Chapter 3 - THE HOUSE ON WEST ADDISON|
I had never seen Luca Moretti lose his composure.
Not when a waiter spilled red wine across a twenty-thousand-dollar rug.
Not when one of his business partners arrived two hours late to a meeting.
And not even when he'd learned that his own brother had kept a daughter hidden from him for twenty-four years.
But when Michael said their father's death might not have been natural, something in Luca's face went frighteningly still.
“What did you just say?”
Michael swallowed.
“I said Dad's death wasn't what you think.”
Luca moved closer.
“Eight years ago, you stood beside me at the hospital.”
“I know.”
“You watched me sign the paperwork.”
“I know.”
“You let Mom bury her husband believing he'd died from heart failure.”
Michael looked down.
“That's what the doctors reported.”
“Then what are you telling me?”
Michael took a shaky breath.
“Three days before he died, Dad discovered that someone had been moving money through properties owned by our family.”
Luca's expression hardened.
“Richard Bellini?”
Michael didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
Luca turned toward Vanessa.
Her hands were trembling.
“Did your father know my dad was investigating him?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Then why do you look terrified?”
Vanessa's eyes filled.
“Because you're acting like someone I don't recognize.”
Luca gave a humorless laugh.
“That's interesting.”
He glanced toward his mother.
“I was about to say the same thing about you.”
Teresa sat wrapped in her blue blanket, staring at the photograph of her late husband.
The dining room had emptied.
Dominic had escorted the guests into the adjoining reception hall, where the staff were quietly arranging transportation.
Nobody had been allowed to take photographs of Teresa.
Nobody had been permitted to question her.
It was the first time all evening that somebody had protected her dignity.
Luca turned toward me.
“Hannah, can you help my mother upstairs?”
“Of course, sir.”
Teresa caught his hand.
“Please don't leave me alone.”
His expression softened immediately.
“You won't be alone.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
He looked toward the staircase.
“Bring her to my study.”
I helped Teresa stand.
She was exhausted.
But when we reached the doorway, she stopped and looked back at Michael.
“You could have told him years ago.”
Michael lowered his head.
“I know, Mom.”
“Your daughter deserved better.”
Those words seemed to hurt him more than Luca's anger.
He didn't answer.
I guided Teresa through the hallway.
Behind us, Luca told Dominic to prepare two vehicles and send someone ahead to West Addison.
Then I heard Michael say something that made me stop.
“You should know Elena hasn't been answering her phone.”
Luca asked when he'd last spoken to her.
“Yesterday morning.”
“And Nora?”
Michael hesitated.
“Three days ago.”
I looked down at Teresa.
Her face was pale.
“Hannah,” she whispered, “we need to find that girl.”
I squeezed her hand.
“We will.”
But inside, I was frightened.
Because the more I learned about this family, the more I realized the missing granddaughter wasn't the only person somebody wanted silenced.
We reached Luca's study just before midnight.
The room smelled of polished wood and old books.
A photograph of Giovanni Moretti stood on the mantel.
He was smiling beside Teresa on their fortieth wedding anniversary.
I settled her into a leather chair and pulled the blanket around her knees.
“Would you like some tea?”
She shook her head.
“I'd like my husband back.”
The words were so quiet I almost missed them.
I knelt beside her.
“I know.”
She looked at me.
“You don't, sweetheart.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“I spent eight years convincing myself Giovanni had died peacefully.”
I held her hand.
“And now I'm wondering whether he was frightened when it happened.”
I didn't know what to say.
So I stayed beside her.
Sometimes silence is the only kindness you can offer someone whose world has just broken open.
A few minutes later, Luca entered.
He had removed his jacket.
The black tattoos extending across his forearms were visible beneath his rolled sleeves.
He carried a glass of water and a small plate of crackers.
“Mom, you haven't eaten enough.”
Teresa attempted a smile.
“Still telling me what to do?”
“Someone has to.”
He sat on the edge of the desk.
For a moment, they looked like an ordinary mother and son.
Then Teresa reached for him.
“Find Nora.”
“I will.”
“She's never done anything wrong.”
“I know.”
“And Elena has spent twenty-four years being punished for loving your brother.”
Luca's face tightened.
“What happened between them?”
Teresa stared at the photograph on the mantel.
“Michael was twenty-one when he fell in love with Elena.”
Luca listened silently.
“Her father owned a small construction company.”
She paused.
“Richard Bellini wanted him to sign contracts that weren't legitimate.”
“What kind of contracts?”
“False invoices, sweetheart.”
Luca's jaw tightened.
“Money laundering.”
Teresa nodded.
“Elena's father refused.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died in a warehouse fire.”
Luca looked toward the door.
I could see him putting the pieces together.
“Was Richard involved?”
“Your father suspected it.”
“Did he have proof?”
“Not enough.”
Teresa began crying again.
“Giovanni bought the house so Elena and the baby wouldn't have to depend on Michael.”
“Why not Michael?”
“Because Michael was already making promises to Richard.”
The room fell quiet.
Then Teresa whispered, “Your brother was afraid.”
Luca looked down.
“So he abandoned them.”
“He visited Nora secretly.”
“That isn't the same thing as being her father.”
“No,” Teresa said.
“It isn't.”
Her honesty seemed to surprise him.
For several moments, nobody spoke.
Then his phone rang.
Dominic.
Luca answered immediately.
“What did you find?”
I watched his expression change.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Any sign of forced entry?”
He walked toward the window.
“All right.”
Then he ended the call.
“Luca?” Teresa asked.
He turned toward us.
“The front door on West Addison is unlocked.”
My stomach tightened.
“And Elena?”
“Not there.”
Teresa covered her mouth.
“What about Nora?”
“They haven't found her.”
Luca looked at me.
“Hannah, can you stay here until I return?”
“Of course.”
But Teresa suddenly caught my wrist.
“No.”
Both of us looked at her.
“She needs to come.”
I blinked.
“Mrs. Moretti—”
“Please.”
Luca frowned.
“Mom, Hannah isn't involved in this.”
Teresa looked directly at him.
“She is now.”
He didn't answer.
She continued.
“Hannah was the only person who listened when I said something was wrong.”
I felt tears sting my eyes.
“She noticed the missing photographs.”
Luca looked toward me.
“What photographs?”
I hesitated.
“The ones removed from Mrs. Moretti's bedroom.”
“Anything else?”
I swallowed.
“There was a small wooden box.”
Teresa nodded urgently.
“Giovanni's box.”
I looked at Luca.
“I saw Michael carrying it downstairs yesterday.”
Luca's expression hardened.
“Where did he take it?”
“I don't know.”
But Teresa suddenly said something that made us both turn.
“West Addison.”
Luca looked at her.
“Mom?”
“Your father kept a matching box at the little house.”
She squeezed my hand.
“Hannah will recognize it.”
I had never wanted to become involved in a powerful family's secrets.
I wanted my paycheck.
A quiet evening.
And enough money to help my mother recover without worrying whether she'd lose her apartment.
But Teresa was looking at me with the same trust my own mother had shown when she needed help learning to walk again.
I couldn't abandon her.
“I'll go,” I said.
Luca studied my face.
“You understand I can't promise this will be simple.”
“I don't think anything about tonight has been simple, sir.”
For the first time, the corner of his mouth almost moved.
“Fair point.”
He turned toward Dominic, who had appeared at the door.
“Have one of our drivers take Mom to my sister-in-law's house.”
Teresa shook her head.
“No more arrangements made without asking me.”
Luca immediately stopped.
Then he nodded.
“Where would you feel safe?”
“With your Aunt Rosa.”
“Then we'll arrange that.”
She looked relieved.
It was such a small thing.
Asking an elderly woman where she wanted to sleep.
But after everything she'd endured, it seemed to give her back a piece of herself.
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in the back of Luca's black SUV.
The Chicago streets were wet from an earlier rain.
Streetlights reflected across the windshield.
Luca sat beside me, silent.
His phone kept vibrating.
He ignored most of the calls.
Finally, I asked, “Do you think Elena and Nora are safe?”
He looked out the window.
“I don't know.”
It was the first honest answer I'd heard anyone give that evening.
He turned toward me.
“Hannah, if you're frightened, tell me.”
“I am frightened.”
He nodded.
“So am I.”
I stared at him.
The most feared man in Chicago had just admitted something nobody in his world was supposed to admit.
He was afraid.
Not for himself.
For a niece he'd never met.
For a mother he'd failed to protect.
And perhaps for a father whose death he'd misunderstood.
We pulled onto West Addison just after twelve-thirty.
The house was smaller than I'd imagined.
Red brick.
White porch railing.
A narrow front garden filled with overgrown roses.
One upstairs window glowed.
Dominic met us beside the gate.
“Sir, the back door was open.”
“Anything missing?”
“Hard to tell.”
Luca glanced at me.
“Stay close.”
We entered through the front door.
The living room smelled faintly of coffee and lavender.
Family photographs covered the walls.
In nearly every picture was the same dark-haired young woman.
Nora.
Some showed her as a child.
Others showed her graduating from college.
In one photograph, she stood beside a woman with tired eyes and a gentle smile.
Elena.
Luca stopped in front of a graduation picture.
“She's got Dad's eyes.”
I looked at him.
He seemed unable to move.
Twenty-four years of birthdays, holidays, and family dinners had happened without him knowing this girl existed.
Then Dominic called from the kitchen.
“Mr. Moretti.”
We hurried toward him.
The kitchen floor had been disturbed.
A square section of old wooden boards had been lifted near the pantry.
Beneath it was a shallow storage compartment.
Empty.
Luca stared at it.
“Someone got here first.”
I looked around.
There were two overturned chairs.
A broken ceramic mug.
And a little blue ribbon lying beside the counter.
Then I noticed something strange.
A handwritten grocery list had been pinned to the refrigerator.
Milk.
Bread.
Tomatoes.
Tea.
Nothing unusual.
Except for four words written at the bottom.
Ask Hannah about Friday.
My breath caught.
“Mr. Moretti.”
Luca turned.
I pointed toward the refrigerator.
He stared at the note.
Then looked at me.
“How does my niece know your name?”
I shook my head.
“I've never met her.”
Dominic stepped closer.
He examined the paper.
“The handwriting's fresh.”
Luca reached toward it.
But before he could remove it, a phone began ringing somewhere upstairs.
We all froze.
The ringing continued.
Luca looked toward the ceiling.
“Dom.”
Dominic moved toward the stairs.
I followed Luca into the hallway.
The sound came from the upstairs bedroom.
A mobile phone lay on the bed.
Its screen showed one incoming caller.
UNKNOWN.
Luca answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then a woman's voice whispered, “Is Hannah Collins with you?”
Luca looked directly at me.
“Yes.”
A shaky breath sounded through the speaker.
“Then tell her to check her mother's front door.”
My blood turned cold.
“Who is this?” Luca demanded.
But the woman only whispered one final sentence.
“Tell Hannah I'm sorry I brought them to her.”
The call ended.
May you like
And my own phone began ringing.
It was my mother.
