Chapter 2 - The Suitcase He Packed for Our Daughter|
For seven years, I had believed the most dangerous thing about my husband was the business he conducted outside our home.
I was wrong.
The most dangerous thing about Luca Moretti was how easily he could break my heart while convincing himself he was protecting me.
"Where were you planning to take our daughter?"
My voice sounded strange in the enormous dining room.
Twenty-three relatives stared at us.
Vanessa Bellini stood beside the doorway, her red silk dress catching the chandelier light. The satisfaction on her face told me she had been waiting for this moment.
Luca looked at her.
"Get out."
She laughed.
"Why? Because I finally told your wife the truth?"
"Vanessa."
"No, darling. You don't get to silence me after making promises you can't keep."
I turned toward my husband.
"What promises?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"Emma, this isn't the place."
I almost laughed.
He had invited his mistress into our home.
Seated her beside him.
Humiliated me in front of his family.
But apparently, asking about our six-year-old daughter was inappropriate dinner conversation.
"Then perhaps you should have thought about that before bringing her here."
Across the table, Nonna Francesca slowly lowered herself into her chair.
At eighty-three, she had survived two wars in her homeland, buried a husband, and helped raise three generations of Morettis.
She had never been frightened of Luca.
And she wasn't frightened now.
"Answer your wife," she commanded.
Luca looked at her.
"Nonna, please."
"Was there a suitcase packed for Isabella?"
My stomach twisted.
Isabella.
Our little girl.
The child who slept with a stuffed rabbit named Mr. Buttons and still asked me to check beneath her bed for imaginary monsters.
Luca looked toward the staircase.
That single glance told me more than any confession could have.
I set the plate down.
"Where is she?"
"Upstairs."
"Is she alone?"
"Maria checked on her twenty minutes ago."
"That wasn't my question."
Luca's jaw tightened.
"She's safe."
I started toward the doorway.
Vanessa stepped aside, smiling.
"Don't worry, Emma. I bought her some lovely things for the trip."
I stopped.
"What trip?"
Vanessa looked at Luca.
"Should I tell her about Switzerland, or would you prefer to do it?"
Switzerland.
The word struck me like a slap.
I turned toward my husband.
"You were taking Isabella out of the country?"
Luca stood.
"Not tonight."
"When?"
He said nothing.
My chest began to tighten.
"Luca, when?"
"Tomorrow morning."
For a moment, the entire room seemed to tilt.
Tomorrow.
He had planned to take our daughter tomorrow.
While I was preparing meals, arranging flowers, and polishing glasses for his family dinner, my husband had apparently been organizing a future without me.
"How long?" I whispered.
Luca looked away.
"Emma—"
"How long were you planning to keep her there?"
He exhaled.
"Until things settled down."
"What things?"
Vanessa answered before he could.
"Your separation, sweetheart."
I stared at her.
Then at Luca.
"Separation?"
He didn't deny it.
My knees felt weak.
Seven years of marriage.
Seven years of promises.
And I was learning about my separation from the woman sleeping with my husband.
Francesca struck the table with her palm.
"Leonardo Moretti!"
The entire room went silent.
Very few people called Luca by his full first name.
His grandmother was one of them.
"Did you prepare documents to remove Isabella from her mother?"
Luca's expression hardened.
"I prepared travel documents."
"Without Emma's knowledge?"
"Yes."
Francesca closed her eyes.
When she opened them, I saw something I had never seen before.
Disappointment.
Not anger.
Something worse.
"You dishonor your father."
Luca flinched.
Vanessa immediately stepped forward.
"With respect, Francesca, Luca is trying to do what's best for his daughter."
Francesca looked at her.
"Did anyone ask you to speak?"
Vanessa's face reddened.
"I care about Isabella."
"You care about becoming Mrs. Moretti."
Vanessa's smile vanished.
Francesca continued.
"And you appear to believe the fastest way to achieve that is by removing the woman who already holds that title."
A faint murmur moved through the room.
Luca raised his voice.
"Enough. All of you."
I looked at him.
"No."
He turned.
My hands were shaking, but I kept speaking.
"You don't get to order everyone into silence because the truth has become inconvenient."
His eyes widened.
I had spent seven years choosing gentle words.
Tonight, I had none left.
"Was I supposed to wake up tomorrow and discover my daughter was gone?"
"No."
"Then what was the plan?"
Luca swallowed.
"I intended to speak with you tonight."
I glanced toward Vanessa.
"After you introduced my replacement?"
"Emma—"
"Did you pack her favorite rabbit?"
He stared at me.
"What?"
"Isabella can't sleep without Mr. Buttons. Did you remember him, Luca?"
He said nothing.
I felt tears burning behind my eyes.
"You remembered passports. You remembered plane tickets. You remembered to tell Vanessa."
My voice broke.
"But did you remember the little girl who cries if I don't kiss her goodnight?"
Luca looked as though I'd struck him.
I turned and walked toward the staircase.
He followed.
"Emma, wait."
I didn't.
I climbed the stairs, crossed the hallway, and pushed open Isabella's bedroom door.
The night-light glowed beside her bed.
Her pink curtains fluttered slightly.
And there, beside her dresser, stood a large silver suitcase.
Already packed.
A little white cardigan rested on top.
The one my mother had knitted for her birthday.
I approached the bed.
Isabella was sleeping.
Her small hand curled beneath her cheek.
I brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead.
Then I saw something on her pillow.
Something that had not been there when I'd tucked her in.
A black rosary.
Its beads were polished and dark, with an antique silver crucifix.
I recognized it immediately.
It had belonged to Luca's grandfather, Vittorio Moretti.
A man whose name was still spoken cautiously in certain Chicago neighborhoods.
The rosary had disappeared from the family chapel twenty years earlier.
I knew because Francesca had spent years searching for it.
Slowly, I picked it up.
A folded piece of paper had been tucked beneath the crucifix.
I opened it.
There were nine words.
THE MOTHER MUST DISAPPEAR BEFORE THE CHILD CAN LEAVE.
Behind me, Luca stopped in the doorway.
I turned.
He saw the rosary.
And every trace of color drained from his face.
"Emma," he whispered, "where did you get that?"
I held up the note.
"Someone left it on our daughter's pillow."
He took one step toward me.
Then another.
And for the first time in seven years, I saw my powerful husband look genuinely terrified.
"Don't touch anything else," he said.
But I was already looking at the black beads.
Because I had seen that rosary once before.
May you like
Three nights earlier.
Wrapped around Vanessa Bellini's wrist.
