Chapter 3 - The Boy on the Swing
The heavy mahogany doors of the dining room slammed shut as Marco rushed out to execute the lockdown.
I stood frozen near the sideboard, a tray of crystal glasses trembling in my hands. The atmosphere in the room had shifted from a family drama into a suffocating, terrifying tension.
Luca Moretti, the man who had just dismantled an alliance with the Bellini family over a piece of lace, looked completely unhinged.
He stared at the crumpled photograph in his fist.
"Luca?" Teresa asked, her voice shaking. She reached for his arm. "Sweetheart, whose child is that? Why did that picture upset you so much?"
Luca didn't look at her. He couldn't.
"It's a mistake," Luca muttered, his chest heaving. "It has to be a mistake. He’s dead."
"Who is dead?" Teresa pressed, her maternal instincts kicking in. "Luca, look at me."
He slowly turned his head. The grief in his eyes was so profound it made my heart ache.
"Mom," Luca whispered, his voice cracking. "The boy in the picture... he looks exactly like Matteo."
Teresa’s breath caught in her throat. Her hand flew to her mouth, and her knees gave out.
Luca caught her instantly, lowering her gently into a chair.
"Matteo?" Teresa choked out, tears spilling instantly. "No. No, Matteo died five years ago. His car... the fire..."
"I know," Luca said frantically, kneeling beside her. "I know, Mom. I identified the wreckage myself. But the boy in this photo... he has Matteo’s eyes. He has his chin."
I watched them, feeling entirely out of place, yet unable to move.
Matteo Moretti. Luca’s younger brother. The golden boy of the family who had tragically died in a car crash five years before I started working here. Everyone in the mansion knew not to mention his name.
"How old is the child in the picture?" Teresa wept, clutching Luca’s sleeve.
Luca un-crumpled the photo and looked at it again. "Five. Maybe six."
"Matteo had a child?" Teresa asked, a desperate, agonizing hope bleeding into her voice. "He had a child before he died?"
"I don't know," Luca said, his jaw tightening. "He never mentioned a woman. He never said anything about a baby. But if someone sent this to me..."
He stood up, pacing the floor like a caged animal.
"If someone sent this to me today, on the night of my engagement," Luca reasoned, his mind working with terrifying speed, "it’s not a greeting. It’s a threat. Someone knows we have a bloodline out there. And they’re using it as leverage."
Before he could say another word, the heavy doors burst open again.
Marco ran in, his face pale.
"Boss, the perimeter is secure," Marco reported, out of breath. "But we have a situation at the front gate."
"What is it?" Luca demanded.
"A car pulled up," Marco said. "The driver threw a package over the wall and sped off. We got the plates, but they trace back to a stolen vehicle."
Luca’s eyes darkened. "Did you open the package?"
Marco nodded slowly. He held up a clear evidence bag.
Inside the bag was a child’s worn, blue sneaker.
Teresa let out a muffled scream, turning away.
Luca took the bag from Marco. He stared at the tiny shoe, his knuckles turning white.
"It matches the shoe the boy is wearing in the photograph," Luca realized, his voice hollow.
He flipped the bag over. Taped to the bottom of the shoe was a small, white piece of paper.
Luca ripped it off and read the typed message out loud.
“The price for the boy is the Bellini territory. You have twenty-four hours to sign the deeds over to us, or the child joins his father.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
"The Bellini territory?" Marco repeated in shock. "Boss, that’s almost a third of the city. If you sign that over, you lose control of the ports."
"I don't care about the ports," Luca snarled, tossing the evidence bag onto the table. "They have my nephew. I will burn this city to the ground before I let them touch him."
Luca turned to Marco. "Who sent this? The Russians? The Chicago Syndicate?"
"I don't know, Boss," Marco said. "There’s no signature. No crest."
"Then find out!" Luca roared, his patience snapping. "Tear the city apart! Call every captain! If anyone knows who has this boy, I want them bleeding in my basement by morning!"
Marco nodded and sprinted out of the room.
Luca turned back to his mother. Teresa was shaking uncontrollably, clutching the pearl necklace at her throat.
"I'll get him, Mom," Luca promised fiercely, holding her face in his hands. "I swear on my life, I will bring him home."
Teresa nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.
Luca looked at me. "Hannah. Take my mother upstairs. Give her the medication the doctor prescribed for her anxiety. Do not leave her side."
"Yes, sir," I said, hurrying over to help Teresa stand.
I guided the frail, heartbroken woman out of the dining room and up the grand staircase. She leaned heavily on my arm, her quiet sobs echoing in the massive, empty hallway.
When we reached her bedroom, I helped her sit on the edge of the mattress. I poured her a glass of water and handed her a small white pill.
She took it with a shaky breath.
"He's alive, Hannah," Teresa whispered, looking at a framed photograph of Matteo on her nightstand. "A piece of my boy is alive."
"Mr. Moretti will find him," I assured her, gently pulling the heavy comforter back. "Try to rest."
Teresa lay down, her eyes fluttering shut as the medication began to take effect.
I sat in the armchair in the corner of the room, listening to the rain begin to fall against the window. The mansion was buzzing with chaotic energy below, but up here, it was terrifyingly quiet.
An hour passed.
Teresa’s breathing deepened into sleep.
I stood up to stretch my legs. I walked over to the dresser to turn off the small lamp, not wanting the light to disturb her.
As I reached for the switch, I noticed something resting on a silver tray next to her jewelry box.
It was a small, tarnished silver locket.
I had seen Teresa holding it a few times before. She always seemed so sad when she looked at it. Out of morbid curiosity, I gently picked it up. The clasp was slightly loose.
It popped open in my hand.
Inside the locket wasn’t a picture of Luca or her late husband.
It was a picture of a woman. A beautiful, dark-haired woman holding a newborn baby wrapped in a blue blanket.
But it wasn't the woman that made my heart stop.
It was the silver chain resting around the woman’s neck in the photograph.
It was a unique, custom-made pendant shaped like a swallow in mid-flight.
I gasped, dropping the locket onto the dresser with a clatter.
I knew that necklace.
May you like
I had seen it every day for the last two years.
It belonged to my mother.
