Chapter 4 - THE WARNING AT MY MOTHER'S DOOR|
My mother's name flashed across my phone screen.
For one terrible second, I couldn't move.
Then I answered.
“Mom?”
“Hannah, sweetheart, are you working?”
Her voice sounded normal.
Almost normal.
But I heard something beneath it.
The careful way she was breathing.
The little pause before every sentence.
“Mom, are you okay?”
“Of course.”
I looked at Luca.
He was already watching me.
“Is somebody there with you?”
My mother hesitated.
“A gentleman came by.”
My stomach dropped.
“What gentleman?”
“He said he was from the insurance company.”
I closed my eyes.
My mother was sixty-one years old.
She had undergone hip surgery seven weeks earlier.
She could barely make it from the bedroom to the kitchen without her walker.
And somebody had sent a stranger to her apartment after midnight.
“Did you let him inside?”
“No, honey.”
Relief flooded through me.
Then she continued.
“He said he needed to make sure my home was safe for recovery.”
“Mom, listen carefully.”
I could hear my own voice shaking.
“Lock the door.”
“It is locked.”
“Don't open it for anyone.”
“Hannah, you're frightening me.”
I turned away from Luca.
“I'm sorry.”
My throat tightened.
“I just need you to trust me.”
A faint sound came through the phone.
Footsteps.
Then my mother whispered, “He's still outside.”
Luca immediately held out his hand.
I gave him the phone.
“Mrs. Collins, this is Luca Moretti.”
There was a pause.
“Oh, Mr. Moretti.”
“Your daughter is with me, and she's safe.”
I stared at him.
He continued.
“I need you to stay away from your door for a few minutes.”
“Is something wrong?”
“We're handling a security concern.”
He looked toward Dominic.
“Your building is on North Sheridan, correct?”
I nodded.
Dominic was already dialing.
“Mrs. Collins, someone I trust will contact the building manager and have the hallway checked.”
My mother's voice trembled.
“Is Hannah in trouble?”
Luca looked at me.
“No, ma'am.”
Then he said something I would remember for the rest of my life.
“Someone is trying to frighten your daughter because she did the right thing.”
I covered my mouth.
“And that is not something I'm going to allow.”
He returned the phone.
“Mom?”
“Hannah?”
“I'm coming to see you.”
“No, sweetheart.”
Her voice became firmer.
“You don't have to come running every time something scares me.”
“But—”
“Listen to your mother.”
I almost laughed through my tears.
Even frightened, even recovering from surgery, she could still sound exactly like the woman who had raised me.
“Are you safe where you are?”
I looked at Luca.
“Yes.”
“Then stay safe.”
She lowered her voice.
“And don't let anyone make you ashamed of being kind.”
The call ended.
I stood frozen beside the upstairs bed.
Luca gave me a moment.
Then he asked, “Are you all right?”
“No.”
I wiped my cheeks.
“And I don't want my mother dragged into this.”
“Neither do I.”
“But she already is.”
He didn't deny it.
That mattered.
Most powerful men I'd encountered made promises before they knew whether they could keep them.
Luca didn't.
He looked at Dominic.
“Get someone to that apartment, but nobody approaches Mrs. Collins without her permission.”
Dominic nodded.
“Understood.”
“And find out who made that call.”
“Yes, sir.”
I glanced toward the phone on the bed.
“Do you think that was Nora?”
“Possibly.”
“Why would she know where my mother lives?”
Luca's expression darkened.
“That's exactly what I intend to find out.”
We searched the bedroom carefully without disturbing more than necessary.
There was an open suitcase beside the dresser.
Half the drawers were empty.
A college sweatshirt lay across a chair.
Someone had packed in a hurry.
Or been forced to.
Beside the bed stood a framed picture of Nora with Elena.
The photograph had been taken at a beach.
Both women were laughing.
Something about it hurt me.
Because until that evening, Nora had been a secret.
But she wasn't a secret to her mother.
She was somebody's daughter.
Somebody's entire world.
I knew exactly how that felt.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Luca turned.
“Look at the frame.”
A corner of the cardboard backing had been pushed outward.
I pointed without touching it.
He carefully opened it.
Inside was a folded note.
The handwriting matched the grocery list.
If anything happens, find Mrs. Moretti's old bedroom.
Beneath it were three numbers.
4—3—1.
Luca stared at them.
“Do they mean anything to you?”
I shook my head.
Then remembered something.
“Wait.”
He looked at me.
“Your mother's bedroom has a small writing desk.”
“I know.”
“She kept a jewelry box there.”
“Go on.”
“There's a combination lock inside the bottom drawer.”
Luca frowned.
“I've never seen it.”
“Mrs. Moretti said your father used to keep important papers there.”
He looked back at the note.
“Four, three, one.”
I nodded.
“Maybe.”
Dominic returned from the hallway.
“Sir, we've found a vehicle connected to the Bellini family's security company parked two blocks away.”
Luca's face hardened.
“Occupants?”
“Gone.”
“Plate?”
“Recorded.”
He looked at the photograph.
“Someone wanted this house searched before Friday.”
I remembered Michael's warning at the dinner.
Friday.
The supposed inspection.
The empty bedroom.
The missing documents.
“Why your mother's bedroom?” I asked.
Luca looked thoughtful.
“Because the trust may contain more than the West Addison property.”
I watched him study the note again.
“Maybe Richard needs something signed.”
“By Mrs. Moretti?”
“Yes.”
“But she wouldn't agree.”
Luca's expression became grim.
“Unless someone could convince a court she wasn't capable of making decisions.”
The words made me feel sick.
Suddenly, Vanessa's behavior at dinner looked different.
The way she'd called Teresa confused.
The way she'd criticized her for needing help.
The way she'd tried to make a blanket seem like evidence of illness.
It wasn't merely cruelty.
Someone had been building a story.
A story in which Teresa Moretti was helpless, unstable, and no longer able to manage her own affairs.
“She's not confused,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“Then why would anyone believe it?”
Luca looked at me.
“Because people sometimes believe the person with the expensive suit before they believe the elderly woman sitting quietly in the corner.”
I thought about Teresa apologizing for being cold.
And I hated how right he was.
Just after two in the morning, Dominic received another call.
The man outside my mother's apartment had left.
Building security had confirmed that nobody had entered her unit.
Luca asked Dominic to arrange a legitimate security assessment for the building with the manager's cooperation.
Then he looked at me.
“I can have a trusted driver take you home.”
I hesitated.
“Will your mother be all right?”
“She's with Aunt Rosa now.”
“Does she know about Nora?”
He nodded.
“Apparently everyone in my family knows more than I do.”
There was no anger in his voice.
Only exhaustion.
I looked toward the photograph on the dresser.
“You're going to find her.”
“I intend to.”
“Then I'd like to help.”
Luca studied me.
“Hannah, you don't owe my family anything.”
“I know.”
“You've already risked your job.”
“I know.”
“And now your mother has been threatened.”
My eyes filled again.
“I know that too.”
He waited.
I took a slow breath.
“But Nora left my name on a refrigerator.”
He nodded.
“She did.”
“And somebody knew enough about me to find my mother.”
“Yes.”
“Then I don't think walking away will make this disappear.”
Luca was silent for several moments.
Finally, he said, “Whatever happens next, your employment is secure.”
I shook my head.
“That's not what I'm asking.”
“What are you asking?”
“For the truth.”
He looked at me for a long time.
Then he extended his hand.
“Then we'll start there.”
I shook it.
His hand was warm.
Mine was trembling.
Neither of us mentioned it.
We returned to the mansion just before dawn.
The dining room had been cleared.
The candles were gone.
The red roses Vanessa had ordered for the engagement dinner stood untouched in their silver vases.
I remembered the way she'd humiliated Teresa in front of everyone.
It felt like a lifetime ago.
Luca headed toward his mother's bedroom.
I followed.
The door stood open.
The room was almost empty.
A pale rectangle on the wall showed where Giovanni and Teresa's wedding portrait had hung.
The bed frame was gone.
The dresser was gone.
Only a narrow writing desk remained near the window.
Luca stopped in the doorway.
I'd seen anger on his face before.
But this was something different.
Grief.
He walked to the center of the room.
“My dad died in this bed.”
I said nothing.
“My mother sat beside him all night.”
His voice caught.
“And I let someone take it apart.”
I stepped closer.
“You didn't know.”
“I should have.”
He stared at the empty space.
“She was afraid to tell me she was sleeping beside the laundry room.”
I watched his shoulders straighten.
“That's never happening again.”
Then he approached the writing desk.
He opened the bottom drawer.
Inside was a small metal compartment with three numbered wheels.
He entered the code from Nora's note.
Four.
Three.
One.
The lock clicked.
Luca looked at me.
Then he lifted the lid.
Inside were three objects.
A photograph of Giovanni with a younger Richard Bellini.
A sealed envelope addressed to Teresa.
And a small black memory card.
Luca reached for the envelope first.
The handwriting was his father's.
He read the front aloud.
For Teresa, if Richard ever comes back for what he believes I owe him.
He carefully opened it.
Inside was one page.
Luca read silently.
Then his face went white.
“What is it?” I asked.
He handed me the letter.
The first sentence made my heart stop.
Teresa, if anything happens to me, do not let our sons trust the man who calls himself Richard Bellini.
I looked up.
Luca was staring at his father's photograph.
Then he whispered, “That's not his real name.”
May you like
And for the first time, I realized we weren't simply looking for missing property.
We were looking for a man who had spent decades hiding who he really was.
