Chapter 4 - The Room Antonio Moretti Locked Before He Died|
Antonio Moretti's study stood at the end of the west hallway.
I'd passed its heavy oak door hundreds of times.
Never once had I seen it open.
The staff said Luca had locked it after his father's funeral and refused to let anyone touch the room.
Now, shortly after midnight, Luca stood before that door holding a small brass key.
Rosa remained downstairs with her nurse.
Elizabeth waited near the staircase.
And I stood several feet behind Luca, wondering why he'd asked me to come.
He looked toward me.
“Hannah, you can go to bed if you're tired.”
I shook my head.
“I'm all right, sir.”
He studied my face.
“You've had a difficult evening.”
I almost laughed.
Difficult was one word for it.
Twelve hours earlier, I'd been worrying about the payment due for my mother's rehabilitation.
Now I was standing outside a locked study while a mafia boss investigated his former fiancée's attempt to remove his mother from her own home.
“I'd rather stay until Mrs. Moretti is settled,” I answered.
Luca nodded.
Then inserted the key.
The lock turned with a heavy click.
He pushed open the door.
The room smelled of old leather, cedarwood, and dust.
Bookshelves covered two walls.
A large mahogany desk stood beneath a portrait of Antonio Moretti.
There was a crystal decanter, a brass lamp, and a black leather chair.
Everything looked untouched.
Luca stood in the doorway.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
Then he whispered, “I haven't been in here since the funeral.”
I stayed silent.
He walked toward the desk.
“My father used to sit here until two in the morning.”
His fingers brushed the back of the chair.
“When I was little, I'd come downstairs and find him working.”
He smiled faintly.
“He always pretended to be angry that I was awake.”
I listened.
“Then he'd make me hot chocolate and tell me not to tell Mom.”
His smile faded.
“I thought I knew everything about him.”
I looked toward Antonio's portrait.
“Maybe he wanted you to know what was important when the time came.”
Luca turned toward me.
For a moment, his expression softened.
Then he nodded.
We searched the room carefully.
The desk drawers held old contracts and photographs.
A cabinet contained ledgers.
But the brass key Elizabeth had given Luca didn't fit any visible lock.
After nearly twenty minutes, Luca noticed a narrow wooden panel beneath the bookshelf.
He crouched.
Inserted the key.
And turned it.
A small compartment opened.
Inside sat a black metal box.
Luca lifted it onto the desk.
His hands were steady.
Mine weren't.
He opened the box.
Inside were three folders, a sealed letter, and a small digital storage device.
The first folder contained property documents.
The second held company financial records.
The third had Vanessa's name written across the front.
Luca stared at it.
Then opened the folder.
His expression changed almost immediately.
“What is it?” I asked.
He handed me a document.
I recognized the mansion's address at the top.
The paperwork concerned a proposed transfer of ownership into a newly created trust.
But what caught my attention was the signature page.
Antonio Moretti's name appeared at the bottom.
Beside it was a signature that looked strangely different from the handwriting on the letter Luca had opened earlier.
“Is that your father's signature?”
Luca shook his head.
“No.”
He held the document closer.
“Someone forged it.”
My stomach tightened.
He turned another page.
A proposed transfer of several apartment buildings.
Then another.
An authorization granting Daniel Mercer control over property transactions.
Then another.
A draft agreement that would have made Vanessa a trustee after her marriage to Luca.
I felt cold.
“Was any of this ever approved?”
Luca shook his head.
“My father blocked the original transfer.”
He turned toward Antonio's portrait.
“And he kept copies.”
I looked at the next document.
It listed Rosa Moretti as the lifetime beneficiary of a protected family residence trust.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Luca studied it.
Then his expression changed.
“It means my mother has a legally protected right to live here.”
He looked toward me.
“Dad established it before he died.”
I felt relief wash through me.
“So Vanessa couldn't simply make her leave?”
“Not legally.”
His jaw tightened.
“But she was trying to make Mom agree voluntarily.”
I remembered Rosa standing beside her cane.
Apologizing.
Afraid.
Believing she had become a burden.
Luca opened the final envelope.
Inside was a letter addressed to him.
He read silently.
Then sat heavily in his father's chair.
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
“Mr. Moretti?”
He looked up.
His eyes were wet.
“My father knew Daniel was stealing.”
I swallowed.
“He was gathering evidence.”
Luca nodded.
“Then he became ill. He asked Elizabeth to keep copies because he didn't trust Daniel.”
He looked toward the black metal box.
“And he thought Vanessa might come back.”
I frowned.
“Why would she?”
Luca read one sentence aloud.
Vanessa Bellini has convinced herself that the Moretti family owes her a fortune. Her mother knows this is not true.
He stopped.
Then continued.
If she approaches Luca, tell him to ask about the missing eighteen million dollars.
My heart nearly stopped.
Eighteen million.
Luca slowly stood.
He looked toward the hallway.
Then called Marco.
“Find Daniel Mercer.”
A pause.
“And locate every account connected to Vanessa Bellini.”
He ended the call.
I looked at the documents.
“Do you think they were stealing from the company?”
Luca shook his head.
“I think they were trying to steal the property my father protected for my mother.”
He stared at the papers.
Then said something that made me realize how serious the situation had become.
“And if Vanessa knew the trust couldn't be broken while Mom lived here…”
His voice trailed off.
I looked up.
“Then what?”
Luca met my eyes.
“She needed my mother to leave willingly.”
A terrible silence followed.
Then we heard a faint sound from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Luca turned.
The study door was standing slightly open.
Someone had been listening.
And before either of us could move, a woman's voice whispered from the darkness.
May you like
“You should have left that box where it was.”
Vanessa.
