Chapter 3 - THE TICKET IN THE CIGAR BOX
The crystal glasses on the dining table seemed to rattle in the silence.
Luca stared at Evelyn.
“Three months before he died?” Luca repeated.
“Yes.”
“My father died four years ago. You’re telling me he brought Clara back into this house? That she was here, in this room, and he didn't tell me?”
Teresa let out a broken sob.
“He wanted to tell you, Luca. He wanted to bring her home.”
Vanessa’s expression twisted from panic into pure fury.
“He was a fool!” Vanessa spat, no longer trying to hide the venom in her voice. “He brought a ghost back into our lives! He was going to give her half the territory!”
“It was his territory to give,” Luca said, his voice cold enough to freeze the room.
He didn't take his eyes off his uncle.
“Marco. You were Dad's right hand. If Clara was in this house four years ago, you knew.”
Uncle Marco slowly wiped his mouth with a linen napkin.
He was a thick-shouldered man with silver hair and eyes that never gave anything away.
“Your father was dying, Luca,” Marco said calmly. “His heart was failing. He got sentimental. He wanted his family together.”
“And where was I?” Luca demanded.
“You were in New York,” Marco replied smoothly. “Securing the docks. By the time you flew back, Clara was gone again.”
Luca stepped closer to his uncle.
“Why did she leave?”
Marco poured himself another glass of wine.
“She realized she didn't belong in our world. She took a payout and disappeared.”
“Liar.”
The word didn't come from Luca.
It came from me.
The entire room turned to look at the twenty-five-year-old maid standing by the dessert table.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I had spoken without thinking, but I couldn't stop myself.
Vanessa glared at me.
“Shut your mouth, Hannah! Security, get this girl out of here!”
Two guards near the door hesitated, looking at Luca.
Luca raised a hand.
The guards stepped back.
Luca turned toward me, his dark eyes intense.
“Why did you call him a liar, Hannah?”
I swallowed hard.
My hands were shaking so badly I had to grip the edge of the table to steady myself.
“Because of the cigar box,” I whispered.
Marco’s hand stopped pouring the wine.
A single drop of red spilled onto the pristine white tablecloth.
“What cigar box?” Luca asked.
I looked at Teresa.
“A few months ago, Mrs. Moretti asked me to clean out her husband’s old study. She said it was time to pack away his things.”
Teresa nodded slowly, wiping her eyes.
“I was dusting the top shelf of the bookcase,” I continued, my voice gaining strength. “There was an old wooden cigar box pushed all the way to the back. It was locked. But the wood was rotting, and when I moved it, the hinges snapped.”
Vanessa took a step toward me.
“You went through my future father-in-law's private belongings? You little thief!”
“I didn't steal anything!” I said.
I looked directly at Luca.
“Inside the box, there were no cigars. There were only two things.”
Luca walked over to me. He was so tall, his presence so commanding, but I didn't back down.
“What was in the box, Hannah?”
“A stack of train tickets,” I said.
Marco’s chair scraped against the floor.
“All the tickets were for the same route,” I explained. “Chicago to a small town in upstate New York. And they were all stamped with the exact same date.”
Luca frowned.
“What date?”
“October 14th.”
Luca’s face went completely blank.
October 14th was the day his father died.
“My father bought a train ticket on the day he died?”
“He didn't buy one ticket,” I corrected quietly. “He bought two.”
The room was so quiet I could hear the rain hitting the glass again.
“Two tickets,” Luca repeated.
“Yes, sir. And they weren't used. They were voided.”
Luca turned slowly toward his uncle.
“My father wasn't sitting in his study having a heart attack, was he, Marco?”
Marco didn't answer.
“He was packing to leave.” Luca’s voice began to rise. “He was taking Clara and leaving the city!”
“He was abandoning the family!” Marco suddenly shouted, slamming his hand on the table. “He was leaving you with a war against the Bellinis, and he was running away with the daughter he always loved more!”
Teresa cried out.
Luca grabbed Marco by the lapels of his tailored suit and hauled him out of his chair.
“What did you do to him?” Luca roared.
“I protected our empire!” Marco spat back, not backing down. “I called Vanessa’s father! I told him the peace treaty was about to walk out the door! We stopped him at the station!”
Luca threw his uncle against the wall.
The guests gasped, some standing up, terrified.
“You killed my father?” Luca’s voice broke on the words.
“It was a heart attack!” Marco insisted, smoothing his jacket. “The stress of the confrontation. His heart gave out on the platform. I didn't touch him.”
Luca was breathing heavily, his fists clenched.
He looked at Vanessa.
“And Clara?”
Vanessa smirked, regaining her cruel confidence.
“She saw her father drop dead. She realized she had no protection left. So, she ran.”
Luca looked down at the photograph in his hand.
His father. His mother. His sister.
A family that had been ripped apart by greed.
“Where is the cigar box now, Hannah?” Luca asked, his voice deathly quiet.
“I put it in Mrs. Moretti’s bedroom closet,” I said. “Top shelf.”
Luca pointed at two of his guards.
“Go get it.”
The guards sprinted out of the dining room.
Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Luca, what does it matter? The tickets are expired. Clara is gone. Your father is dead. This changes nothing about tonight.”
“It changes everything,” Luca said.
He walked back to the head of the table.
He picked up Vanessa’s expensive engagement ring, which had been sitting in a velvet box near her plate.
And he dropped it into his half-full glass of red wine.
Vanessa shrieked as the diamond sank to the bottom.
“Get out of my house,” Luca said.
“You can't do this!” Vanessa screamed. “My father will destroy you!”
“Let him try.”
The guards returned a moment later, carrying the rotting wooden cigar box.
They placed it on the table in front of Luca.
He opened it.
The stack of voided train tickets was exactly as I had described.
But as Luca flipped through them, his brow furrowed.
He reached the bottom of the box.
And pulled out a small, folded piece of paper.
“Hannah,” Luca said, staring at the paper. “You said there were two things in this box.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You mentioned the tickets. What was the second thing?”
I swallowed hard.
“A receipt.”
Luca unfolded the paper.
His eyes scanned the faded ink.
May you like
Then, he slowly looked up at his mother.
“Mom,” Luca whispered. “Why did Dad have a receipt from a private maternity ward?”
