Chapter 4 - The Man Who Raised Luca Moretti
Luca did not move for several seconds.
Salvatore Moretti was not merely his uncle.
He was the man who had taken Luca to school after Luca’s mother died.
The man who taught him to drive.
The man who had stood behind him at twenty-six when Luca buried his father.
The man whose chair at Sunday dinner had remained at Luca’s right hand for thirteen years.
“No.”
Dominic gave a bitter laugh.
“That’s exactly what I said.”
“You have proof?”
“I have suspicion.”
“That isn’t proof.”
“No.”
Dominic looked toward Teresa’s shoe.
“But neither was one photograph of me.”
That struck.
Luca’s jaw tightened.
Dominic continued.
“Salvatore controls the family trust if both the chief beneficiary and executive chairman become unavailable.”
“Meaning Luca and you.”
I said it before I could stop myself.
Dominic nodded.
Luca looked at me.
“He becomes temporary trustee.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough.”
Dominic answered.
“To move everything.”
Luca turned toward the hidden room.
The fake passports.
The chair.
The planted evidence.
The story prepared for my disappearance.
“If Salvatore planned this, why involve Vanessa?”
“Access.”
Dominic said.
“She got into your bedroom.”
“Your study.”
“Your private life.”
“And me?”
Luca asked.
Dominic’s face hardened.
“I was already inside.”
A phone rang.
Not Luca’s.
Dominic’s.
The screen displayed VANESSA.
He stared.
Luca said, “Answer.”
Dominic put it on speaker.
“Where are you?”
Vanessa sounded breathless.
Dominic replied calmly.
“Driving.”
“You need to leave Chicago.”
Luca and I exchanged a look.
“Why?”
“They know.”
“Who?”
“Luca.”
Dominic looked at Luca.
“He knows about the document.”
Vanessa went silent.
Then whispered, “Oh God.”
Luca took the phone.
“Hello, Vanessa.”
Nothing.
“Where are you?”
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“Which part?”
“Luca—”
“The stolen document?”
He looked at me.
“The housemaid you injured?”
Her breathing changed.
“Claire is lying.”
My injured hand began throbbing.
Luca’s voice stayed frighteningly calm.
“I watched you lock her in the linen room.”
“She stole from me.”
“Interesting.”
He leaned against the wall.
“Because I thought the card belonged to Claire.”
Vanessa realized the mistake immediately.
“You knew about the memory card.”
Silence.
“Who told you?”
She didn’t answer.
“Was it Teresa?”
A sharp breath.
“Where is Teresa?”
“Luca.”
“Where is she?”
Vanessa started crying.
But unlike the polished tears I had seen at charity dinners, these sounded real.
“I don’t know anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
“Angelo took her.”
“Why?”
“Because Salvatore found out she copied the accounts.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
Luca said, “You’re working with Salvatore.”
“I was.”
“Were?”
“He lied to me.”
“About what?”
Another long pause.
Then Vanessa said, “Your father.”
Luca’s face changed.
“What about him?”
“There’s a recording.”
“Of what?”
“I can’t tell you on the phone.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m not coming back to that house.”
“Then tell me where.”
Vanessa began to answer.
A loud impact exploded through the speaker.
Metal.
Glass.
Then a scream.
The call cut.
Dominic grabbed the phone.
“Vanessa!”
Nothing.
Luca was already calling Peter.
“Trace her vehicle.”
Peter answered quickly.
Luca listened.
Then looked at us.
“Lake Shore Drive.”
We left through the service garage.
No entourage.
No Angelo.
No official security team.
Luca drove.
Dominic sat beside him.
I sat in the back, wondering at what point my life had become a midnight drive through Chicago with two men who had spent half an hour deciding whether the other had arranged a murder.
We found Vanessa’s Mercedes sideways near an exit ramp.
Front fender crushed.
Airbags deployed.
Driver’s door open.
No Vanessa.
No second vehicle.
Luca checked the seat.
Blood on the airbag.
Not much.
Dominic walked toward the guardrail.
“Here.”
A diamond earring lay near the curb.
Vanessa’s.
I saw movement beneath the passenger seat.
A phone.
Not Vanessa’s primary phone.
A cheap burner.
Luca turned it on.
One unsent message filled the screen.
TO: D.
SALVATORE KNOWS ABOUT THE RECORDING.
Below it:
IT’S STILL IN THE BRIDAL SUITE.
Dominic looked at Luca.
“What recording?”
Luca’s face had gone pale.
“I don’t know.”
Then another message appeared.
Incoming.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
Luca opened it.
A photograph loaded.
Vanessa sat in a chair.
Alive.
Terrified.
A man stood behind her.
Only one hand was visible.
On one finger was a heavy gold signet ring.
Luca recognized it.
So did Dominic.
Salvatore Moretti had worn that ring for thirty years.
Beneath the photograph was a message.
TOMORROW.
May you like
THE WEDDING HAPPENS.
OR SHE DIES FIRST.
