standing at the far end of the cellar. Rocco knelt beside the cot, pressing both hands against my chest, while Dana screamed into the emergency phone. The woman on the floor didn't move. Her face was streaked with dried blood, purple bruises covered her arms, and one hand still reached toward the phone. That was my body. I was dead. Hours later, my father returned to his study after Bianca's induction gala. He had just removed his bow tie when the secure line rang. “Mr. Moretti, this is Sheriff Claire Nolan in Ashland County. We found Serena locked inside the storm cellar at your Black Pine property.” My father frowned. “Put her on the phone.” “I can't. The paramedics pronounced her dead at the scene.” He gave a cold laugh. “Serena called her mother this afternoon with the same lie. Tell her this performance is over.” “Mr. Moretti—” “If she keeps this up, she won't have a home to return to. I'll throw her out of the Moretti estate for good.” The sheriff fell silent for a moment. “Your daughter is dead, Mr. Moretti. I just sent a photograph from the scene to your secure number.” His phone vibrated on the desk. My father opened the message. The photograph showed my body on the cellar floor. Dried blood covered my face, bruises darkened my arms, and one hand remained stretched toward the phone I had tried to reach. He stared at the screen, all contempt draining from his face. Then the phone slipped from his hand. “Serena!”