Chapter 3 - THE SECRET INSIDE AUNT GIANNA'S HOUSE|
"Claire, stay with my aunt."
Luca's voice was sharp as Marco brought the black SUV to the mansion's entrance.
I stood beside Gianna, whose hands shook so badly that she couldn't fasten her coat.
"Please, Luca," she begged.
"Don't let them destroy my brother's house."
He gently placed his jacket around her shoulders.
"I won't."
Then he looked at me.
"Make sure she stays safe."
I hesitated.
"Sir, Mrs. Alvarez is frightened."
"She's been watching those men from across the street."
Luca studied my face.
"You know her?"
"I spoke to her when Mrs. Gianna arrived."
"She gave me her number in case there was an emergency."
He nodded once.
"Then you're coming with us."
Vanessa appeared at the mansion doors just as we were leaving.
Her wedding veil trailed across the marble floor.
"Where exactly do you think you're going?"
Luca didn't stop.
"To the house you tried to steal."
Vanessa's face turned pale.
"That property is part of a legitimate redevelopment agreement."
"Then you shouldn't mind me inspecting it."
"Luca, you're embarrassing me in front of our guests!"
He turned.
"You're worried about embarrassment?"
"My aunt is worried about whether she'll have a roof over her head tomorrow."
Vanessa opened her mouth, but he was already walking away.
I helped Gianna into the SUV.
During the drive through Chicago, she sat between me and Luca, clutching her worn handbag against her chest.
The glittering skyscrapers gradually gave way to older brick buildings, narrow sidewalks, and modest family homes.
Gianna watched through the window.
"I've lived on that street for seventeen years," she whispered.
"Your father bought the house after he finally got back on his feet."
Luca looked toward her.
"I remember visiting when I was younger."
"You remember the kitchen?"
A faint smile touched his face.
"The yellow curtains."
"And the terrible oatmeal cookies you always made."
Gianna laughed softly.
"You ate six every time you visited."
"Because you always gave me the biggest ones."
For a moment, they looked like any ordinary aunt and nephew remembering a happier time.
Then the SUV turned onto Taylor Street.
And Gianna stopped smiling.
Her front door was standing open.
The white moving truck remained outside.
Two men were carrying a wooden cabinet toward the sidewalk.
Luca stepped out before Marco had fully stopped the vehicle.
"Put that down."
One of the men turned.
"Sir, we're authorized to clear this property."
"By whom?"
"Bellini Renewal Group."
Luca approached him.
"Show me your authorization."
The man reached into his jacket and produced a printed work order.
Luca read it carefully.
Then he looked at the signature.
"Where did you get this?"
"Our supervisor sent it."
"What's your supervisor's name?"
"Patrick Doyle."
Marco photographed the document.
"Nobody moves another item," Luca said.
"Put everything back where you found it."
The workers exchanged uneasy looks.
One of them stepped away to make a phone call.
Gianna slowly approached the house.
I wrapped my arm around her waist.
The first thing she saw was the broken photograph on the floor.
She bent down before I could stop her.
"Oh, Antonio."
Her voice cracked.
"That was the last picture your brother took of Luca before everything went wrong."
She picked up the frame.
The glass had shattered across Luca's smiling childhood face.
I knelt beside her.
"We can replace the glass."
Gianna shook her head.
"It's not the glass, dear."
"It's what people are willing to destroy when they think an old woman has nothing worth keeping."
Luca heard her.
He turned away, struggling to control his expression.
Inside, the house looked as though someone had searched it rather than prepared it for a move.
Kitchen drawers had been emptied.
Books lay scattered across the floor.
The bedroom closet had been pulled apart.
And beside the fireplace, an old cedar chest stood open.
Gianna stared at it.
"No."
She hurried toward the chest.
Despite her aching knees, she dropped to the floor.
I followed her.
"Mrs. Gianna, please be careful."
She ignored me and reached into the chest.
Her fingers searched beneath folded blankets and old family photographs.
Then she looked up.
"It's gone."
Luca approached.
"What's gone?"
"The blue folder."
"What blue folder?"
Gianna hesitated.
"Your father gave it to me before he died."
"He told me never to throw it away."
Luca crouched beside her.
"What was inside?"
"Letters, receipts, and papers about this house."
"Why would anyone want those?"
Gianna looked at the overturned furniture.
"I think that's exactly what we need to find out."
Marco returned from speaking with the workers.
"Sir, their supervisor claims the property changed ownership last month."
Luca stood.
"That's impossible."
Marco held up the work order.
"According to the transfer documents, the house was released from the Moretti Family Trust."
Gianna made a strangled sound.
"Released?"
"The document says you agreed to surrender your right to live here."
She shook her head fiercely.
"I never agreed to anything."
Marco continued.
"The release carries your signature."
"My signature?"
Gianna stared at him.
"I haven't signed a property document in years."
Luca took the paper.
Then he handed it to me.
"Claire, look at that signature."
I studied the carefully written name.
Gianna Moretti.
It looked convincing at first.
But something bothered me.
"Mrs. Gianna," I asked, "do you usually write your first name with a capital G that curves underneath the other letters?"
She frowned.
"No, dear."
"My fingers haven't been steady enough to write like that for years."
I looked at the signature again.
It was elegant.
Smooth.
Perfect.
Almost too perfect.
Someone had copied the handwriting of a younger woman.
Not the trembling signature Gianna used today.
I showed Luca.
"Whoever wrote this wasn't copying the way she signs now."
"They were copying an older signature."
Gianna suddenly reached into her handbag.
She removed a small bankbook.
"Look at the bottom."
On the last page was her signature from three weeks earlier.
The difference was unmistakable.
Luca photographed both.
Then he called Marco.
"Preserve every document and contact Evelyn."
"No one touches this house again without a lawful order."
We spent another hour gathering photographs and checking the damage.
While Luca spoke with his attorney, I helped Gianna return the scattered family pictures to a shelf.
When I opened the bottom kitchen drawer, I noticed something caught behind the wooden panel.
It was an old envelope.
Yellowed at the edges.
Addressed in faded handwriting.
For my sister Gianna, if the Bellinis ever come back.
I carried it to Gianna.
She recognized the handwriting immediately.
"Antonio."
Her brother.
Luca's father.
Her hands shook as she opened the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
She read it silently.
Then she began crying.
"Mrs. Gianna?"
She looked toward Luca.
"Sweetheart, your father left us a warning."
Luca came closer.
"What warning?"
She handed him the letter.
He read the first sentence aloud.
"If anyone from the Bellini family ever tries to take this house, don't fight them with anger."
His eyes moved down the page.
Then he stopped.
The final line said something none of us understood.
Find the little blue bird, and you'll find the truth about why I lost everything.
Gianna covered her mouth.
May you like
And for the first time that night, I saw real fear in her eyes.
Because apparently, the story of how Luca's father had lost his fortune was not the story Luca had been told.
