Page 14 of Redemption
Another thought hits me. “Is my father … is he still … alive?”
Keira’s quick digging online didn’t say whether he was alive or dead.
For the first time since I boarded the jet, my mother’s face loses some of the joy emblazoned on it. Instantly, I assume that he has already passed and I will never know my sire. But in this moment, I don’t care. A mother is more than I ever expected. And a brother. Not having a father is nothing new for me.
But instead of confirming my expectations, my brother speaks. “Our father is still alive. He does not know we’re here. He does not know we never stopped searching for you. He … he does not speak of you. It is … it is too painful for him.”
I have a father. I have a father and a mother and a brother. How is this even possible? I nearly choke on the breath I suck in.
Marco continues, “He will be overjoyed to know you are alive, although very surprised when he learns of it. He is in Italy. To this day, he works tirelessly, even though he should have long ago retired.”
“He will work himself into a grave. That is all he knows,” my mother says with a hint of ice in her tone.
Clearly, there are family dynamics to which I’m not yet privy, but I don’t care.
I have a family. That’s the part that matters. The dynamics can wait.
This is all more than I ever thought possible. I don’t care if my family isn’t perfect. I don’t care that my father has tried to forget about his second son. How could I blame him when I tried so hard to forget that I might have parents—somewhere—who could have once cared about me?
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell them with a shake of my head. I reach out to wipe the tears from my mother’s face with my thumb. “This is more than I ever imagined. I have a family. As you said, it is a miracle.”
“You must come home with us. Marco told me of your beautiful wife and my precious granddaughter. You must get them and come home to Italy with us. We can keep you safe. You can live in peace with your family. It is all I have ever wanted.” She grasps my wrist with her thin yet strong fingers. “Please say you will come with us. America is not where you belong. You are a son of Italy. You must come home. It is your heritage. There is much for you there. So much love to surround you. I will not take no for an answer. Your brother will tell you how stubborn I am. I never gave up hope that I would find you again, my son. My dear Luca. I prayed every morning, every night, and all day in between for your safety, wherever you were.”
I inhale sharply, stunned at her words as their meaning filters into my mind. “They worked. I should’ve died six dozen times over, but every time, against all odds, something kept me safe—even when I didn’t deserve it. Your prayers worked.”
I shake my head, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the truth. My mother prayed for me nonstop. How else would a man like me survive all these years without succumbing to a bullet? It’s the only explanation that makes perfect sense.
“Come, Mama. Sit now, and you and Luca can speak of all of this. But not on your knees any longer, Mama. He is here. He is home. Please.” Marco lifts our mother to her feet, and we rise as one.
As one family. It’s mind-blowing. Life-changing. Incredible.
Luca. The name they keep calling me doesn’t feel nearly as foreign as it should. Perhaps it’s because names have never meant much to me. I never knew what mine was for certain, so I never put much stock in it. Lachlan Mount became my identity, but it was never more than that. It was only something others could call me because I was always a lost little boy.
“Where am I from?” I ask as I take a seat, facing both of them. “Where was I born?”
“Roma. You were both born in Roma, even though I wanted to give birth at the estate. Alessandro wouldn’t let me. He believed we needed the most modern doctors because you were twins. He always worried something would go wrong. He was wrong … until later.”
I was born in Rome, Italy, not New Orleans, Louisiana.
“How old was I when I was taken?”
“Four months old. It never should have happened. I’m so sorry, my son. I’m so sorry. It was all my fault. I didn’t know anyone would ever try to hurt us. I didn’t know. It was all my fault.”
Her tears begin spilling again, and Marco wraps his arm around her. He pulls her against his side.
“Mama, you know it was not your fault. You must forgive yourself. It is time. Luca is home. He is here and whole. You must forgive yourself. Please.”
I reach out to take her hands and cup them between mine. “Please. Don’t cry. I’m fine. I’m here. I’m alive. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t leave me on purpose. You didn’t abandon me. That’s the only thing that matters. You wanted me.”
My words arrest her crying spell. “Wanted you? I adored you. Both of you. My beautiful twin boys. My beloved sons. You have never been loved more than I have loved you. I would never have left you. Never have abandoned you. Never. They had to beat me unconscious to tear you from my arms. I would never have let you go. Not my son. Never, my son. When I woke, you were gone. It was as if a piece of my heart had been cut from my breast. Never would I have let you go. I have lived that moment over and over again, until I made myself sick. If only?—”
“Shh. Mama, you will make yourself sick again,” Marco says as he comforts our mother.
They beat her unconscious to take me from her.
The truth tears through me, shredding my heart with the pain of her memory. My mother loves me. My mother fought for me. My mother prayed for my return every day.
“It doesn’t matter now. None of it matters now.” I bow my head over her hands before lifting them to my lips. “All that matters is that you’re here and you’re real.”
