Chapter 8 - The Woman the Mafia Boss Never Expected to Love|
For almost a minute, Luca couldn't speak.
He stood in the hotel office staring at the security footage.
Vittorio Moretti.
The father he'd buried five years earlier.
Alive.
Walking through a Chicago hotel lobby beside the men everyone believed had disappeared.
I watched Luca's hands tremble.
For four years, I'd known him as a man who rarely lost control.
Now he looked like someone whose entire life had been rewritten in front of him.
"Luca?"
He turned.
His eyes were dark with confusion.
"I don't understand."
I swallowed.
"Neither do I."
He looked back at the screen.
"My father let us bury him."
I didn't know what to say.
Because I was thinking the same thing about my own father.
Fourteen years.
Fourteen birthdays.
Fourteen Christmases.
Fourteen years of grief.
And he had been alive.
I took one step closer.
"Luca, we need to find them."
He nodded slowly.
"Yes."
Antonio arranged for investigators to preserve the footage and review the hotel records.
But the men were already gone.
No forwarding address.
No recent calls.
No confirmed destination.
Only three names and a trail of secrets.
We returned to the mansion just after sunset.
Margaret was sitting in the library.
She stood when she saw us.
"Did you find him?"
I shook my head.
"Not yet."
Her expression softened.
"Oh, sweetheart."
I sat beside her.
For a while, nobody spoke.
Then Margaret took my hand.
"Your father must have had a reason."
I looked at her.
"A reason to let me think he was dead?"
She nodded sadly.
"Not necessarily a good one."
I stared.
She continued.
"People sometimes convince themselves they're protecting the ones they love when they're really protecting themselves from difficult choices."
Her words struck something deep inside me.
I thought of Vanessa.
How she'd convinced herself that hiding Oliver was necessary.
How she'd told herself her son would be better off not knowing.
I thought of my father.
And Luca's father.
So many secrets.
So many people claiming love as an excuse.
I looked toward the doorway.
Luca stood there watching us.
Our eyes met.
For a moment, something softened in his expression.
Then he approached.
"Mrs. Ellis, would you like to call Oliver?"
Margaret's face brightened.
"Oh, yes."
He handed her a phone.
She dialed.
A moment later, a young voice answered.
"Grandma?"
Margaret's eyes filled.
"Hello, sweetheart."
I looked away to give her privacy.
But I heard the boy ask:
"Did you see Mommy?"
Margaret closed her eyes.
"Yes, darling."
"Was she happy?"
Her voice trembled.
"I think she has some things to work through."
A pause.
Then Oliver asked:
"Did she like my crown?"
Margaret began crying.
"Yes, sweetheart. She saw it."
I pressed a hand against my mouth.
Luca looked down.
His expression changed.
I could see it.
The realization that a little boy had spent nine years waiting for a mother who wouldn't come.
And that Luca himself had nearly married the woman responsible.
After Margaret ended the call, Luca quietly said:
"I'll make sure Oliver has what he needs while the adults work out their responsibilities."
Margaret shook her head.
"Mr. Moretti, you've already done so much."
He smiled faintly.
"It's Luca."
She looked at him with gratitude.
Then he turned toward me.
"Natalie, may I speak with you?"
My heart jumped.
"Of course."
We walked into the garden.
The evening air smelled of roses and wet grass.
For a while, we walked in silence.
Then Luca stopped beside the fountain.
"I owe you an apology."
I stared.
"For what?"
"For not seeing what was happening in my own home."
I looked down.
"You couldn't have known everything."
"No."
He shook his head.
"But I should have noticed how Vanessa treated the staff."
I swallowed.
"She was different when you weren't around."
"I understand that now."
Silence.
Then Luca said something unexpected.
"You've worked here four years."
I nodded.
"Yes."
"And I barely know anything about you."
I smiled sadly.
"That's usually how it works."
His expression changed.
"It shouldn't."
I looked toward the fountain.
"Mr. Moretti—"
"Luca."
I laughed softly.
"Right."
He smiled.
For the first time since the engagement dinner, he looked almost peaceful.
Then he asked:
"What do you want, Natalie?"
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"Not from me. From your life."
The question startled me.
Nobody had asked me that in years.
I thought about my mother.
The bills.
The shifts.
The years I'd spent saving money but never quite getting ahead.
Then I whispered:
"I wanted to go back to school."
Luca looked interested.
"For what?"
"Social work."
He smiled.
"Why?"
I looked away.
"Because I know what it's like when people need help and nobody notices."
His expression softened.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Luca said quietly:
"You'd be very good at that."
Tears stung my eyes.
He wasn't offering money.
Wasn't promising to buy my future.
He was simply telling me he believed in it.
And somehow, that meant more.
Then his phone rang.
Antonio.
Luca answered.
"What?"
His expression changed.
"When?"
A pause.
"Are you certain?"
He ended the call.
I looked at him.
"What happened?"
Luca stared toward the mansion.
"Vanessa has been arrested for questioning."
My stomach tightened.
"Why?"
"Investigators found evidence that Mercer Capital—one of Richard Bellini's companies—was involved in the missing shipping funds."
I frowned.
"And Vanessa?"
"She's connected to several transfers."
I swallowed.
"Does she know where our fathers are?"
Luca's expression hardened.
"That's what we're trying to find out."
Then another message appeared.
This one contained a photograph.
A man stood outside a small house.
Gray-haired.
Smiling.
My father.
James Brooks.
Beside him stood Matteo Moretti.
And between them was a woman.
Young.
Dark-haired.
Holding a little boy's hand.
I stared.
"Who is that?"
Luca looked at the image.
His face changed.
Then he whispered:
"That's Matteo's wife."
I froze.
"Matteo was married?"
Luca nodded slowly.
"Secretly."
He looked at the little boy.
May you like
And his expression became unreadable.
Because the child looked exactly like Oliver.
