Chapter 8 - The Night My Mother Disappeared |
My mother's phone went straight to voicemail.
I called again.
And again.
By the fifth attempt, my hands were shaking so badly that Luca gently took the phone from me.
"Emily, look at me."
I couldn't.
All I could see was our little house.
The kitchen where Dad taught me to make pancakes.
The living room where Nonna watched television.
The basement where we'd found the metal box.
And somewhere inside that house, my mother might be hurt.
"She's not answering," I whispered.
Luca nodded.
"I know."
"What if Vanessa—"
He didn't let me finish.
"We're going to find out what happened."
I stared at him.
"You can't promise that."
His expression softened.
"You're right."
He took a breath.
"But I can promise we won't ignore this."
Gabriel approached.
"The police have secured the property."
I looked up.
"And my mother?"
"She's not inside."
My knees almost gave out.
Luca caught my arm.
"Emily."
I shook my head.
"She wouldn't leave without calling."
Gabriel continued.
"Her car is gone."
I stared at him.
"Was she taken?"
"We don't know."
The uncertainty was unbearable.
Because now I understood what the Bellinis wanted.
They'd tried to find the keys.
They'd searched the Moretti archives.
They'd manipulated Sofia.
They'd placed me inside Luca's home.
And when the box finally opened, someone had gone after my mother.
We arrived at the house twenty minutes later.
A patrol car stood beside the curb.
The front door was closed.
Nothing looked unusual from outside.
That frightened me more.
Inside, a detective explained that there was evidence of forced entry through the rear door.
Several drawers had been opened.
The basement compartment had been disturbed.
But there was no indication that anyone had been physically injured inside the house.
I clung to that detail.
No blood.
No overturned furniture upstairs.
No broken glass near the kitchen.
Maybe Mom had escaped.
Maybe she was hiding somewhere.
The detective asked when I'd last spoken with her.
I explained everything I could.
Then she asked about the metal box.
I told her the truth.
The keys.
The letters.
The notebook.
The connections to the Moretti family.
Luca stood beside me but let me answer.
When the detective finished, she advised me not to return until the scene had been processed.
I nodded.
Then walked into the kitchen.
Dad's photograph still stood on the windowsill.
Beside it was a small blue ceramic bowl.
Mom always kept her house keys there.
The bowl was empty.
But underneath it lay a folded piece of paper.
I recognized her handwriting.
Emily, don't believe everything you're told about your father.
My heart stopped.
I unfolded the rest.
The truth isn't in the box.
It's in the song.
I stared at the words.
The song?
What song?
I looked at Luca.
He read the note.
Then frowned.
"Does that mean anything to you?"
I shook my head.
"Not yet."
Back at the mansion, I sat in the staff sitting room with my father's photograph in my lap.
I couldn't stop thinking about music.
Dad loved Italian songs.
He played them while repairing things around the house.
Nonna would sing along.
Sometimes she'd laugh and tell him he had the voice of a wounded goat.
There had been one song they played more than any other.
An old Neapolitan love song.
But that couldn't be the answer.
Could it?
I closed my eyes.
Then remembered something.
When I was little, Dad owned a wooden music box.
It sat on a shelf above his workbench.
He told me it had belonged to Nonna's mother.
Whenever I couldn't sleep, he'd wind it.
The melody was gentle.
Almost melancholy.
And there was a tiny silver rose painted on the lid.
I opened my eyes.
"The music box."
Luca looked up from the chair opposite me.
"What?"
"My father had a music box."
He leaned forward.
"Where is it?"
I swallowed.
"At home."
Gabriel immediately contacted the detective handling the property search.
The music box hadn't been listed among the missing items.
After appropriate arrangements, investigators located it on a high shelf above the basement workbench.
It was dusty.
Untouched.
And when they examined it, they discovered a hidden compartment beneath the winding mechanism.
Inside was a small memory card wrapped in plastic.
I stared at the evidence photograph.
My father hadn't trusted paper alone.
He'd preserved something digitally.
Something the Bellinis might not know existed.
The memory card contained scanned documents, audio recordings, and photographs.
Investigators made forensic copies before examining the contents.
Luca arranged for an independent attorney to represent my family's interests.
I was grateful.
But I could barely focus.
My mother was still missing.
The first audio file began with static.
Then a man's voice spoke.
My father's voice.
I stopped breathing.
"Rosalia, if you're hearing this, it means something has gone wrong."
I covered my mouth.
I'd forgotten how warm his voice was.
How gently he pronounced Italian names.
How he always sounded as though he were smiling.
He continued.
"Antonio has decided to confront Vittorio."
Luca stiffened.
Dad's voice grew serious.
"I told him it was dangerous."
A pause.
"But he says he won't let Bellini control his family any longer."
I looked at Luca.
His eyes were fixed on the speaker.
The recording continued.
"We've copied the shipment records and payment instructions."
Another pause.
"Moretti Maritime was used to conceal transactions Antonio says he never approved."
Dad took a breath.
"If the originals disappear, the copies should establish where investigators need to look."
I began crying.
He sounded so alive.
So ordinary.
Like he might walk into the kitchen at any moment and complain that the coffee was too weak.
Then he said something that made Luca's face go pale.
"Antonio knows about Sofia."
Sofia, sitting beside us, covered her mouth.
"He wants to acknowledge her."
My father continued.
"But Vittorio has threatened to expose private arrangements and destroy Moretti's businesses if he does."
Luca leaned forward.
"Keep going," he whispered.
Dad's voice became quieter.
"We're not hiding these records to protect Antonio's reputation."
A pause.
"We're hiding them because Vittorio's people have already threatened Lucia and her daughter."
Sofia began crying.
I reached for her hand.
Then came the final sentence.
"Tell Emilia that the safest thing she can do is trust the people who choose truth when lying would be easier."
The recording ended.
I stared at the speaker.
I hadn't heard my father's voice in eight years.
And now he'd given me a message that sounded almost like advice meant for this exact moment.
That evening, Vanessa called me.
Her name appeared on the screen.
I nearly dropped the phone.
Luca saw my expression.
"Who is it?"
I showed him.
He contacted Gabriel, who notified investigators.
Then I answered.
"Emily."
Vanessa sounded almost cheerful.
"Sweetheart."
I said nothing.
"I heard about your mother's little disappearance."
My blood turned cold.
"Where is she?"
Vanessa sighed.
"You always jump to conclusions."
"Where is my mother?"
She laughed softly.
"Perhaps you should stop asking questions."
I gripped the phone.
"What do you want?"
"Something that belonged to your grandmother."
I closed my eyes.
"The box?"
"You're cleverer than you look."
I swallowed.
"Someone already stole it."
Vanessa paused.
For the first time, she sounded surprised.
"What?"
"The box is gone."
Silence.
Then her voice changed.
"Emily, listen carefully."
I froze.
"Who took it?"
"I don't know."
Vanessa cursed under her breath.
Then she spoke urgently.
"If someone else has those documents, your mother is in more danger than you understand."
I stared at Luca.
He was listening.
Vanessa continued.
"Tell Luca to keep his brother away from the old distribution warehouse."
My heart pounded.
"Why?"
She hesitated.
Then whispered:
"Because my father isn't the only Bellini involved."
The line went dead.
Luca looked at Gabriel.
"Check Michael's location."
Gabriel made a call.
Seconds passed.
Then his expression darkened.
"He's at the old distribution warehouse."
I stopped breathing.
"Why?"
Gabriel swallowed.
"Michael received a message claiming there was evidence about Antonio's death."
Luca stood.
"From whom?"
"Unknown number."
He grabbed his jacket.
I stepped toward him.
"Luca."
He turned.
"Don't go alone."
For a moment, he looked at me.
Then nodded.
"I won't."
Gabriel was already contacting law enforcement.
Luca walked toward the door.
But before he left, he turned back.
"Emily?"
"Yes?"
"Whatever happens tonight, remember something."
My throat tightened.
"What?"
"Your father was trying to keep people safe."
His eyes softened.
"And you've spent this entire week doing the same thing."
Then he disappeared into the hallway.
And I was left standing beside the manila folder containing my father's last recorded words.
At the warehouse, Michael Moretti stood beneath a flickering overhead light.
The building had been empty for years.
Dust covered the concrete floor.
Old shipping equipment lined the walls.
He checked his phone.
No signal.
Then footsteps echoed from the far entrance.
Michael turned.
"Who's there?"
A man emerged from the darkness.
Tall.
Silver-haired.
Wearing a charcoal overcoat.
Michael recognized him immediately.
"Vittorio?"
The older man smiled.
"Good evening, Michael."
Michael stepped backward.
"What are you doing here?"
Vittorio looked around the warehouse.
"Your father and I used to conduct business in this building."
"I know."
"Then perhaps you'll understand why I wanted to meet privately."
Michael frowned.
"Where are the documents?"
Vittorio smiled again.
"Oh, they're here."
He gestured toward a locked office.
"But first, there's something you should know about your brother."
Michael's face hardened.
"What?"
Vittorio took a step closer.
"Luca wasn't supposed to inherit the company alone."
Michael stared at him.
Then Vittorio delivered the sentence he'd been waiting twenty years to say.
"Your father intended to leave controlling ownership to someone else."
Michael stopped breathing.
"Who?"
Vittorio looked toward the locked office.
And from behind the door came a woman's voice.
"Michael?"
He froze.
May you like
Because it was Diane Carter.
My mother.
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