Chapter 8 - THE PRICE OF A SON|
Luca didn't cry loudly.
He didn't scream or throw furniture.
He simply sank to the floor and stared at the phone in my hand as though someone had ripped the world apart.
“My boy,” he whispered.
“Not my boy.”
I knelt beside him.
“Mr. Moretti, look at me.”
He didn't move.
“Luca.”
It was the first time I had ever called him by his first name.
His eyes slowly lifted toward mine.
“We're going to bring Oliver home.”
His lips trembled.
“He was afraid of the dark when he was four.”
“I used to sit beside his bed until he fell asleep.”
He looked away.
“Then Isabella died, and I stopped going into his room.”
“Luca, listen to me.”
I placed my hand on his shoulder.
“Oliver needs you right now.”
“Not the man who runs this family.”
“His father.”
Those words seemed to reach him.
He stood, wiped his face, and turned toward Detective Shaw.
“What do we do?”
Shaw immediately organized a response with the officers investigating the kidnapping.
She arranged for police to check the apartment where Rosa and Oliver had been staying under private security.
Within minutes, Gabriel received a call from one of the responding officers.
Rosa had been found alive.
She had been tied to a kitchen chair, but she was otherwise unharmed.
I nearly collapsed with relief.
Then Gabriel delivered the next piece of news.
“The guard at the apartment wasn't one of ours.”
Luca frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Someone changed the assignment.”
“Bruno.”
Gabriel lowered his head.
“He signed the replacement order.”
Luca turned toward Detective Shaw.
“Find him.”
“We're already looking.”
I sat beside the table, unable to stop imagining Oliver's frightened face.
I thought about how he always reached for my hand when strangers entered the house.
How he saved the marshmallows from his hot chocolate until the very end.
How he whispered goodnight to his mother's photograph when he believed nobody was listening.
He was eight years old.
He should have been worrying about homework and birthday parties.
Instead, he was trapped with the people who had murdered his mother.
My phone rang again.
Everyone froze.
It was an unknown number.
Detective Shaw nodded, indicating that I should answer while an officer documented the call.
“Hello?”
“Have you told Luca what I want?”
Matteo's voice was disgustingly casual.
“Let me speak to Oliver.”
“You're in no position to make demands.”
“Neither are you.”
I surprised myself with the strength in my voice.
There was a long silence.
Then Matteo laughed.
“I can see why Isabella liked you.”
“Where is he?”
“Safe enough.”
“If you've hurt him—”
“Don't pretend you can threaten me, Claire.”
I clenched my jaw.
“What do you want?”
“Luca will sign over control of the Moretti transportation companies.”
“He'll hand over Isabella's notebook and every copy of that recording.”
“And Daniel Mercer will keep his mouth shut.”
Detective Shaw quietly wrote down the demands.
I looked at Luca.
He nodded once.
“Tell him I'll do it.”
Matteo heard him.
“Big brother.”
His voice turned mocking.
“You finally understand what it's like to have something taken from you.”
Luca stepped closer to the phone.
“You want my companies?”
“Take them.”
“You want my money?”
“Take every dollar.”
“But if you lay one finger on my son, there won't be an inch of this city where you can hide.”
Matteo laughed again.
“There he is.”
“The Luca Moretti everyone fears.”
Luca closed his eyes.
Then his voice changed.
“No.”
“I'm the father of the little boy you're holding.”
“And I'd give you everything I own just to hear him laugh again.”
For the first time, Matteo had no immediate answer.
Then a small voice came through the phone.
“Daddy?”
Luca gripped the edge of the table.
“Oliver?”
“Daddy, I'm scared.”
“I know, buddy.”
“Did you hear Mommy?”
Luca began crying.
“Yes, son.”
“I heard her.”
Oliver sniffled.
“She said you'd come when I needed you.”
Luca pressed his free hand against his mouth.
“I'm coming.”
“I promise.”
A rough sound interrupted the call.
Then Matteo returned.
“You have until midnight tomorrow.”
“Come to the old cold-storage warehouse by the river.”
“Bring Claire.”
“No entourage.”
He paused.
“And Luca?”
“What?”
“If you involve the police, your son pays for it.”
The call ended.
Luca stared at the phone.
Detective Shaw stepped toward him.
“Mr. Moretti, we can help you.”
He nodded slowly.
“I know.”
She looked surprised.
“I thought you might refuse.”
Luca glanced at Isabella's notebook.
“My wife died because people in this family believed they were above the law.”
He looked at me.
“I'm not making that mistake again.”
Then Gabriel's phone vibrated.
It was a photograph sent from an unfamiliar number.
Oliver sat on a wooden chair in a dark room.
His wrists were free, and there were no visible injuries.
But his little face was streaked with tears.
Mr. Buttons was clutched against his chest.
Beneath the photograph was a single sentence.
ONE WRONG MOVE, AND THE BOY DISAPPEARS FOREVER.
I stared at the screen.
Then I noticed something in the background.
A faded mural painted on the warehouse wall.
May you like
Three golden stars above a blue wooden boat.
And suddenly, I remembered where I had seen those stars before.
