Chapter 7 - THE PRICE OF A MOTHER'S LIFE|
By noon, Luca Moretti had received three threatening messages, two calls from his lawyers, and one voicemail from his brother.
He listened to Michael's message only once.
Then he played it again.
I sat beside Nora in a private room at one of Luca's downtown offices.
Her hands were wrapped around a paper cup of tea.
She hadn't taken a sip.
Across the room, Dominic watched Luca.
The voicemail crackled through the speaker.
“Luca, I know you're angry.”
Michael's voice sounded exhausted.
“But please don't give Richard anything.”
A pause.
“He's lying about what he can control.”
Another pause.
Then his voice broke.
“I've already lost twenty-four years with my daughter.”
He inhaled shakily.
“I can't lose her mother too.”
The recording ended.
Nora stared at the floor.
“That's the first time I've heard him say that.”
I looked at her.
“Say what?”
“That he lost us.”
Her eyes filled.
“He always talked like we were the ones who'd chosen to stay away.”
I felt my chest tighten.
There was something especially cruel about making a child feel responsible for a parent's absence.
Even when that child was now a grown woman.
Luca ended the call.
Then he looked at Nora.
“Your father is coming here.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“I need to hear what he knows.”
“He'll lie.”
“Maybe.”
“He always lies.”
Luca nodded.
“Then we'll make him answer questions he can't avoid.”
Nora looked toward me.
I reached for her hand.
“You don't have to speak to him if you aren't ready.”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Thank you.”
Luca watched that exchange.
Something softened in his expression.
Then he turned to Dominic.
“Have Michael brought to the conference room.”
Dominic nodded.
“And the hotel?”
“We don't make an exchange until we know Elena is there.”
I looked toward the window.
Six o'clock.
That deadline hung over everything.
A woman was missing.
Her daughter was frightened.
And a man with enough money to buy other people's silence had demanded documents he had no right to possess.
I wondered what Richard planned to do once he got them.
Would he release Elena?
Would he destroy the evidence?
Or would he simply find another way to threaten Teresa?
“Mr. Moretti,” I asked, “can he actually take the house?”
Luca looked at me.
“Not lawfully, based on what we've found.”
“Then why does he want the original documents?”
“Because some of the records contain signatures and amendments his attorneys may try to challenge.”
He sat across from us.
“And because destroying them might make it harder to prove what happened.”
Nora's face tightened.
“Grandpa Giovanni made copies.”
Luca nodded.
“I hope he did.”
Then she said, “He told Mom the most important copy was somewhere nobody would ever look.”
I leaned forward.
“Did he say where?”
Nora shook her head.
“No.”
Then her expression changed.
“Wait.”
She reached into her bag.
From a small side pocket, she pulled out a photograph.
It showed Giovanni and Teresa sitting on a porch swing.
A blue blanket lay across Teresa's knees.
I recognized it instantly.
“The blanket,” I whispered.
Luca looked at me.
“What?”
I pointed to it.
“That photograph was taken years ago.”
Nora nodded.
“Before Grandpa got sick.”
I studied the faded stitching along the edge.
“Mrs. Moretti never lets anyone wash it.”
Luca frowned.
“She always said it was delicate.”
I thought about the way Teresa had folded it at dinner.
Again.
And again.
The way she'd clutched it when Vanessa tried to take it.
The way she'd brought it downstairs even though Vanessa insisted it didn't match the decorations.
“What if there's something inside it?”
Luca stared at me.
Nora's eyes widened.
“Grandpa used to sew little things into fabric.”
I looked at her.
“What things?”
“Money for birthday surprises.”
She gave a sad smile.
“Once he hid a necklace inside a stuffed bear.”
Luca stood.
“I'll call Mom.”
He stepped into the hallway.
Nora watched him leave.
Then she turned toward me.
“Is he really like that?”
“Like what?”
“Kind.”
I considered the question.
Luca Moretti was not a simple man.
His family had wealth built partly on businesses whose histories I didn't understand.
He commanded the loyalty of men who treated danger as an ordinary part of their work.
And his name frightened people.
But I'd seen him ask his mother where she wanted to sleep.
I'd watched him apologize to a niece he'd never met.
I'd heard him reassure my mother without making promises he couldn't control.
“He can be,” I answered.
Nora nodded.
“Grandpa said he could.”
She looked down.
“Mom always hoped he'd find us.”
I felt an ache in my chest.
“Why didn't she contact him?”
“Because Michael told her Luca would be angry.”
“About what?”
Nora looked at me.
“About our existence.”
I thought of the man who had looked at her across the café table.
The way he'd smiled when she'd called him Uncle Luca.
“He wasn't angry that you existed,” I said.
“He was angry nobody told him.”
Nora wiped her face.
“I think I'm starting to understand that.”
A few minutes later, Michael arrived.
He looked as though he hadn't slept in days.
His tie was loose.
His hair was disheveled.
There were dark circles beneath his eyes.
When he saw Nora, he stopped walking.
She stood immediately.
“Don't.”
Michael froze.
“I just wanted—”
“I know what you wanted.”
Her voice trembled.
“You wanted me to stay hidden.”
“Nora.”
“You wanted Grandma to give up her room.”
“I never wanted that.”
“Then why did you threaten Hannah?”
Michael looked at me.
I held his gaze.
He lowered his eyes.
“Because Richard told me he'd take everything if Mom interfered.”
Nora laughed bitterly.
“Everything?”
She stepped closer.
“What exactly did you have left to lose?”
Michael flinched.
“You have no idea what he's threatened.”
“No.”
Her voice broke.
“I have a pretty good idea.”
She pulled out her phone.
Then showed him Elena's photograph.
“That's my mother.”
Michael covered his mouth.
“And she's sitting in that room because you spent twenty-four years being afraid of the wrong person.”
The silence hurt.
Michael's eyes filled.
“I know.”
Nora stepped backward.
“No, Dad.”
She shook her head.
“You don't get to say that and make it better.”
He nodded slowly.
“You're right.”
Then he looked at Luca.
“Richard wants the trust because it includes the old warehouse property.”
Luca frowned.
“The warehouse?”
Michael nodded.
“The fire destroyed the building, but the land was never transferred.”
I stared at him.
“What does that have to do with West Addison?”
“Giovanni placed the warehouse claim and the Addison house inside the same trust.”
Luca looked at him sharply.
“Why?”
“Because both properties were tied to Elena's father.”
Nora went still.
Michael continued.
“Your grandfather didn't just own a construction company.”
He looked toward his daughter.
“He owned the warehouse site with two partners.”
Luca's voice hardened.
“Who?”
Michael swallowed.
“Giovanni Moretti.”
A pause.
“And Daniel Voss.”
Nobody moved.
Michael looked at Luca.
“Dad helped finance that company before he understood what Voss was doing.”
Luca stared at him.
“And Elena's father discovered the fraud.”
“Yes.”
“Then the fire happened.”
Michael nodded.
“Dad spent the rest of his life trying to make it right.”
Nora began crying.
“He told us he was sorry.”
Michael looked at her.
“He was.”
Then Luca asked the question I'd been waiting for.
“What did you do, Michael?”
His brother closed his eyes.
“I signed documents transferring company funds.”
“Knowing they were false?”
Michael nodded.
“I was twenty-one.”
“That's not an answer.”
“I know.”
“Did you help cover up the fire?”
Michael's voice broke.
“I helped hide payments afterward.”
Nora turned away.
Michael continued.
“Voss told me the men responsible would hurt Elena if I talked.”
Luca stared at him.
“So you stayed quiet.”
“Yes.”
“For twenty-five years.”
“Yes.”
“Even after Dad died.”
Michael covered his face.
“Yes.”
The room was silent.
Then Nora whispered, “Mom paid for your silence.”
Michael lowered his hands.
Tears ran down his cheeks.
“I know.”
Luca looked toward Dominic.
“Have the attorneys preserve every record Michael can provide.”
Michael nodded.
“I'll give them everything.”
Then he hesitated.
“But Richard still has Elena.”
Luca glanced at the clock.
Four twenty-three.
Less than two hours remained.
He turned toward me.
“Hannah, I spoke to my mother.”
My heart pounded.
“And?”
“She said Giovanni sewed something into the blanket.”
Nora gasped.
Luca continued.
“She didn't know what it was.”
“Where is it now?” I asked.
“With Aunt Rosa.”
Luca looked at Dominic.
“Bring it here.”
Then his phone rang.
An unknown number.
He answered.
A man's voice filled the room.
“Luca.”
Richard Bellini.
Luca's expression became cold.
“Where's Elena?”
“Safe enough.”
“Let me speak to her.”
“Bring the documents.”
“First, proof she's alive.”
Richard laughed.
“You sound just like your father.”
Luca said nothing.
Richard continued.
“He was always asking questions he shouldn't.”
Michael lowered his head.
Luca's voice remained steady.
“Six o'clock won't be a problem.”
“Good.”
“But you're going to speak to my attorney first.”
Richard laughed again.
“You still think this is a legal disagreement?”
Luca looked at Nora.
“No.”
He paused.
“I think you've spent twenty-five years relying on people being too afraid to challenge you.”
For the first time, Richard stopped laughing.
Then he whispered, “Careful, Luca.”
Luca's expression never changed.
“My mother's bedroom was the last thing you should have touched.”
The call ended.
And less than a minute later, Aunt Rosa arrived carrying the pale-blue blanket.
She placed it on the conference table.
Luca looked at me.
“Hannah?”
I stepped forward.
The faded stitching ran along one corner.
I felt carefully along the seam.
Then my fingers touched something small.
Hard.
Rectangular.
Wrapped inside the fabric.
I looked up.
“There's something here.”
Nora began crying.
Luca gently opened the old stitches.
Inside was a tiny waterproof pouch.
And inside that pouch was a key.
Attached to it was a handwritten tag.
Locker 218.
On the reverse side were four words.
Union Station. For Luca.
Luca stared at his father's handwriting.
Then he looked toward the clock.
Four thirty-seven.
He turned to Dominic.
“Forget the hotel.”
Dominic frowned.
“Sir?”
May you like
Luca closed his hand around the key.
“We're going to Union Station.”
