Chapter 12 - THE SON IN THE WRONG HOUSE
Salvatore returned before midnight.
He told no one where he had been.
Not immediately.
He found Anthony in the study.
“Did you have a brother?”
Anthony looked up.
The question alone changed his face.
“Yes.”
“Daniel.”
Anthony closed his eyes.
“Where did you see him?”
“At Lucia’s grave.”
Anthony sat slowly.
“He’s alive.”
“Apparently.”
Salvatore stared at him.
“You were House.”
Anthony did not deny it.
“Briefly.”
“How old?”
“Nine.”
“What role?”
Anthony looked at the floor.
“Victor.”
Salvatore remembered the photograph.
The carved initials.
“You remember?”
“Pieces.”
“And Daniel?”
“Gabriel.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because when I escaped, my mother made me swear never to speak the names.”
Salvatore laughed bitterly.
“Our mothers did excellent work.”
Anthony accepted the insult.
“Daniel helped me escape.”
“And Lucia helped Daniel.”
Anthony looked up sharply.
“You know.”
“Yes.”
Salvatore continued.
“Daniel says Eleanor’s baby was switched.”
Anthony’s face changed.
“That story…”
“You’ve heard it.”
“A rumor.”
“From who?”
“Lucia.”
Salvatore felt another betrayal.
“She told you?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“After Clara was born.”
“Why?”
Anthony swallowed.
“She was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That the House would come back for your family.”
Salvatore turned away.
Lucia had known.
Anthony had known.
Eleanor had suspected pieces.
Richard had known more.
Everyone had treated Salvatore like a dangerous weapon that needed to be kept ignorant.
Perhaps they were right.
That did not make it less infuriating.
“Which child entered my house?” Salvatore asked.
Anthony said nothing.
“Answer.”
“I don’t know.”
Salvatore stepped closer.
“You said a Caruso household.”
“I know the rumor.”
“Which?”
Anthony looked at him.
“Your aunt Maria.”
Salvatore’s father’s sister.
Maria Caruso had raised one son.
Nicholas.
Salvatore’s cousin.
Nicholas died twelve years earlier.
Or supposedly did.
Salvatore almost laughed.
“No.”
Anthony understood.
“Closed coffin.”
“Of course.”
Nicholas had been forty-one when he “died” in a boating accident.
His body was never recovered.
A memorial coffin had been buried.
Another vanished man.
“What was Nicholas like?” Anthony asked.
Salvatore stared at him.
“You knew him.”
“Not well.”
Salvatore remembered.
Nicholas had always been quiet.
Polite.
Never ambitious.
He worked around the family businesses but avoided power.
He disappeared for weeks at a time.
Salvatore’s father called him weak.
Maybe he had simply been watched.
“If Nicholas was Eleanor’s biological son,” Salvatore said, “then Sebastian is someone else.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Anthony shook his head.
“That’s the dangerous question.”
Salvatore understood.
If Sebastian was placed into the Hale family intentionally, he had a purpose.
Clara’s husband.
A man close to Caruso blood.
A man whose marriage may have been encouraged before either understood why.
The House could have engineered the union from both sides.
Salvatore went upstairs.
Clara was awake.
Sebastian sat outside her bedroom on the floor.
Not inside.
Not knocking.
Just there.
Salvatore stopped.
Sebastian stood.
“She had another pain.”
“Doctor?”
“Came and left. Everything looks stable.”
Salvatore nodded.
Sebastian looked at him.
“You learned something.”
Salvatore stared.
“Why?”
“Because you look like you want to kill a dead man.”
Accurate.
Salvatore entered Clara’s room.
She sat against pillows.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
He sat beside her.
For a moment, he said nothing.
She waited.
“Sebastian may not be Eleanor’s biological son.”
Clara stared.
“What?”
He told her.
Not every theory.
Only what Daniel said.
No embellishment.
No false certainty.
Clara looked toward the closed door.
“So Sebastian might not be related to Luca at all.”
“Yes.”
Relief passed over her face.
Then guilt for feeling relief.
Salvatore saw both.
“And Eleanor’s real son?”
“May have been raised by my aunt.”
“Nicholas.”
“Yes.”
Clara knew the name.
“He died.”
“Maybe.”
She laughed weakly.
“I’m starting to hate funerals.”
Salvatore almost smiled.
Then Clara’s expression changed.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“If Sebastian was switched…”
“Yes.”
“Who was he before?”
Salvatore looked toward the door.
“That’s what we need to know.”
Clara thought.
“His blood type.”
“What?”
“He told me once he has a rare blood type.”
Salvatore waited.
“So?”
“Eleanor does too.”
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“No.”
Clara nodded.
“But Richard didn’t.”
Salvatore understood.
Could still happen.
Not proof.
But a clue.
Clara continued.
“Sebastian has a birthmark on his shoulder.”
Salvatore looked at her.
“A shape?”
“Like a crescent.”
He went still.
Lucia had once told him about a child in the House.
A child marked by a crescent-shaped burn used for identification.
He had dismissed it as one of Lucia’s dark stories.
Now Clara continued:
“Eleanor always told him it was a birthmark.”
Salvatore stood.
“Stay here.”
“Dad.”
He stopped.
“No controlling.”
He looked back.
She pointed toward the door.
“Bring him in.”
Salvatore did.
Sebastian entered carefully.
Clara looked at him.
“Take off your shirt.”
His eyebrows rose.
Under any other circumstance, almost funny.
Not now.
He obeyed.
On his left shoulder was a crescent-shaped scar.
Not a birthmark.
A burn.
Old.
Deliberate.
Eleanor appeared in the doorway.
She saw it.
Her knees almost gave out.
Sebastian turned.
“Mom?”
She covered her mouth.
Salvatore looked at her.
“You knew.”
She shook her head violently.
“No.”
“What?”
“That mark…”
Sebastian stared.
“What is it?”
Eleanor whispered:
“The House marked children before they were exchanged.”
Sebastian’s face went empty.
Clara looked at him.
Not husband.
Not enemy.
A man discovering he had been placed into his own life by strangers.
Then Eleanor said:
“There were only three marked infants that year.”
Salvatore’s eyes narrowed.
“One went to Hale.”
“Yes.”
“Where did the other two go?”
Eleanor looked at him.
“One went to Bellandi.”
“And the third?”
May you like
Her voice dropped.
“To Caruso.”
