Chapter 7 - THE NOTE IN THE CERAMIC BASE
I knelt on the cold marble hearth, the dustpan completely forgotten.
My hands shook as I stared at the sticky, stained piece of paper.
If this dish breaks, find Margaret Collins.
Why did Luca’s father—a powerful mafia boss who died four years ago—hide a note with my mother’s name inside a ceramic baking dish?
My mother was a retired surgical nurse. She was currently lying in a small apartment across the city, recovering from a triple bypass surgery. We had absolutely no connection to the Chicago mafia. I had only taken this maid job eleven months ago because the pay was triple what a normal agency offered.
I read the rest of the note. The ink was badly smudged from the heat and the peach juice, but I could make out a few more words.
...Margaret knows the truth about the hospital... she kept the secret... protect her daughter, Hannah...
I gasped, dropping the paper onto the floor.
Protect her daughter, Hannah.
He knew my name. Four years ago, before I ever stepped foot in this house, Luca’s father knew my name.
“Hannah?”
I jumped, spinning around.
Luca was standing in the doorway of the dining room.
His eyes were still red from crying, but the fierce, protective aura of the mafia boss had returned. He had left his mother and his newly found niece in the drawing room to settle in.
“Are you alright?” Luca asked, walking toward me. “You look pale.”
I scrambled to pick up the piece of paper, trying to hide it in my apron pocket.
But I was too slow.
Luca’s sharp eyes caught the movement.
“What is that?” he asked, his voice gentle but firm.
“Nothing,” I stammered, backing away. “Just trash from the dish.”
Luca stopped. He looked at the shattered blue ceramic on the floor, then at my shaking hands.
He didn't demand it. He just held out his hand.
“Hannah. Please.”
I swallowed hard. I had no choice. I handed him the sticky note.
Luca unfolded it carefully.
His brow furrowed as he read the first line.
“Margaret Collins,” Luca read softly. He looked up at me. “That’s your mother, isn't it? You asked for time off last month for her surgery.”
I nodded, tears pricking my eyes. “Yes, sir.”
He read the rest of the note, his eyes narrowing as he tried to decipher the smudged ink.
When he finished, he looked at me, a profound confusion washing over his face.
“My father wanted to protect you,” Luca whispered. “Why?”
“I don't know,” I cried. “My mother was just a nurse! She worked at Saint Jude’s Hospital for thirty years before she got sick. She never talked about the mafia!”
Luca froze.
The air in the room suddenly felt incredibly heavy.
“Saint Jude’s?” Luca repeated.
“Yes.”
Luca looked back at the note. Then he looked toward the drawing room, where Evelyn Parker was sitting with his mother.
“Mom!” Luca called out, his voice echoing loudly.
A moment later, Teresa hurried into the dining room, Evelyn close behind.
“What is it, Luca?” Teresa asked, alarmed.
Luca held up the note.
“Mom, when Dad died on the train platform… which hospital did the ambulance take him to?”
Teresa’s face fell. The memory was clearly painful.
“Saint Jude’s,” she whispered. “But he was dead on arrival, Luca. The doctors said his heart gave out completely.”
Luca looked at Evelyn.
“Evelyn. You were at the station with him that day.”
Evelyn nodded, her hands wringing her cardigan.
“Did you ride in the ambulance with him?” Luca asked.
“Yes. Marco was in his own car, following behind us.”
“When you got to Saint Jude’s, what happened?”
Evelyn closed her eyes, remembering the chaos.
“They rushed him through the emergency doors. A team of nurses took him away. Marco arrived a few minutes later. A doctor came out twenty minutes after that and told us he was gone.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
He looked at me.
“Hannah. Where is your mother right now?”
“She’s at home,” I said, panicking. “In our apartment on 5th Street.”
Luca pulled his phone out and hit a speed dial button.
“Enzo.”
“Yeah, Boss?” Enzo answered.
“Take two SUVs. Go to 5th Street. Hannah’s apartment. I want her mother brought to the estate immediately. Full medical transport. Do whatever you have to do, but get her here safe.”
“On it.”
Luca hung up.
“Mr. Moretti, what is going on?” I begged, terrified for my mother’s fragile health.
“Your mother was a nurse at Saint Jude’s four years ago,” Luca said, his eyes dark with terrible realization. “My father died at Saint Jude’s. Marco was the one who orchestrated the stress on the platform.”
He looked down at the note in his hand.
“My father didn't write this note before he went to the train station, Hannah.”
Teresa gasped. “What do you mean?”
“Look at the paper,” Luca said, handing it to his mother.
Teresa took it.
“It’s written on the back of a hospital admission form,” Luca said quietly.
The room spun.
“If he was dead on arrival,” Luca continued, his voice shaking with a dangerous, building rage, “how did he write a note on hospital paper?”
Evelyn covered her mouth. “Dear God.”
“He didn't die on the platform,” Luca whispered. “He survived the heart attack.”
I stared at him in horror.
“Then how did he die?” I asked.
May you like
Luca looked toward the basement doors, where Marco was currently tied to a chair.
“He was murdered in the hospital,” Luca said. “And your mother, Hannah… your mother was the nurse who saw it happen.”
