Chapter 5 - The Man Beneath the HouseThe first thing I felt was anger.
Not fear.
Not confusion.
Anger.
Because fear belonged to people who still had something to lose.
I had already lost three years of my life.
I had already buried a father who was alive.
I had already mourned a wife who had been trapped beneath my own home.
And now the dead were speaking.
My grandfather’s voice echoed through the tunnel again.
“Raffaele.”
My father’s grip tightened around my arm.
“Don’t respond.”
I pulled away.
“You knew.”
He looked at me.
“Knew what?”
“That he was alive.”
My father’s face changed.
“No.”
“Then why are you afraid?”
“Because I know what he is capable of.”
The police officers nearby looked between us, clearly trying to understand why a family argument had turned into something impossible.
One officer stepped forward.
“Everyone needs to move away from that opening.”
My grandfather’s voice interrupted.
“Always so obedient, Raffaele.”
The officer froze.
Because the voice was not coming from a speaker.
Not from a recording.
It was coming from below.
A living person.
The officer lifted his flashlight toward the tunnel.
“Who is down there?”
No answer.
Only a slow laugh.
A laugh I had heard in old home videos.
A laugh from birthday parties.
From family dinners.
A laugh that used to make everyone smile.
Now it made my skin crawl.
My father moved toward the tunnel.
I grabbed his shoulder.
“What are you doing?”
“I need to stop him.”
“You couldn’t stop him six years ago.”
The words hit him.
He looked away.
And I hated that I had said them.
Because some part of me still saw him as my father.
Still wanted him to prove everything had an explanation.
Still wanted him to tell me this was some nightmare I would wake up from.
But nightmares ended.
This had lasted six years.
The police searched the lower passage first.
Two officers descended with weapons drawn.
The rest of us waited above.
Evelyn sat beside Anna, wrapped in blankets.
She hadn't taken her eyes off my father.
I understood why.
To her, he was not the man from my childhood.
He was the man who knew she was trapped.
The man who heard her suffering.
The man who did nothing.
Eventually, one officer returned.
“There's another room below.”
My heart sank.
“What did you find?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“A lot of old documents.”
“Anything else?”
The officer hesitated.
“A person was there.”
Everyone went silent.
“Who?”
The officer looked at me.
“An elderly man.”
My grandfather.
I stepped forward.
“Is he alive?”
The officer nodded.
“Yes.”
Nobody spoke.
Because hearing the words was different from believing them.
My grandfather was alive.
My father was alive.
My wife had been hidden underground.
And somehow, I was still standing.
“Bring him up,” I said.
My father immediately said:
“No.”
I turned.
“What?”
“He wants you to bring him up.”
“He is an old man.”
“He is a dangerous man.”
My father’s voice cracked.
“You don’t understand.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“I don’t.”
My father looked at me.
“Because I never told you the truth.”
“Then tell me now.”
He looked down.
“I wasn’t the first person your grandfather experimented on.”
The word made me uncomfortable.
“Experimented.”
He nodded.
“He tested loyalty.”
“What does that mean?”
“He believed fear was the strongest form of control.”
My father swallowed.
“He built this house with hidden rooms. Hidden cameras. Hidden passages.”
I looked around.
The beautiful walls suddenly felt like they were watching me.
“He monitored everyone.”
“Why?”
“To find weakness.”
“That’s insane.”
“Yes.”
My father looked at me.
“And he was very good at it.”
The officers returned with a stretcher.
Nobody needed it.
Because the old man walking behind them was standing perfectly straight.
He was older.
Much older than in the photographs.
But he was unmistakable.
My grandfather.
Alessandro Moretti.
The man whose portrait hung above the fireplace downstairs.
The man everyone described as brilliant.
The man everyone described as dead.
He looked around the room.
Then his eyes landed on me.
And he smiled.
Not warmly.
Proudly.
Like a scientist seeing the result of an experiment.
“Raffaele.”
I hated how familiar it sounded.
“Don’t call me that.”
His smile faded slightly.
“You have your father’s anger.”
My father stepped between us.
“Stay away from him.”
My grandfather laughed.
“You still protect him.”
“You destroyed everything.”
“No.”
My grandfather looked around the room.
“I built everything.”
The police officer interrupted.
“You need to sit down.”
My grandfather ignored him.
His eyes stayed on me.
“You look exactly like your mother.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Don’t talk about her.”
“Why?”
His head tilted.
“She gave you life.”
“She gave me love.”
He smiled.
“And that was her weakness.”
My hands curled into fists.
My father stepped forward.
“Enough.”
My grandfather looked at him.
“You failed.”
The room went silent.
My father’s face hardened.
“You were supposed to become what I created.”
“And I became your mistake.”
“Yes.”
The honesty was disturbing.
My grandfather looked back at me.
“That is why I needed another version.”
My blood turned cold.
“Marco.”
His smile returned.
“So you know.”
I stared at him.
“You took my brother.”
“I saved him.”
“You kidnapped him.”
“No.”
My grandfather shook his head.
“I improved him.”
Evelyn suddenly stood.
“No.”
Everyone looked at her.
She stared at Alessandro.
“You told him that.”
My grandfather looked surprised.
“Ah.”
A slow smile appeared.
“The wife.”
Evelyn stepped back.
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“I heard your voice.”
“Yes.”
“You watched.”
He didn’t deny it.
That was worse.
My father looked disgusted.
“You knew she was there?”
“Of course.”
“Then why leave her?”
My grandfather shrugged.
“Because she was useful.”
My body moved before my mind did.
I grabbed the front of his coat.
The police reacted instantly.
They pulled me away.
My grandfather only smiled.
“You see?”
He looked at the officers.
“Exactly like your father.”
I stared at him.
“What did you do to Marco?”
His expression changed.
For the first time.
Not fear.
Something close to disappointment.
“He wasn’t strong enough.”
“Where is he?”
My grandfather looked toward the tunnel.
“He is closer than you think.”
My phone vibrated.
Again.
Unknown number.
I looked down.
A message.
DON’T LISTEN TO HIM. HE’S LYING.
Then another message appeared.
A photograph.
This time, it was not old.
It had been taken moments ago.
Inside the tunnel.
The image showed Marco standing behind my grandfather.
But there was something else.
Something impossible.
A scar across Marco’s face.
A scar I had never seen before.
And beneath the photo was a message:
ASK YOUR FATHER WHY HE CUT HIS OWN SON’S FACE.
I looked up.
My father was watching me.
He knew.
He knew exactly what I had received.
“What did he do?” I asked.
Nobody answered.
I walked toward him.
“What did you do to Marco?”
My father’s face collapsed.
And that was when I understood.
The truth I had been chasing was not hidden beneath the house.
It was standing right in front of me.
My father whispered:
“I didn’t cut his face.”
He looked at Alessandro.
“He did.”
My grandfather smiled.
Then he said something that made Evelyn scream.
“Raffaele…”
He stepped closer.
“You still haven’t realized the biggest secret.”
The room went silent.
“What secret?”
My grandfather looked at me.
“The boy you call Marco…”
He paused.
“He isn’t your brother.”
My heartbeat stopped.
May you like
My grandfather pointed at me.
“He is you.”
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