Chapter 2 - The Ghost from the Grave
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The silence inside the laundry room was so thick that the slow dripping of the utility sink sounded like a ticking time bomb.
Luca Moretti did not blink as he stared down at the wrinkled photograph in his mother’s bruised fingers.
The man pictured on the glossy paper was Salvatore Falcone, his late father’s sworn enemy and former underboss.
Luca had personally stood by the open grave at St. Michael’s Cemetery twenty years ago when Falcone’s coffin was lowered into the earth.
He remembered the cold autumn rain that day and the bitter relief of believing his family was finally safe.
Yet here Falcone was, standing alive on the manicured lawn of Luca’s private estate, looking straight into the camera.
Beside him stood Vanessa, smiling affectionately as she adjusted the collar of Falcone’s expensive coat.
"This is impossible," Luca whispered, his deep voice dropping to a gravelly, dangerous register.
Vanessa took another step backward until her trembling spine hit the steel frame of the industrial washing machine.
"Luca, you have to listen to me," Vanessa pleaded, her voice suddenly losing all of its polished elegance.
"Your mother found that old picture in the attic and concocted an insane fantasy to turn you against me."
Rosa began weeping softly, leaning the full weight of her frail body against my trembling shoulder.
"I took that photo two days ago with my disposable camera, son," Rosa choked out between ragged breaths.
"He told Vanessa that your empire was built on stolen bones and that tonight he would take it all back."
Luca slowly lifted his gaze from the picture and locked his pitch-black eyes directly onto his wife.
The air in the room seemed to drop below freezing in an instant.
"You unplugged the telephone line so my eighty-two-year-old mother couldn't reach me," Luca said with chilling calm.
"You forced her down onto her knees to scrub your mud-stained shoes with corrosive bleach."
Vanessa waved her manicured hands desperately in the air as tears began streaking her heavy makeup.
"She is losing her mind, darling, and you know how prone to dementia she has become lately!"
"My mother's mind is sharper than the blade in my pocket," Luca snarled, closing the distance between them in two strides.
He snatched a pair of glittered heels from the floor and let them drop with a sharp clatter right at Vanessa’s feet.
"Dante!" Luca roared without looking back toward the doorway.
His chief head of security stepped into the laundry room immediately, his right hand resting firmly on his holstered firearm.
"Lock down the entire perimeter, seal the front gates, and bring my mother up to the master suite right now," Luca commanded.
"No one leaves this property alive without my personal signature."
Dante nodded crisply and moved forward with deep respect, gently offering his arm to Rosa.
"Claire," Luca said, his voice softening by a fraction as he looked directly into my eyes.
"You stayed by my mother's side while the rest of this house looked away."
"I want you to accompany her upstairs and make sure her injuries are tended to immediately."
"Yes, Mr. Moretti," I answered softly, keeping my protective arm around Rosa's fragile waist.
As Dante and I helped Rosa step over the wet towels, I glanced over my shoulder one last time.
May you like
Luca had already grabbed Vanessa by the wrist, dragging her toward his private interrogation study in the basement.
And through the open hallway window, the first distant thunderclap of a massive storm rolled across the darkened Chicago skyline.
