Chapter 7 - THE TRUTH ABOUT LUCA’S MOTHER
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By five in the morning, Clara was resting comfortably in one of the luxurious guest suites on the third floor of the Moretti mansion.
Dr. Harris had already examined her shoulder, administered pain medication, and assured us she was entirely unharmed.
I had changed out of my ruined maid’s uniform into a soft gray sweater and jeans lent to me by the head housekeeper.
I sat on the velvet sofa in Antonio’s study, holding a hot mug of coffee with both hands.
The room was completely quiet except for the ticking of the antique grandfather clock.
Luca walked in, carrying a manila folder filled with yellowed newspaper clippings and old police reports.
Antonio sat across from me in his leather armchair, looking weary but sharper than he had in years.
Luca pulled up a chair right beside me, his knee brushing against mine.
“It’s time you both knew the whole story,” Antonio began, his voice heavy with ancient grief.
Luca set the folder on the coffee table and opened it.
A photograph slid out onto the polished wood.
It showed a stunning woman with warm brown eyes and a radiant smile, standing next to a teenage Luca.
“My mother, Caterina,” Luca said softly, staring at the photo.
“Seventeen years ago, the Moretti family controlled the Chicago ports,” Antonio explained.
“Marco Bellini was a junior partner who wanted half the profits.”
“When I refused his greedy demands, Marco arranged an ambush.”
Antonio’s knuckles turned white around the armrest of his chair.
“Marco’s men kidnapped Caterina while she was driving home from a charity function.”
“They held her in an abandoned warehouse on the South Side for seventy-two hours.”
I covered my mouth in horror.
“Did they ask for a ransom?” I whispered.
“No,” Antonio answered grimly.
“Marco didn’t want money.”
“He wanted to stage a rescue.”
Luca took over the narration, his voice hard as tempered steel.
“Marco killed his own henchmen who had kidnapped my mother to silence them.”
“Then, he brought my mother home, claiming he had stumbled upon the kidnappers and fought them off.”
“He played the hero.”
“He brought his fourteen-year-old daughter, Vanessa, with him so he would look like an innocent family man.”
“My father gave Marco ten percent of our shipping territory as a debt of gratitude.”
“My mother never recovered from the trauma,” Luca continued, a tear slipping down his cheek.
“She suffered severe depression and passed away five years later from heart failure.”
“On her deathbed, she whispered to my father that Marco had been the one who locked the warehouse door.”
I looked at Antonio, my eyes stinging with sympathy.
“Why didn’t you kill Marco back then?” I asked.
“Because I didn’t have physical proof,” Antonio replied with profound sadness.
“Marco had burned the warehouse down.”
“If I went to war without proof, the other families in the Commission would have branded me a madman and united against us.”
Luca pointed to the open folder on the table.
“Tonight, when Daniel seized Vanessa’s encrypted laptop from her bedroom suite, we found Marco’s private archives.”
“Marco kept audio recordings of every extortion he ever planned as leverage against his partners.”
“The recording of Marco planning my mother’s kidnapping was in that file.”
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Luca looked at me, his gaze burning with intensity.
“If you hadn’t stood up to Vanessa tonight, Emma, she would have married me, buried my father in an asylum, and helped her father steal everything my mother died protecting.”
