Chapter 5 - The Quiet Corner
Oak Park was quiet, sleepy, and buried beneath a canopy of wet autumn maple leaves.
It was nearly one o'clock in the morning by the time an unmarked, bulletproof town car dropped us off three houses down from my modest, two-story bungalow. Luca had insisted on sending two of his quietest, most disciplined bodyguards—a quiet pair of brothers named Sal and Gabe—who took up positions in a dark sedan down the street, keeping watch under the cover of the rain.
I unlocked my front door, the old brass handle squeaking softly as I ushered Mrs. Moretti inside.
The house smelled of dried lavender, old paperback books, and cinnamon tea. It was cramped compared to the marble palace on the Gold Coast, but it was warm. I had inherited it from my father along with a mountain of medical debt, but every corner of it was paid for with honest, exhausting sweat.
“Oh, this is lovely,” Mrs. Moretti sighed, slipping off her worn shoes at the door and running her hand along the polished oak railing of the stairs. “Reminds me of the house Luca’s father bought when we first got married. Before all the money came and ruined everything.”
“It’s not much,” I said self-consciously, turning on the amber living room lamp. “The guest room is upstairs on the left. Fresh sheets are on the bed. Can I get you some chamomile tea?”
“Sit down, Emma,” she insisted, sinking into my oversized floral armchair with a contented groan. “Come sit with me. We have things to talk about.”
I brewed a pot of tea and brought two steaming mugs to the coffee table, perching on the edge of the sofa opposite her.
“You’re wondering why I chose you,” Mrs. Moretti said, blowing across the rim of her tea.
“I'm just a maid, Mrs. Moretti,” I replied honestly. “I wanted you to have your soup, and I wanted Luca to know you were there. That doesn't make me someone who belongs in a mob war.”
The old woman let out a soft, dry chuckle. “A maid sees everything. A maid knows who is loyal, who steals the silver, and who smiles while hiding a knife behind their back. For seven months, you kept that house in order while that viper Vanessa treated you like dirt. And yet, tonight, you risked your job and your safety for an old stranger in the basement.”
She paused, setting her cup down with a sharp clink.
“Vanessa wasn't just working with her father to steal those pharmaceutical crates, Emma,” she continued, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “She was looking for something else in Luca’s safe.”
My ears perked up. “What kind of something?”
“Letters,” Mrs. Moretti said, her eyes darkening. “Letters written thirty years ago by Luca’s father, Antonio, before he was assassinated in his car. Antonio knew who set him up. He wrote down the names of the three men who paid the shooter. He sealed them in a black ledger and left instructions that it was only to be opened on the day Luca married.”
A chill ran down my arms. “And one of those names was Vincent Bellini?”
“No,” Mrs. Moretti said, leaning forward. “Vincent was just a runner back then. The man who orchestrated my husband's murder... was Antonio’s own brother. Carlo’s father.”
The puzzle pieces clicked together with terrifying clarity.
“Carlo isn't running away because he stole eighty million dollars,” I gasped, putting a hand to my mouth. “He’s running because if the wedding happened, Luca would have opened that safe. Luca would have read the letters. Carlo wanted the wedding to go through so Vanessa could slip the ledger out before Luca ever saw it!”
“Exactly,” Mrs. Moretti nodded grimly. “And when you walked into that dining room with my soup, you shattered their entire timeline. You didn't just embarrass Vanessa. You forced Luca to look at the cracks in his own kingdom.”
Suddenly, the phone on the kitchen counter rang, its shrill trill shattering the silence of the night.
I jumped. Mrs. Moretti’s hand shot out, catching my wrist.
“Don't answer,” she cautioned. “Only three people have this number.”
“It might be Luca,” I whispered.
I walked into the kitchen on trembling legs and lifted the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Emma.”
It was Luca. But his voice sounded strange. Tight. Winded. In the background, I could hear the wail of distant sirens and the rhythmic thumping of industrial machinery.
“Mr. Moretti? Are you alright? Where are you?”
“The LaSalle vault was cleaned out,” Luca said, his breathing shallow. “Carlo took the ledgers. But that’s not why I'm calling.”
He paused, and for the first time since I had met him, I heard a tremor of dread in his voice.
“Emma... Vanessa broke into the security office at the mansion before we locked the gates. She downloaded the employee files. She knows your address.”
My heart plunged into my stomach.
“Sal and Gabe aren't answering their radio outside your house,” Luca continued, his voice rising in urgency. “Emma, get my mother and get out through the back door right now!”
May you like
CRASH.
The sound of shattering glass tore through my front living room.
