Chapter 3 - Thirty Years of Silence|
The first thing Luca did after throwing his wedding guests out was remove his wedding ring.
He placed it on the marble table beside the untouched wedding cake.
Vanessa stood in the doorway, staring at it.
“Luca, please don't do this.”
He didn't look at her.
“Tomas will arrange somewhere for you to stay.”
“This is my home now.”
“Not tonight.”
Her expression changed from pleading to fury.
“You're going to regret humiliating me.”
Luca finally faced her.
“My father was buried when I was ten years old.”
His voice remained frighteningly calm.
“You watched me grieve him while you kept secrets about his disappearance.”
Vanessa opened her mouth.
But nothing came out.
Victor appeared behind her.
“This conversation isn't finished.”
Luca met his gaze.
“No, Victor.”
“It isn't.”
By midnight, Margaret and I were sitting inside a quiet townhouse near Lake Michigan that Tomas had arranged as a temporary safe location.
Rain struck the windows.
The scent of coffee filled the small kitchen.
Luca stood beside the fireplace, reading his father's letter again.
Margaret sat wrapped in a blanket, still wearing my secondhand black heels.
I had borrowed a pair of flat shoes from a closet upstairs.
They were slightly too large.
But at least my feet were warm.
“Margaret,” Luca finally said.
“Tell me everything.”
She stared into her untouched tea.
“Your father was not an innocent man, sweetheart.”
Luca didn't move.
“He and Victor were partners long before either of them became powerful.”
“They owned warehouses, trucking companies, and half the businesses along the river.”
“Some of those businesses were legitimate.”
“Others weren't.”
Luca lowered his eyes.
He knew that world better than anyone.
Margaret continued.
“Dominic believed he could build something respectable out of what his own father left him.”
“But Victor wanted more.”
“He wanted control of the shipping contracts, the property deeds, and the money moving through companies that didn't really exist.”
Luca sat down across from her.
“What happened at the warehouse?”
“Your father discovered Victor was taking money from the business and paying people to falsify records.”
“He planned to turn over the evidence to an attorney.”
“He thought doing the right thing would protect you.”
Her hands began shaking.
“I was working for your family then.”
“I helped take care of you when your mother was sick.”
“I remember,” Luca whispered.
A small smile crossed Margaret's face.
“You used to hide under the kitchen table whenever your father came home angry.”
“He would crouch down and ask where his Little Wolf had gone.”
Luca looked away.
For a moment, I could see the frightened ten-year-old boy beneath the expensive suit.
“What happened next?” he asked.
“Victor found out.”
Margaret swallowed.
“On the night of the fire, Dominic called me from the warehouse.”
“He told me to come to Saint Anthony's restaurant and collect a letter.”
“He sounded terrified.”
“I begged him to call the police.”
“But he said he didn't know which officers could be trusted.”
“What did he say about Victor?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“He said Victor had promised to make him disappear.”
The room went silent.
“Two hours later, the warehouse burned.”
“Everyone said Dominic was dead.”
“An investigator showed me a photograph of a badly burned body.”
“I couldn't identify him.”
“But Victor insisted it was your father.”
Luca clenched his fists.
“So you believed him?”
“No.”
Her answer was immediate.
“I never believed him.”
She began crying.
“Three weeks after the funeral, a man came to my apartment.”
“He handed me an envelope containing money and a photograph of my daughter leaving school.”
“He told me Dominic was alive.”
“He said I would never see my daughter again if I spoke to you.”
I felt sick.
Margaret wiped her cheeks.
“I was a coward.”
“No,” I whispered.
“You were a mother.”
She looked at me.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Then she reached for my hand.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
Luca leaned forward.
“Why come back now?”
Margaret pulled a folded piece of paper from her handbag.
“Because Victor's people finally got careless.”
She showed us a handwritten message.
It contained four lines.
Daniel March is being transferred.
Northlake transport scheduled for Friday.
Ask about Cedar House.
Don't trust the family.
Luca frowned.
“Who's Daniel March?”
“I believe that's the name they gave your father.”
“Who sent this?”
“A nurse named Rosa Alvarez.”
“She worked at Cedar House years ago.”
“She tried to help him once.”
“Then she disappeared.”
Margaret's voice lowered.
“She found me three days ago, frightened and carrying that note.”
“Before she could explain anything else, a black car pulled up outside my building.”
“She ran.”
“I haven't seen her since.”
Tomas entered the room carrying his phone.
“I checked Cedar House.”
Luca stood.
“And?”
“It was an assisted-living facility on the South Side.”
“It closed six years ago.”
“The property was transferred to a company owned by the Bellini Foundation.”
Luca's jaw tightened.
“Of course it was.”
Tomas continued.
“Northlake Residence is still operating.”
“It is a private rehabilitation center outside Chicago.”
“Victor's foundation is one of its largest donors.”
Luca reached for his coat.
“Then we're going there.”
“Not yet,” Tomas warned.
“If Victor suspects we know where to look, he could move your father before we arrive.”
I glanced at Margaret.
She was staring at the rain.
“Then we find proof first,” I said.
Luca turned toward me.
“You don't have to be involved in this anymore, Claire.”
I thought of my mother's overdue rent.
My unstable job.
The wedding I had helped destroy by doing one small decent thing.
I could have walked away.
But I remembered Margaret standing barefoot in the cold.
And I remembered Luca reading a letter from a father he thought he had lost forever.
“I'm already involved,” I answered.
“Besides, Margaret needs someone she trusts.”
Luca looked at her.
Margaret nodded.
“She does.”
For the first time that night, Luca's expression softened.
“Then you stay.”
My phone vibrated.
It was my mother.
I answered immediately.
“Mom?”
“Claire, sweetheart, are you all right?”
Her voice sounded frightened.
“Yes, why?”
“A man came by the apartment.”
My stomach dropped.
“What man?”
“He wore a gray suit.”
“He asked whether you worked for Luca Moretti.”
I looked toward Luca.
“He said you took something that didn't belong to you.”
My fingers went numb.
“Mom, lock the door.”
“I already did.”
Then she began crying.
“Claire, he left something outside.”
“What?”
“A single black shoe.”
The room seemed to tilt.
May you like
My mother whispered one final sentence.
“And there was a note inside saying the next person left barefoot would be me.”
