The Football King’s Secret Heir

PROMISES AND REASSURANCE

MATEO’s POV

The luxury leather interior of the car is dead silent, save for the distinct hum of the tires against the pavement as Liam navigates through the evening traffic. Outside, the rain has turned into a steady, grey drizzle, slicking the streets of Westbrook.

I lean my head back against the headrest, staring out at the blurred neon signs passing by. The memory of the woman in the dark raincoat refuses to leave my mind. It clings to me like oil, thick and suffocating.

"There was a hint of familiarity in her voice, Liam," I say softly, my voice cutting through the quiet cabin. "I can't put my finger on it, but the way she acted... something was completely wrong."

Liam glances at me briefly in the rearview mirror, his hands steady on the steering wheel. "It’s completely normal for a mother, Mateo. You crouched down next to her five-year-old son in a public space. She was probably terrified that a giant athlete was talking to him. And then there were fans pulling out phones. She obviously didn't want the spectacle."

"No," I shake my head, turning to look at him. "It wasn't just caution. She was shaking."

"Maybe she was worried about her husband," Liam reasons, flicking on his turn signal. "Her husband might be the jealous type, or maybe he doesn't want their kid’s face splashed all over social media."

"She doesn't have a husband," I counter immediately. "At least, that's what Kess told me. He said he doesn't have a dad."

Liam shrugs, unbothered. "Well, that could be even more dangerous for her. If she’s single, she’s probably scared to death of being seen near a global celebrity. Rumors start instantly. Every single mother is hyper-vigilant with her kids, especially in a situation like that. She’s probably a widow, or maybe she broke up with the guy who got her pregnant, and she doesn't want people calling her a clout-chaser or saying she’s trying to trap a wealthy athlete. She was protecting her life, Mateo. Let it rest."

I open my mouth to argue, to tell him that her panic felt deeply personal, but the center console screen suddenly lights up. The dashboard audio system chimed loudly, broadcasting a caller ID that makes my jaw tighten.

Oliver Moretti.

"Don't pick it," I grumble, closing my eyes and shifting in my seat.

"Pick your dad's call, Mateo," Liam says, tapping his fingers against the wheel. "Stop being a stubborn child."

"He just wants to complain again," I groan. "My dad is always complaining about something. I don't have the energy for his drama tonight."

"Answer the phone," Liam insists, reaching over to press the green answer icon on the dashboard display before I can stop him.

The luxury car's Bluetooth system instantly connects, bouncing my father's panicked, frantic voice through the high-end speakers surrounding us.

"Mateo! There is trouble!" Oliver’s voice booms through the SUV, laced with genuine desperation.

I sit up straight, my pulse spiking for a split second. "What now, Dad?"

"You need to start coming home right now," my father pleads, completely ignoring my exasperated tone. "Your mother wants to leave me. She’s packing her bags. She wants a divorce!"

I pinch the bridge of my nose, taking a long, hard breath. "Not again. What did you do this time around?"

"I didn't do anything!" he insists, his voice cracking. "Please, just come and talk to her! You know I can't live without her, Mateo! She is everything to me!"

"Oh, you know she's everything to you, but you keep messing up?" I say, my voice dropping into a stern, frustrated pitch. "Please, Dad, don't involve me in this. Work it out yourselves."

"Please, Mateo, don't let her go!" he begs, sounding smaller than a man of his standing ever should. "I don't want to drag you into this, but please... just come and talk to her. Do whatever you can. Don't let her leave this house!"

Before I can refuse, Liam leans slightly toward the console microphone. "Okay, Mr. Moretti. We're on our way."

The line cuts off.

I turn my head slowly, throwing Liam the sharpest, deadliest glare I can muster. If looks could cut, he’d be bleeding out on the leather upholstery.

Liam doesn't even blink. He doesn't even look at me. He simply checks his side mirror, cuts the wheel, and smoothly executes an illegal U-turn across the avenue, heading straight toward the wrought-iron gates of the Moretti estate.

"Liam," I say coldly, crossing my arms over my chest. "I think I should just leave Mr. Moretti to you. You should be his son."

"Yeah, at least then I'd have a father with a multi-million dollar real estate portfolio," Liam replies without missing a beat, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I'm not joking. You take his side every single time."

"Because your father is an i***t when he's desperate, and you're an i***t when you're stubborn," Liam says calmly, pressing his foot on the accelerator. "It balances out."

I try to keep my sour expression, but I end up leaning back into the leather, shaking my head. The banter is the only thing keeping the knot in my stomach from tightening further.

Thirty-nine minutes later, the heavy iron gates of the estate roll open, and Liam sweeps the SUV up the long, winding brick driveway. Before the car even comes to a complete stop outside the grand manor doors, I see her.

Edna is standing near the bottom of the front steps, dressed in a sleek charcoal trench coat. Beside her rest two heavy, designer rolling suitcases.

I pop the car door open before Liam even puts the vehicle in park and steps out into the light rain. "Mama," I call out softly.

She turns, her dark, elegant eyes red-rimmed and tired. The moment she sees me, her composure cracks slightly. "Oh, Matt... I'm so sorry you had to come all the way out here."

I walk right up to her, wrapping my arms firmly around her shoulders and pulling her into a warm hug. I kiss her cheek, feeling the chill of the evening air on her skin. "Mom, you don't have to be sorry."

She pulls back slightly, resting a gentle, manicured hand against my cheek, looking up at me with profound exhaustion. "I'm just tired, Mateo. I am so, so tired of your father."

"I know," I say, offering her a faint, sympathetic smile. "Believe me, I know that feeling. I'm tired of him, too." I pause, softening my eyes. "But we can't leave him completely alone, can we?"

"Yes," she says firmly, though a tear slips down her cheek. "I am leaving him at the moment."

"Then what will become of me?" I ask softly, trying to inject a little lightness into her heavy heart.

Edna gives a wet, gentle laugh, reaching up to touch my hair. "You can follow me if you want to."

"No," I whisper, taking her hand in mine. "I want my parents together. Please, Mom. What did Dad say this time around?"

Behind us, the heavy oak front doors of the estate swing open, and my father steps out, looking utterly frantic and unraveled. Before he can utter a word, Liam smoothly steps up the stairs, intercepting Oliver right at the doorway.

Liam places a firm, steadying hand on my father's shoulder, guiding him gently back inside the foyer to talk to him in private, leaving Edna and me alone under the awning.

Edna looks away toward the dark gardens, her hands trembling as she pulls her coat tighter around herself.

"It's not just about his temper, Mateo," she says, her voice dropping into a raw, hollow whisper. "Your father... about my missing daughter... he still doesn't care. He acts like I don't love him just because I can't let her go. He makes it sound like my grief is an insult to our marriage."

My heart aches for her. I take both of her hands in mine, squeezing them tightly.

"Finding my daughter is the only thing that keeps me breathing," Edna chokes out, tears spilling freely down her face now. "I don't want to believe she's dead, Matt. She cannot be dead. I feel it in my soul—she is alive somewhere out there. I just want to see her. I just want to hold her. I just want her to call me Mommy again... I just want to tell her how much I love her."

"Mom, look at me," I say firmly, bringing her focus back to my eyes. "I haven't stopped looking for her. I swear to you, I haven't."

I pull out my phone, tapping quickly to open a private, encrypted folder on my screen. I turn it toward her, showing her the subtle, unbranded search campaigns I’ve been funding—digital flyers circulating quietly across regional medical networks, discreet investigative posts, and private agency databases carefully designed to avoid drawing media circus or pulling in fake claimants looking for a payday.

"I am keeping the search active without making a spectacle," I tell her gently, scrolling through the records. "Every time a case matches her physical description, her birth year, or her blood type, my private team runs a silent DNA cross-reference against the profile you gave me."

Edna stares at the screen, her lower lip trembling as she touches the digital flyers with a soft, shaking finger.

"I am doing everything in my power, Mom," I whisper, my voice thick with absolute resolve. "I'm going to find my sister."