Chapter 2 - THE VOICE FROM NINE YEARS AGO|
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Even the wedding photographer lowered his camera.
Luca Moretti stared at the silver recorder in his mother's trembling hand as though it contained something more dangerous than a loaded gun.
"Give it to me, Mama."
Rosa shook her head.
"Promise me you'll listen to everything."
"I promise."
"And promise you won't let Vanessa take it."
Luca looked toward his bride.
She was standing three steps above us, gripping the marble banister so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
"Nobody is taking anything from my mother," Luca said.
Vanessa opened her mouth, but the sound of approaching sirens interrupted her.
Within minutes, paramedics entered the mansion and surrounded Rosa.
I moved aside as they carefully examined her injured leg.
When one paramedic touched her hip, she screamed.
Luca flinched as if the pain had passed directly through his own body.
"We need to transport her immediately," the paramedic announced.
"Possible hip fracture, and we need imaging to rule out other injuries."
"Take her to Northwestern Memorial," Luca ordered.
"I'll follow."
Vanessa immediately stepped forward.
"Luca, we still have two hundred guests waiting for the reception."
He turned toward her so slowly that I felt the temperature in the room change.
"My mother may have broken her hip."
"I understand that, but we've spent almost a million dollars on this wedding."
"Then consider it the most expensive lesson of your life."
Vanessa stared at him.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means the reception is over."
He looked toward his security chief, Marco DeSantis.
"Clear the house, preserve every camera recording, and don't let anyone touch those stairs."
Marco nodded.
"Understood."
Then Luca faced me.
"Claire, come with us."
I hesitated.
"I'm just the maid, sir."
His expression softened for the first time.
"You're the reason my mother is still alive."
I climbed into the ambulance beside Rosa while Luca followed in his black SUV.
She held my hand throughout the journey.
Every time the vehicle turned, her face twisted with pain.
Yet she seemed more frightened of the recorder than of her injuries.
"Don't let him forget," she whispered.
"He needs to know what happened to his father."
I squeezed her fingers.
"He will, Mrs. Moretti."
"Promise me, Claire."
"I promise."
At the hospital, doctors rushed Rosa into an examination room.
Luca arrived moments later, still wearing his wedding tuxedo.
There was blood on his white cuff where he had held his mother's hand.
He didn't seem to notice.
We waited in a private consultation room while the medical team performed scans.
Then Luca placed the recorder on the table.
"Claire, you heard what she said."
I nodded.
"She believes someone deliberately caused her fall."
"And she knows something about my father."
His voice became quieter.
"My father died nine years ago in a warehouse fire near the Chicago River."
I knew the story.
Everyone who had lived in that neighborhood knew the story.
The newspapers had blamed an electrical malfunction.
A night-shift maintenance worker had been accused of negligence.
That worker was my father.
Thomas Bennett.
Luca pressed the recorder's playback button.
At first, we heard only static.
Then Vanessa's voice filled the room.
"Dad, this wasn't supposed to become complicated."
A man's voice answered.
"You should have dealt with the old woman before the wedding."
My blood turned cold.
Vanessa spoke again.
"She found the inspection report."
"Which report?"
"The one from the warehouse."
There was a long silence.
Then the man said something that made Luca straighten in his chair.
"Frank Moretti should have listened when we told him to stop asking questions."
Vanessa lowered her voice.
"Rosa knows you were there that night."
The man cursed.
"Keep her away from Luca until the documents are signed."
"What if she tells him?"
"Then make certain nobody believes her."
A muffled noise interrupted the recording.
I heard Rosa breathing somewhere close to the microphone.
Vanessa continued.
"I've already arranged for the handrail to be removed."
The man laughed.
"An unfortunate fall would solve several problems."
Luca stopped the recording.
His face had gone pale.
For a moment, he looked less like Chicago's most feared crime boss and more like a frightened son.
"That's Victor Bellini," he whispered.
"Vanessa's father."
I stared at the recorder.
"Sir, there's more."
He pressed play again.
Victor's voice returned.
"And remember what I told you about Bennett."
Vanessa sounded irritated.
"The electrician?"
"Thomas Bennett never started that fire."
I forgot how to breathe.
Victor continued.
"He tried to open the loading-bay door after we locked Frank inside."
Luca looked at me.
"Claire?"
My hands were shaking so badly that I could barely speak.
"Thomas Bennett was my father."
Luca froze.
For nine years, I had carried the shame of a terrible accusation against a dead man.
For nine years, my family had been told that my father's carelessness had killed Frank Moretti.
Now the truth was coming from the mouth of the man who had helped bury it.
Luca reached toward the recorder.
But before he could replay the sentence, a doctor entered.
"Mr. Moretti, your mother has a serious fracture that will require surgery."
Luca stood immediately.
"Will she survive?"
"We're preparing her carefully, but there are risks at her age."
He nodded, struggling to remain composed.
Then the doctor hesitated.
"There's something else you should know."
"What?"
"Your mother told us someone tried to kill her."
Luca looked toward the door.
The doctor continued.
"She said the person who arranged her fall is already on the way to this hospital."
At that exact moment, Luca's phone rang.
May you like
The caller's name appeared on the screen.
VANESSA MORETTI.
