Chapter 4 - THE TRAIL OF BLOOD
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Vanessa shook her head frantically, pressing her back harder into the upholstery of the armchair.
“I don’t know where they took him!” she screamed, her voice cracking with pure terror.
“My father only told me to keep Frank quiet and distract Luca until the paperwork was signed!”
Luca didn’t waste another breath on his deceitful wife.
He motioned toward two guards standing by the doorway.
“Take her down to the wine cellar,” Luca instructed coldly.
“Take her phone, lock the reinforced steel door, and post two men outside.”
“If she makes a single sound, gag her.”
Vanessa kicked and screamed like a feral creature as the guards dragged her across the marble floor.
Her designer heels scuffed the polished stone until the heavy basement door slammed shut behind her.
Silence fell over the dining room once again, broken only by Frank’s shallow, ragged breathing.
“Claire,” Luca called out, turning his sharp focus toward me.
“Bring my father into the library and give him his heart medication immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, gently helping the frail old man to his feet.
Frank leaned heavily on my shoulder, his steps dragging as if he carried the weight of the entire world.
“I need to go outside with Luca,” Frank mumbled through his tears.
“I need to see Anthony’s car with my own eyes, Claire.”
“You must stay warm, Mr. Moretti,” I urged softly, guiding him to the plush sofa near the roaring library fireplace.
“Luca will find him, I swear to you that your son will not rest until Anthony is safe.”
I administered Frank’s nitroglycerin tablets and watched his breathing stabilize slightly under the warm glow of the fire.
Once Frank closed his eyes in sheer emotional exhaustion, I slipped quietly out the front entrance of the mansion.
Rain was pouring from the black Chicago sky in relentless, violent sheets.
Flashing red and blue lights painted the iron gates of the south perimeter in dramatic hues.
Luca stood beside an old, rusted silver sedan, completely oblivious to the freezing rain soaking his suit.
I walked toward the vehicle, holding an umbrella over my head against the biting autumn wind.
Luca glanced up, his expression carved from dark granite.
“I told you to stay with my father, Claire,” he stated without looking directly at me.
“Your father is resting by the fire, sir,” I replied respectfully, stepping closer.
“I worked in a veterinary clinic before I came to work for you, Mr. Moretti.”
Luca raised an eyebrow in the dim light of the security lamps.
“And why does that matter right now?” he asked.
“Because I know what arterial blood looks like, and that isn't it,” I said, pointing toward the driver’s seat.
Luca leaned closer into the open car door, shining his tactical flashlight across the damp fabric.
The blood on the headrest and steering wheel was dark, thick, and smeared in a defensive pattern.
“It’s a blunt force laceration or a glancing blow,” I explained, watching the rain pool around my boots.
“If they had shot him in the chest or cut an artery, there would be puddles beneath the pedals.”
“Your uncle fought back, Mr. Moretti, and he was dragged out of this car alive.”
Luca’s eyes flashed with a sudden surge of dangerous adrenaline.
He crouched down beside the gravel driveway, illuminating the wet tire tracks in the mud.
“There are dual rear-wheel impressions pressed deep into the turf,” Luca observed sharply.
“A heavy commercial van or a flatbed tow truck stopped right beside Anthony’s door.”
Suddenly, the security chief sprinted toward us from the guard shack, holding up a cracked electronic device.
“Boss! We found this smashed under the passenger tire!” the guard shouted over the downpour.
It was Anthony Moretti’s dashboard camera, shattered by a heavy boot, but the internal memory chip remained intact.
Luca snatched the tiny plastic card, his eyes narrowing with ruthless determination.
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“Bring the mobile tech unit to the garage right now,” Luca roared into the rainy night.
“Let’s see the faces of the dead men walking in my city.”
