Chapter 11 - The Man With My Face

# Chapter 11 - The Man With My Face

The man standing beside Nathan Cross had my face.

Not a passing resemblance. Not the vague similarity strangers sometimes notice between unrelated people.

He had my eyes, my jaw, my dark hair, and the same faint crease between his eyebrows.

Even the scar above his left cheekbone was almost identical to mine.

Except mine came from a broken bottle during a fight when I was nineteen.

I had no idea where he had gotten his.

For thirty-six years, I had believed I was an only child.

Then I discovered Dominic was my twin.

Now another man stood inside a lighthouse on a remote island, wearing my face as though it belonged to him.

And my brother was tied to a chair beside him.

I stared at Nathan's photograph until the screen dimmed.

Rebecca Shaw stood across from me in the medical center's temporary command room.

"Roman?"

I turned the phone toward her.

She studied it.

Her expression changed.

"Who is that?"

"Apparently, the boy Antonio replaced me with."

Rebecca looked again.

"That doesn't make sense."

"Nothing about my life makes sense anymore."

She enlarged the image.

"Roman, resemblance isn't proof of identity. We don't even know whether this photograph is authentic."

I looked toward the adjoining room.

Leo was sleeping beneath a clean hospital blanket.

His little rabbit rested against his cheek.

For the first time since the gala, all three of my children were alive and within reach.

And now Nathan wanted me to leave them to meet a stranger with my face.

"Where's the lighthouse?" I asked.

Rebecca shook her head.

"No."

"He's holding Dominic."

"We have officers on the island."

"Nathan said to come alone."

"And you know what that means."

I looked at the photograph again.

Dominic's head was lowered.

His right hand was clenched.

There was blood on his shirt.

"He's already been shot twice," I said quietly. "He won't survive another confrontation."

Rebecca's expression softened.

"Then let us handle it."

I wanted to argue.

Instead, I looked at her for a long moment.

"Contact the officers. No assault unless there's an immediate threat to his life."

She nodded.

"And you?"

"I'm going to speak to Nathan."

At 3:28 p.m., I called Elena.

She answered immediately.

"Roman? Is Leo okay?"

"He's safe. The doctors are examining him."

I heard her exhale.

"Thank God."

"He's asking for you."

"I'm coming."

"Not yet. The island is still an active investigation scene. I'll bring him home as soon as the doctors clear him."

A pause.

"What's wrong?"

I looked toward the window.

Beyond the hospital, gray clouds hung over the Atlantic.

"There's something else."

Elena was silent.

I told her about the photograph.

The stranger.

Dominic.

Nathan's demand.

When I finished, she whispered, "Roman, don't go."

"Dominic's there."

"I know."

"He's my brother."

"I know that too."

Her voice began trembling.

"But you've spent the last two days chasing people who keep moving the truth just beyond your reach. Every time you get close, someone sends another photograph, another document, another threat."

I closed my eyes.

She was right.

Nathan knew exactly which questions would make me reckless.

Who was my father?

Who was my mother?

Who had been taken from the nursery?

And now, who was the man wearing my face?

"Elena," I said, "I have to find out."

"No. You have to come home."

The words stopped me.

She began crying.

"Sophie wakes up asking whether you're coming back. Alessandro won't let anyone close his bedroom door. And Leo has spent nearly his entire life without you."

My throat tightened.

"They don't need the D'Angelo heir," she whispered. "They need their father."

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then I said, "I'll come home."

"Promise?"

I stared at the photograph.

"Yes."

I meant it.

But first, I had to bring Dominic back too.

The old lighthouse stood on the island's eastern cliffs, overlooking a stretch of violent gray water.

A narrow road led through pine trees to a weathered keeper's cottage.

The lighthouse tower rose behind it, its white paint peeling, its lantern dark.

I arrived at 4:11 p.m.

Rebecca remained with the officers monitoring the property from a distance.

My phone vibrated as I stepped from the vehicle.

Come inside. No weapons.

Nathan.

I removed my pistol and left it with the escort officer.

Then I approached the cottage.

The front door was unlocked.

Inside, the air smelled of salt, damp wood, and old coffee.

A narrow hallway led toward the kitchen.

And sitting at the kitchen table was the man from the photograph.

My reflection.

He looked up.

For one terrifying moment, I thought I was staring into a mirror.

Then he stood.

He was slightly taller than me.

Thinner.

A little older around the eyes.

His clothes were ordinary—a navy sweater and dark trousers.

But his face...

God.

His face.

"Roman," he said.

His voice was different.

Lower.

Rougher.

Yet something about the way he pronounced my name felt horribly familiar.

"Who are you?"

He studied me.

Then gave a sad smile.

"My name is Gabriel."

I glanced toward the adjoining room.

"Where's Dominic?"

"Alive."

"Show me."

Gabriel hesitated.

Then stepped aside.

Dominic sat in an armchair near the window.

His wrists were secured loosely in front of him.

A fresh bandage covered his shoulder.

His face was bruised.

But his eyes were clear.

"Roman."

I crossed the room.

"Are you hurt?"

"Nothing new."

I crouched and examined the restraints.

Dominic looked past me.

"Don't trust Nathan."

A voice came from the hallway.

"That's getting repetitive."

Nathan Cross entered carrying a leather folder.

He looked exhausted.

Blood stained one sleeve.

There was a fresh cut across his forehead.

I stood.

"Release him."

Nathan nodded toward Gabriel.

Gabriel removed Dominic's restraints.

I stared at Nathan.

"Why tie him up?"

"Because he tried to kill Gabriel."

Dominic surged forward.

"That's a lie!"

Gabriel stepped backward.

Nathan raised his hand.

"Enough."

I moved between them.

"Everybody stops talking until I understand what's happening."

The room fell silent.

I looked at Gabriel.

"Start with you."

Gabriel sat across from me at the kitchen table.

Up close, the resemblance was even more disturbing.

The same dark eyebrows.

The same gray-blue eyes.

The same slight asymmetry at the corner of our mouths.

I touched the scar above my cheekbone.

Gabriel noticed.

He raised a finger toward his own.

"Mine came from a car accident," he said.

"When?"

"I was twenty-three."

I stared at him.

"Who raised you?"

"A couple named Thomas and Margaret Bell."

"Where?"

"Outside Portland."

"Did they know who you were?"

Gabriel looked toward Nathan.

"Not at first."

I turned.

"Nathan?"

He opened the leather folder.

Inside were photographs, hospital records, and a faded document bearing the name Isabella Bellini.

"Gabriel was placed with the Bells shortly after birth," Nathan said.

"Why?"

"Because Antonio ordered one of Isabella's infants removed from the original nursery."

I stared at him.

"You told me Dominic was the second child."

"He was recorded as the second child."

"Then who is Gabriel?"

Nathan hesitated.

"That's what we're here to establish."

My patience snapped.

"You brought me across an island, showed me a man with my face, and you're telling me you don't know who he is?"

Gabriel spoke quietly.

"Because the records contradict one another."

I looked at him.

He continued.

"My birth certificate says I was born two days before you. But my adoptive parents were given documents showing the same delivery date as yours."

I felt cold.

"Why?"

"Someone changed my records."

Nathan placed three photographs on the table.

The first showed two newborn boys.

The familiar nursery photograph.

The second showed an infant in a hospital incubator.

The third showed a nurse holding two babies beside a woman lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

Isabella.

I leaned closer.

"Who took these?"

"A Meridian nurse," Nathan said. "She kept copies before the records were altered."

I studied the third photograph.

There was something wrong.

I counted again.

Two babies in the nurse's arms.

One baby in the incubator behind her.

Three.

My heart began pounding.

"How many infants were there?"

Nobody answered.

I looked at Nathan.

"How many?"

He exhaled.

"Three."

The room seemed to tilt.

"Triplets?" I whispered.

Nathan shook his head.

"Not necessarily."

I stared at him.

"Then explain."

He opened another document.

"Isabella delivered two infants. But a third child was transferred into the same nursery within hours."

"Whose child?"

"That's the question Antonio spent decades trying to conceal."

I looked toward Gabriel.

His expression remained calm.

Too calm.

"You knew about this?"

He nodded.

"Since last year."

"And you didn't come looking for me?"

His jaw tightened.

"I did."

I frowned.

"What?"

"I went to your Westchester estate eleven months ago."

My stomach tightened.

"I never saw you."

"No."

Gabriel looked toward Dominic.

"Your security chief intercepted me at the gate."

I slowly turned.

Dominic was staring at the floor.

"Is that true?"

He didn't answer.

"Dominic."

"Yes."

I felt something inside me break again.

"You saw him?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't tell me?"

Dominic looked up.

"Because Antonio warned me that anyone claiming to be the missing child could be working for Meridian."

Gabriel laughed bitterly.

"You threatened to have me buried if I came back."

Dominic's face hardened.

"I told you to stay away from Roman."

"With a gun against my throat."

I turned toward my brother.

"Did you do that?"

He looked ashamed.

"Yes."

I stepped backward.

For eighteen years, Dominic had decided which dangers I was allowed to know about.

Now I was discovering that some of those dangers were people who simply wanted answers.

"Why?" I whispered.

Dominic struggled to speak.

"Because I thought he was trying to take your place."

Gabriel's expression changed.

"No," he said quietly. "I wanted to know why someone else had lived my life."

For a long moment, nobody moved.

Then Gabriel reached into his pocket.

He placed a photograph on the table.

A little boy stood beside a Christmas tree.

He looked about six.

Dark hair.

Gray-blue eyes.

He wore a red sweater and held a wooden toy train.

I stared at the photograph.

It could have been me.

"My parents were good people," Gabriel said. "They loved me. I had a childhood. Friends. School. A normal life."

I looked at him.

"Then why come looking for me?"

His expression darkened.

"Because my mother died two years ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Before she died, she gave me a box of documents she'd kept hidden."

He swallowed.

"She said a man named Antonio D'Angelo paid for my education, my medical care, and our family's home."

I felt cold.

"Antonio?"

Gabriel nodded.

"He visited twice a year."

I stared at him.

"My father visited you?"

"He called himself Mr. Bell's business associate."

Something painful moved through my chest.

Antonio had concealed an entire life from me.

Again.

"Did Gabriel know who he was?" I asked.

Gabriel shook his head.

"Not until after his supposed death."

He looked at Nathan.

"Nathan found me."

I turned toward the older man.

"Why?"

Nathan took a slow breath.

"Because Antonio was going to tell the truth."

I stared at him.

"When?"

"Three years ago. Before the car accident."

"And then he disappeared."

Nathan nodded.

"Yes."

I leaned forward.

"Did you know he was alive?"

A pause.

"Not at first."

"Later?"

"Yes."

I closed my eyes.

Another lie.

Another truth delivered only when there was nowhere left to hide.

"Why did Antonio fake his death?" I asked.

Nathan looked toward the lighthouse window.

"Because the succession agreement had become dangerous."

"Everything in this family is apparently dangerous."

"Roman, the original D'Angelo trust was worth far more than the businesses you inherited."

"How much?"

Nathan hesitated.

"Several billion dollars."

Gabriel looked down.

Dominic remained silent.

"The trust required verified hereditary succession," Nathan continued. "Antonio spent decades manipulating guardianship and identity records so he could control who qualified."

I stared at him.

"And Meridian helped?"

"Yes."

"Then Adrian decided to take control himself."

"Eventually."

I leaned closer.

"What does that have to do with Gabriel?"

Nathan opened another folder.

Inside was an old legal memorandum.

I scanned it.

Then stopped.

SUBJECT: POTENTIAL SUCCESSOR — GABRIEL BELL.

Beneath the heading was a notation.

BIOLOGICAL DESCENDANT STATUS: DISPUTED.

I looked up.

"Gabriel has a claim?"

Nathan nodded.

"Possibly."

Gabriel shook his head.

"I don't want the money."

I stared at him.

"Then what do you want?"

He met my eyes.

"I want to know why Antonio watched me grow up from a distance while calling you his son."

The words struck harder than any accusation.

Because I understood them.

For three years, I had mourned the family I thought I'd lost.

Gabriel had spent his entire life wondering why the family he might have belonged to never came for him.

And somewhere between those two kinds of grief stood Antonio D'Angelo.

A man who had believed every lie could be justified if it protected his empire.

At 5:06 p.m., Rebecca called.

"Roman, we have the preliminary results from the independent laboratory."

My heart began pounding.

"Which results?"

"The archived genetic material recovered from Meridian. The samples are old and their chain of custody is compromised, so we can't treat them as definitive. But the initial comparison is interesting."

I looked toward Gabriel.

"Tell me."

"The profile associated with Gabriel is closely related to the profile associated with you."

I swallowed.

"How closely?"

"Consistent with a very close biological relationship. But the laboratory wants fresh samples before offering a definitive interpretation."

I looked at Dominic.

"And him?"

Rebecca hesitated.

"That's where things get complicated."

"What?"

"The archived profile labeled Dominic doesn't match the other two in the way we'd expect if all three were full siblings."

I felt cold.

"But Antonio's ledger—"

"May have mislabeled the samples."

I closed my eyes.

Of course.

The samples.

The records.

The identities.

Everything had been altered so many times that even the evidence had become another weapon.

Rebecca continued.

"Roman, don't make any decisions about your relationships based on these archived results. We need independently collected samples."

I looked at Gabriel.

He was watching me.

For the first time, I saw something beneath his controlled expression.

Hope.

And fear.

The same feelings I carried.

"Then we'll get tested," I said.

"All three of us."

Dominic refused.

At first.

"No."

I stared at him.

"Why?"

"Because it doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

He looked away.

"Roman—"

"Are you afraid of what we'll find?"

His jaw tightened.

"No."

"Then why refuse?"

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he whispered, "Because if the records are wrong, I lose the only family I've ever had."

The words silenced the room.

I looked at my brother.

The man who had taken bullets for me.

Who had lied to me.

Who had helped Elena disappear.

Who had also risked his life to save my children.

I had spent the last two days trying to decide whether I hated him.

Now I understood something.

Dominic had been just as trapped inside Antonio's deception as I had.

I stepped closer.

"Listen to me."

He looked up.

"You don't stop being my brother because a laboratory says we have different fathers."

His face changed.

I continued.

"You've done things I may never forgive. We still have to face what happened to Elena and the children. But that doesn't erase the years we shared."

Dominic lowered his head.

For the first time since I'd known him, he began crying.

Quietly.

Without covering his face.

Gabriel watched us.

Then looked away.

I turned toward him.

"And you."

He stiffened.

"I don't know who you are to me yet," I said. "But I know someone stole your history."

His eyes filled with tears.

"And I know what that feels like."

At 6:22 p.m., we left the lighthouse together.

Gabriel agreed to provide fresh samples for independent genetic testing.

Dominic did too.

Nathan remained behind to speak with federal investigators.

Before I left, he caught my arm.

"Roman."

I turned.

"What?"

"There's something you should know about Victoria."

My stomach tightened.

"She's already in custody."

"I know."

"Then what?"

Nathan hesitated.

"She wasn't responsible for every part of the children's abduction."

I stared at him.

"She's admitted to ordering Dominic to take Elena."

"Yes."

"And arranging Alessandro's concealment."

"Yes."

"Then what are you trying to tell me?"

Nathan lowered his voice.

"She didn't authorize the plan to use Leo as leverage."

I felt cold.

"Who did?"

He looked away.

"I don't know. Not with certainty."

I almost laughed.

"Then stop making claims you can't prove."

Nathan's expression hardened.

"Fair enough."

I stepped toward the door.

Then he spoke again.

"But there's one thing I can prove."

I turned.

"What?"

"Antonio wasn't the first person to create a false identity for a child in your family."

I stared at him.

Nathan swallowed.

"It happened one generation earlier."

My heart began pounding.

"Who?"

"Victoria."

I frowned.

"Victoria was adopted?"

Nathan shook his head.

"No."

He looked directly into my eyes.

"Victoria D'Angelo wasn't born Victoria D'Angelo."

I stared at him.

"What was her name?"

He hesitated.

Then whispered:

"Margaret Ellis."

I stopped breathing.

Margaret Ellis.

The nurse.

The missing witness.

The woman who had helped rescue Leo from Adrian's underground ward.

The woman who had given me the nursery records.

She was still on the island, being interviewed by investigators.

"That's impossible," I said.

Nathan shook his head.

"Victoria used the name Margaret Ellis before marrying Antonio. Later, someone else began working under that identity."

My mind raced.

"Who?"

Nathan's face darkened.

"That's what I never found out."

I stared at him.

"You're telling me the nurse who helped Leo might be using my mother's former identity?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't tell anyone?"

"I only confirmed the connection this morning."

I stepped closer.

"Show me proof."

Nathan reached into his briefcase.

He removed a yellowed photograph.

A young woman stood outside a hospital.

Dark hair.

Elegant features.

A familiar face.

Victoria.

On the back was a handwritten name.

MARGARET ELLIS — 1988.

I stared at the photograph.

Then I looked at Nathan.

"Who is the woman in the medical ward?"

His expression changed.

"I don't know."

My phone vibrated.

Rebecca.

I answered immediately.

"Roman, where are you?"

"Leaving the lighthouse."

"Get back to the medical center."

Her voice was tight.

"What happened?"

A pause.

Then:

"The nurse who identified herself as Margaret Ellis has disappeared."

I stopped walking.

"How?"

"She told the staff she was going to retrieve some documents. Nobody has seen her since."

My heart hammered.

"Was Leo with her?"

"No. He's safe."

Relief rushed through me.

Then Rebecca continued.

"But she left something behind."

"What?"

"A sealed envelope addressed to you."

I looked toward the darkening sky.

"What's inside?"

Rebecca hesitated.

"An old photograph and a handwritten letter."

"Read it."

A pause.

Then she spoke slowly.

Roman,

If you're reading this, then Nathaniel has finally discovered the name Victoria stole from me.

I froze.

Rebecca continued.

My real name is Margaret Ellis.

And thirty-six years ago, I gave birth to a son.

My blood turned cold.

They told me he died.

I looked at Gabriel.

He was watching me.

Then Rebecca read the final sentence.

But I recognized him the moment he walked into that medical ward.

My throat tightened.

"Who?"

Rebecca didn't answer immediately.

Then she whispered:

"Roman, the letter says the child was you."

I stared into the gathering darkness.

One more mother.

One more stolen identity.

One more impossible claim.

And somewhere on Bellwether Island, the woman who had helped save my youngest son had vanished after leaving a letter claiming she was the person who gave birth to me.

Before I could speak, Gabriel's phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

His face drained of color.

"Who is it?" I asked.

He looked at me.

Then whispered, "My mother."

I frowned.

"Gabriel, you said your mother died two years ago."

He nodded.

His hands began shaking.

"I know."

The phone continued ringing.

And on the screen, beneath the incoming number, appeared a photograph of an older woman with gray hair.

The same woman who had called herself Margaret Ellis.

Gabriel looked at me.

"Roman..."

His voice broke.

"That's the woman who raised me."