Chapter 5 - The Bride's First Confession|
The first gunshot shattered the windshield of the abandoned car beside us.
I screamed.
Luca grabbed my arm and pulled me behind a concrete pillar.
Tomas pushed Margaret through the side entrance of Cedar House.
Another shot struck the brick wall.
Dust scattered across my hair.
“Stay down!” Luca shouted.
The black SUV accelerated toward the entrance.
Tomas returned fire once, striking the vehicle's front tire.
The SUV swerved across the road.
Its driver struggled for control.
Then it disappeared around the corner with the damaged tire thudding against the pavement.
Silence followed.
A terrible, ringing silence.
I stared at Luca.
He was breathing hard, but his first question was about Margaret.
“Is she hurt?”
Tomas looked inside the building.
“She is frightened, but she's all right.”
Only then did Luca look at me.
“Claire?”
I nodded.
My knees were shaking.
“I think so.”
He noticed blood on my hand.
“You're bleeding.”
I looked down.
A small piece of broken glass had cut my palm.
“It isn't serious.”
He removed a clean handkerchief from his jacket and pressed it gently against the wound.
I watched his expression.
“You could have been killed.”
“So could you,” I whispered.
He looked toward the empty street.
For the first time, he seemed to understand that Victor was willing to murder everyone standing between him and his secret.
Police sirens sounded in the distance.
Tomas had already called emergency services.
Luca's attorney would meet the responding officers and provide photographs of the damaged car, the spent cartridge cases, and the medical records we had found.
I was grateful.
For once, the Moretti family wasn't trying to make a crime disappear.
We were trying to make sure someone answered for it.
By morning, the story of the wedding had spread across Chicago.
Someone had filmed Vanessa screaming at Margaret.
The video showed me kneeling beside the elderly woman.
It showed Luca confronting his bride.
And it showed Margaret holding up the old photograph.
Thousands of people were sharing it.
Strangers were arguing about what had happened.
Some called me brave.
Others accused me of helping a criminal family stage a scandal.
I switched off my phone.
I didn't want attention.
I wanted my mother safe.
I wanted Margaret to stop shaking.
And I wanted Luca to find his father before another thirty years could be stolen.
At eleven that morning, Tomas received a call.
“Vanessa wants to speak to you,” he told Luca.
Luca's expression hardened.
“No.”
“She says she has something that could help locate your father.”
Margaret shook her head.
“Don't trust her.”
I agreed.
But Luca surprised us.
“I don't trust her.”
He reached for his coat.
“That doesn't mean I won't listen.”
Vanessa arrived at a small chapel near the townhouse an hour later.
She wasn't wearing diamonds.
Her hair was pulled into a simple ponytail.
Without her dramatic wedding makeup, she looked exhausted.
I stood near the entrance with Margaret while Luca faced his wife beneath a stained-glass window.
Vanessa took one look at the elderly woman and lowered her eyes.
“Margaret.”
“Don't pretend we're friends,” Margaret answered.
Vanessa swallowed.
Then she placed a small velvet box on a wooden pew.
“I brought you something.”
Luca didn't touch it.
“Talk.”
“My father lied to me.”
Luca folded his arms.
“You'll have to be more specific.”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
“Eight years ago, he took me to a private care facility.”
“He said we were visiting someone who had once worked for our family.”
“The man was sitting in a wheelchair.”
“He looked frightened.”
“He kept asking for a boy named Luca.”
Margaret covered her mouth.
Vanessa continued.
“I thought he was confused.”
“But later that night, I found an old photograph in my father's office.”
“It was your father.”
Luca stared at her.
“You recognized him?”
She nodded.
“And you said nothing?”
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“My father told me Dominic was dangerous.”
“He said your father had lost his mind.”
“He told me that if you knew he was alive, you would abandon everything and destroy both families.”
Luca's voice became icy.
“So you decided I didn't deserve to know.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of losing your father?”
Vanessa shook her head.
“Of what he would do to me.”
Margaret looked at her.
“You weren't too frightened to threaten me.”
Vanessa couldn't answer.
I stepped forward.
“You ordered security to throw her into the rain.”
Vanessa turned toward me.
“Claire, please.”
“No.”
My voice surprised even me.
“You don't get to call cruelty protection.”
Vanessa lowered her head.
For a moment, I thought she might finally understand.
Then Luca opened the velvet box.
Inside was a brass locker key with the number 118 engraved on it.
“What's this?”
“A key I took from my father's office.”
Vanessa wiped her cheeks.
“He keeps copies of important documents in a locker at Union Station.”
“Last night, I heard him tell someone that the Northlake records had to be destroyed.”
“He also said Dominic would be moved before anyone could reach him.”
Luca stared at the key.
“Why are you helping me?”
Vanessa looked at her wedding ring.
“Because I finally understand what he was buying with our marriage.”
“What?”
“Control of your family's properties.”
Her voice trembled.
“He never wanted us to build a life together.”
“He wanted you to sign the restructuring agreement after the honeymoon.”
Luca's expression darkened.
“And you?”
“I wanted to be loved.”
The chapel fell quiet.
Then Vanessa whispered something that made me feel unexpectedly sorry for her.
“But I knew enough to stop him, and I chose not to.”
Luca closed the box.
“I'll have the papers drawn up to end our marriage.”
Vanessa began crying again.
This time, he didn't comfort her.
We were leaving the chapel when my phone rang.
It was my mother.
I answered quickly.
“Mom?”
“Claire, are you somewhere safe?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Then her voice dropped.
“Sweetheart, there's a woman here.”
“What woman?”
“She says her name is Rosa Alvarez.”
I stopped walking.
Margaret turned toward me.
“She says she used to work at a nursing home.”
My mother sounded confused.
“She has a photograph of an elderly man.”
My pulse quickened.
“Mom, what does he look like?”
There was a pause.
Then my mother whispered something I would never forget.
“Claire, he looks exactly like Luca Moretti.”
May you like
She inhaled shakily.
“And on the back, somebody wrote today's date.”
