Chapter 2 - The Name On The Blacklist
“Claire, why is Hannah’s mother on this list?”
Luca’s voice didn't rise, but the absolute stillness in the garden made the words ring out like a gunshot. I froze. My mother? Margaret Collins was a fifty-three-year-old woman who worked the checkout lane at a grocery store in New Jersey. She had never met Luca Moretti. She had never met his fiancée.
Claire, the wedding planner, looked terrified. She shifted the black leather folder in her arms, her eyes darting toward the glass doors where Vanessa had just disappeared.
“Mr. Moretti,” Claire stammered, her polished professional tone cracking. “I just process the documents given to me by the bride’s family. I was told it was a security protocol.”
“Show it to me,” Luca demanded.
Claire slowly turned the folder around. I stepped closer, my heart hammering against my ribs. It wasn't a seating chart. It was a printed spreadsheet labeled Hawthorne Club Security — Do Not Admit. There were about twenty names on it. Most of them I didn't recognize—rival business associates, ex-employees.
But right there, highlighted in a harsh yellow marker, was line fourteen: Margaret Collins.
Next to her name, in the column marked Reason for Exclusion, someone had typed a single word: Leverage.
“Leverage?” Luca read the word aloud, his dark eyes narrowing. He looked at me. “Hannah, does your mother have any connection to the Bellini family?”
“No,” I whispered, staring at the paper in disbelief. “None. My mother is a cashier. She’s never even been to this side of the city. I send her money every week just so she can keep her heat on.”
Teresa leaned heavily on her silver walker, her brow furrowing deeply. “Luca, what is Vanessa doing? Why would she target Hannah’s mother?”
Before Luca could answer, the glass garden doors slid open with a sharp screech. Vanessa marched back out, her face flushed with anger. She had a designer leather purse slung over her shoulder, clearly preparing to leave the engagement party she had just ruined.
“You want to cancel the gallery?” Vanessa snapped, glaring at Luca. “Fine. We’ll do it in the ballroom. We’ll put a ramp right down the center aisle so your mother can roll herself to the altar. Are you happy now?”
Luca didn't flinch. He just held up the security list.
“Explain this, Vanessa,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “Explain why my maid’s mother is on a Bellini security blacklist marked as leverage.”
Vanessa stopped dead in her tracks. The arrogant flush drained from her cheeks, replaced by a pale, chalky panic. She looked at Claire, her eyes flashing with pure venom. “You were supposed to keep that confidential.”
“Confidential from me?” Luca asked, taking a slow step toward her. “From the man paying for the wedding? What leverage do you have over Margaret Collins?”
“It’s family business, Luca,” Vanessa said quickly, lifting her chin to feign confidence. “My father’s business. It has nothing to do with us.”
“It has everything to do with us if you’re using my staff,” Luca replied.
He reached out and grabbed the edge of Vanessa’s leather purse. She gasped, trying to pull it back, but Luca was stronger. He unclasped the brass buckle and turned the bag upside down over the small wrought-iron patio table.
Lipstick, a compact mirror, credit cards, and a set of keys clattered onto the glass surface.
And right in the middle of the pile landed a thick, folded stack of legal papers.
Luca picked them up. He unfolded the documents, his eyes scanning the dense legal print. As he read, his jaw tightened so hard I thought his teeth might shatter.
“Luca?” Teresa asked softly. “What is it?”
He didn't answer his mother. Instead, he looked at me. There was a sudden, profound sadness in his dark eyes that I didn't understand.
“Hannah,” he said quietly. “How long has your mother been struggling with her mortgage?”
I swallowed hard. “Since my father passed away. Five years ago.”
Luca turned the papers around. It was a property deed and a foreclosure notice for my mother’s small house in New Jersey. But the bank’s name wasn't at the top. The letterhead belonged to Bellini Holdings LLC.
“Your father’s family bought her debt,” Luca said to Vanessa, his voice vibrating with rage. “You’ve been extorting my maid’s mother?”
Vanessa crossed her arms. “Her father owed my father money, Luca! We’re just collecting what’s ours. I only put her on the blacklist in case the little maid tried to cause a scene at the wedding to beg for a bailout!”
I felt sick. My mother hadn't told me the house was being foreclosed. She hadn't told me the Bellinis owned our debt. She had just kept thanking me for the rent money, hiding the truth to protect me.
“You’re pathetic,” Luca spat at his fiancée.
He tossed the papers back onto the table. But as they landed, something else slid out from between the folded pages. It was a small, heavy object that hit the glass table with a metallic clink.
I stopped breathing.
It was an old, tarnished silver pocket watch. The glass face was cracked, and the silver chain was missing a link.
I reached out with a trembling hand and picked it up. I turned it over. Engraved on the back were the initials T.C.
Thomas Collins. My father.
I looked up at Vanessa, tears burning in my eyes. “Where did you get this?”
Vanessa smirked, a cruel, ugly expression. “My father took it from him as collateral. Right before your old man died.”
I took a step back, the cold silver burning my palm.
But then Teresa let go of her walker. She took a painful, agonizing step forward, her eyes locked on the pocket watch in my hand.
“Let me see that,” Teresa whispered, her voice suddenly trembling.
May you like
I handed it to her. She traced the initials with her thumb, and when she looked up, her face was completely white.
“Hannah,” Teresa breathed. “Your father didn't owe Carlo Bellini money. Your father was murdered because he stole this watch from my husband.”
