Chapter 4 - THE PROMISE MADE IN A GARAGE|
The following morning, I arrived at the Moretti mansion before seven.
I expected to find Luca in his office, speaking to lawyers and shouting into his phone.
Instead, I found him standing in the garage.
He was wearing jeans, a black sweater, and an old leather jacket.
In front of him stood a motorcycle covered with a gray sheet.
"Natalie," he said without turning around, "do you know anything about motorcycles?"
"Absolutely nothing, sir."
He gave a tired smile.
"Neither did I when Daniel first met me."
Then he pulled away the sheet.
Underneath stood a beautifully restored vintage motorcycle.
Its dark-green paint reflected the overhead lights.
The leather seat had been carefully repaired.
But the engine compartment remained partially disassembled.
Several tools rested on the nearby workbench.
"Daniel and I rebuilt this together," Luca explained.
"We spent almost a year on it."
I stepped closer.
"Why isn't it finished?"
Luca looked down.
"Because he died before we could finish the engine."
His voice softened.
"And I couldn't bring myself to work on it without him."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Luca sat on a wooden stool.
"When I was a teenager, I was angry at the whole world."
He shook his head.
"My family had money, but that didn't make me easy to live with."
"Daniel was older than me, and he worked at a neighborhood garage where I used to hang around."
"He taught me how to change a tire before he'd even learned how to tolerate my attitude."
Luca smiled faintly.
"He used to say that a man who couldn't admit he'd made a mistake shouldn't be trusted with a wrench."
I sat on the opposite stool.
"And he became your best friend?"
"He became my brother."
Luca looked toward the motorcycle.
"Years later, when Ethan was born, Daniel called me from the hospital."
"He said his son needed an uncle who knew how to keep promises."
Luca rubbed his face.
"I told him he'd picked the wrong man."
"Daniel laughed and said he wasn't asking for a perfect one."
Then his expression darkened.
"Two years ago, Daniel collapsed at work."
I already knew about the heart attack.
But I'd never heard Luca describe what happened afterward.
"By the time I reached the hospital, he was gone."
Luca looked at the floor.
"Ethan was eleven."
"He kept asking when his father was coming home."
"I had no answer for him."
"So I promised him something I thought I could give."
"What was that?"
"A place at our table."
I glanced at the motorcycle.
"And Vanessa nearly took that away."
Luca shook his head.
"Vanessa lied."
He paused.
"But I was the one who stopped checking whether he was okay."
I didn't know what to say.
For someone as powerful as Luca Moretti, admitting responsibility seemed harder than issuing orders.
But he did it without hesitation.
His phone rang.
It was Mara Ortiz, the accountant who managed several of the Moretti family's legitimate businesses and private accounts.
Luca answered immediately.
"Mara, tell me you've found something."
Her voice was serious.
"I've reviewed the education account you established after Daniel's death."
"And?"
"The three missing payments weren't caused by a banking error."
Luca straightened.
"What happened to them?"
"Your office received written instructions to suspend them."
"From whom?"
"According to the file, the instruction came from Grace Hayes."
Luca gripped the phone.
"That's impossible."
"I suspected something was wrong when I compared the letter against the account history."
"Why?"
"Because the suspension notice was processed through your executive office, not through the bank's normal beneficiary authorization procedure."
Luca's eyes narrowed.
"Patrick?"
"His name appears in the processing record."
Luca stood.
"Get me copies of everything."
"There's another problem," Mara said.
"What problem?"
"Some wedding-related expenses were submitted during the same period under a different vendor account."
Luca looked confused.
"What does that have to do with Ethan?"
"Possibly nothing."
Mara paused.
"But I found a reference to the Hayes account in a supporting document attached to one of those expenses."
"Whose vendor account?"
"Bellini Event Design."
The garage fell silent.
Even I recognized the name.
Vanessa's cousin owned the small luxury-event company coordinating parts of the wedding.
Luca slowly lowered the phone.
"Send the records to my lawyer."
"I already have," Mara replied.
After ending the call, Luca stood looking at Daniel's motorcycle.
His expression wasn't furious.
It was wounded.
"All these years," he whispered, "I believed having money meant I could protect the people I loved."
I stepped toward him.
"Money couldn't have stopped Vanessa from saying those things."
"No."
He looked at me.
"But paying attention might have."
Later that morning, Ethan arrived with Grace.
Luca had invited them to breakfast and promised there would be no uncomfortable questions.
The boy walked into the garage and stopped when he saw the motorcycle.
"Uncle Luca?"
Luca turned.
Ethan approached slowly.
"That's Dad's bike."
Luca nodded.
"Partly his."
Ethan ran his fingers over the dusty workbench.
"Mom said you two were going to finish it."
"We were."
"Why didn't you?"
Luca's expression softened.
"Because I didn't know how to do it without him."
Ethan looked at the half-finished engine.
Then he asked a question that made my eyes sting.
"Could I help you?"
Luca stared at him.
"You want to?"
Ethan nodded.
"Dad taught me a little about tools."
A fragile smile appeared on Luca's face.
"Then I could use a good mechanic."
For a moment, the garage felt warm again.
It felt like something broken might eventually be repaired.
But then Ethan's phone buzzed.
He looked down at the screen, and his expression changed.
I saw him turn the phone away from Luca.
"Who is it, buddy?" Luca asked.
Ethan hesitated.
"Nobody."
But I was standing close enough to glimpse the message.
It came from an unknown number.
May you like
And it contained only one sentence.
"If you love your mother, stop asking questions about Vanessa Bellini."
