Chapter 7 - The Threat Against My Brother
|
Daniel was seventeen.
He loved basketball, hated chemistry, and had never once stepped inside the Moretti mansion.
He didn't know Isabella Bellini.
He didn't know Victor Bellini.
And he certainly didn't know anything about Giovanni Moretti's diary.
But somebody had photographed him outside his school.
And threatened to hurt him because I had helped an elderly woman recover her wedding photograph.
I couldn't breathe.
“I'm going home,” I whispered.
Luca looked up from the phone.
“Emma—”
“I need to get Daniel.”
He didn't argue.
Instead, he turned toward Detective Harris.
“Can you arrange a patrol car to check the school and my employee's home?”
Harris was already making a call.
“Give me the address,” he said.
I told him.
My voice shook so badly that I had to repeat the apartment number.
He listened carefully, then nodded.
“We'll coordinate with the school and your family.”
Luca looked at me.
“Call your brother.”
I dialed.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Finally, Daniel answered.
“Emma? What's up?”
I nearly collapsed with relief.
“Where are you?”
“At school.”
“Are you inside?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Stay there.”
“Emma, you're freaking me out.”
I forced myself to speak slowly.
“Someone may have been watching you. The police are going to contact the school.”
There was a long silence.
Then he whispered, “What did you do?”
The question hurt.
Not because he meant it cruelly.
But because I had been asking myself the same thing.
“I didn't do anything wrong.”
“Then why is this happening?”
I closed my eyes.
“I'll explain when we're together.”
He promised to remain inside.
Then I called my father.
He answered immediately.
I told him what happened.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he asked one question.
“Are you safe, Emma?”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Yes.”
“Then come home when the police say it's safe.”
I nodded.
Even though he couldn't see me.
After the calls, I sat in the mansion kitchen with a cup of untouched tea.
Mrs. Romano sat beside me.
She didn't say anything.
She simply held my hand.
I was grateful for that.
Sometimes sympathy made everything worse.
Sometimes all you needed was someone who didn't expect you to be brave every second.
Twenty minutes later, Luca entered.
He pulled out the chair across from me.
“Emma.”
I looked up.
“I'm sorry.”
His expression changed.
“For what?”
“For bringing trouble into your house.”
He stared at me.
Then said quietly, “You didn't bring it here.”
I wiped my eyes.
“If I hadn't touched the photograph—”
“My mother would still be wondering why her husband's picture disappeared.”
I looked down.
“And Isabella might still be searching through her belongings without anyone questioning her.”
I couldn't answer.
Luca continued.
“You didn't create this problem.”
His voice hardened.
“The people stealing from my family did.”
He paused.
“And whoever threatened your brother will answer for it.”
I wanted to believe him.
But I had spent most of my life learning that promises didn't always protect people.
My mother died after a long illness.
My father lost his job when the construction company closed.
And when the bills started arriving, no powerful man appeared to solve our problems.
We survived because we worked.
Because we sacrificed.
Because there wasn't another choice.
“I can't afford to lose this job,” I whispered.
Luca leaned back.
“Then don't.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“You aren't being fired.”
“But Isabella—”
“Isabella doesn't control your employment.”
He paused.
“And she doesn't control my mother's home.”
For the first time that day, I felt something loosen inside my chest.
A small amount of relief.
Not enough to erase the fear.
But enough to breathe.
That afternoon, Detective Harris returned with news.
Daniel was safe.
Officers had spoken with school administrators and reviewed security footage.
The footage showed a man taking photographs near the school entrance.
Investigators had identified the vehicle he used.
It belonged to a private security company.
The same company had received several payments from Westbridge Consulting.
Victor Bellini's business.
I stared at Harris.
“So they're connected?”
“We have reason to investigate that connection,” he replied.
Luca's jaw tightened.
“And the message?”
“We're working to identify who sent it.”
Harris then turned toward Teresa.
“Mrs. Moretti, I have another question.”
She nodded.
“Of course.”
“Did your husband ever mention being followed before his death?”
Her face changed.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The week before he died.”
“What did he say?”
Teresa closed her eyes.
“He said someone had been watching our house.”
Luca looked up sharply.
“Dad told you that?”
She nodded.
“He told me not to open the door to strangers.”
Harris continued.
“Did he identify anyone?”
“No.”
Then she hesitated.
“But he mentioned a car.”
“What kind?”
“A dark green sedan.”
I watched Harris write it down.
Teresa continued.
“He said he'd seen it outside his office and near the house.”
Luca stood.
“My father died on a business trip eleven years ago.”
Harris nodded.
“I know.”
“Are you suggesting someone killed him?”
“I'm saying we're examining whether his death deserves further review.”
The room went silent.
Teresa began crying.
I moved beside her.
She took my hand.
Then whispered, “I knew something was wrong.”
And when Luca looked at the wedding photograph above the fireplace, I saw a kind of grief in his eyes that frightened me.
May you like
Because if his father hadn't died naturally, someone had stolen far more than money.
They had stolen eleven years of truth.
