Chapter 4 - A THREAT AT THE FRONT DOOR
I stared at the oil-soaked petal in Luca’s massive hand, and a violent shudder wrecked my body.
It was a message.
Vanessa’s brother wasn't just warning me to keep my mouth shut. He was telling me he knew exactly who we were, where we lived, and what my daughter had been holding tonight.
“Vince, get us out of here,” Luca barked. “To the estate.”
The SUV immediately peeled away from the curb, leaving my violated home behind.
I pulled Sophie tighter against my chest. She stirred in her sleep, burying her face into my neck. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to fight the overwhelming wave of terror.
“Hey,” Luca said softly, his deep voice cutting through my panic.
I opened my eyes. He had put the gun away. He reached across the leather seat and gently covered my shaking hand with his own. His skin was warm and calloused.
“I am not going to let them touch her,” Luca promised, his dark eyes locking onto mine with absolute conviction. “And I’m not going to let them touch you. You have my word, Emily.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I don’t understand any of this. I’m just a maid, Luca. We’re nobody.”
“You’re a mother who raised a brave, beautiful little girl,” he corrected me firmly. “And you’re under my protection now.”
Thirty minutes later, the heavy iron gates of the Moretti estate swung open.
I had cleaned this mansion five days a week for two years, but I had never approached it from the back of the boss’s car. The sprawling stone house sat on ten acres of manicured land in Lake Forest, surrounded by a ten-foot security wall and armed guards.
Luca led us inside, carrying Sophie himself so I wouldn't have to wake her.
He walked past the grand staircase and down a quiet hallway to the family wing—a part of the house Vanessa had explicitly forbidden me from entering.
He pushed open a set of double oak doors.
“This is the East Suite,” Luca whispered, laying Sophie gently on the massive king-sized bed. He pulled a heavy down comforter over her small shoulders. “There are security cameras on every entrance, and a guard posted outside the hall. Lock the door from the inside.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, staring down at my daughter’s peaceful face.
Luca stepped back, hovering near the doorway. For a moment, the dangerous mafia boss completely vanished. He just looked like a man who was deeply, profoundly heartbroken.
“I’ll have my men go to your apartment tomorrow and pack whatever you need,” Luca said softly. “Try to get some sleep, Emily.”
“Luca, wait.”
He stopped, turning back to me.
“The watch,” I said, stepping away from the bed. “Sophie said it fell out of Marco’s pocket. But why did Marco have your father’s watch in the first place? And why keep it for three years?”
Luca reached into his pocket and pulled out the tarnished silver timepiece.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, his thumb brushing over the cracked glass. “My father was old-school. He didn't trust banks. He didn't trust technology. He kept his deepest secrets written down or hidden.”
He looked at the watch closely.
“He had this watch custom-made in Italy thirty years ago. It’s heavier than it should be.”
Luca walked over to the small mahogany desk in the corner of the suite. He picked up a silver letter opener.
I watched, holding my breath, as he wedged the thin blade into the microscopic seam on the back casing of the watch.
He applied pressure. There was a sharp click.
The back casing popped open.
Luca stared at the inside of the watch.
“Emily, come here,” he breathed.
I hurried over to his side.
Inside the back cover, where there should have been gears or a simple metal plate, there was a tiny, hollowed-out compartment.
And tucked neatly inside was a micro-SD card.
My eyes widened. “Your father hid a memory card?”
“My father didn’t know how to turn on a computer,” Luca said, his brow furrowing in confusion. “He would never use an SD card. Somebody else put this here.”
Luca didn’t hesitate. He walked across the hall to his private study and returned a moment later with his sleek silver laptop.
He set it on the desk, inserted the tiny card, and opened the file directory.
There was only one video file on the card.
The title was a string of numbers: 10-14-23.
“October fourteenth,” I whispered, feeling the blood drain from my face. “That’s the day Mark died.”
Luca clicked play.
The screen flickered to life. It was black-and-white security footage.
I gasped, covering my mouth.
It was the interior of Mark’s mechanic shop. I recognized the heavy red tool cabinets and the oil-stained concrete floor. The time stamp in the corner read 6:00 PM.
On the screen, my husband, Mark, was wiping his hands on a rag, looking exhausted.
Then, a sleek black sedan pulled into the garage.
Marco Bellini stepped out of the driver’s side. He had a bandage on his neck where Sophie had said his scar was.
Marco wasn't alone.
The passenger door opened, and a woman stepped out. She was wearing a trench coat and dark sunglasses, but the moment she turned her head, I recognized the sharp profile and the expensive blowout.
It was Vanessa.
“She was there,” Luca whispered, his eyes glued to the screen.
In the silent footage, Vanessa walked to the trunk of the sedan and popped it open. Mark walked over to look inside.
Whatever Mark saw in the trunk made him instantly back away, shaking his head frantically. He held his hands up in refusal.
Marco grabbed Mark by the collar, slamming him against the tool cabinet. The silver watch fell from Marco’s pocket and bounced across the floor.
Vanessa didn't even flinch. She reached into her trench coat and pulled out a thick, white envelope. She shoved it into Mark’s chest.
Mark threw the envelope on the ground, still shaking his head. He looked terrified.
Marco drew a gun and pressed it to Mark’s ribs.
The video abruptly cut out, turning to static.
I was sobbing quietly, tears streaming down my face. I had just watched the last agonizing moments of my husband’s life.
“They killed him,” I wept, leaning against the desk for support. “Because he wouldn't take their money.”
Luca’s arms were suddenly around me. He pulled me against his chest, wrapping me in a fiercely protective embrace. I buried my face in his shirt, letting the grief and terror pour out of me.
He held me tight, resting his chin on the top of my head.
“What was in the trunk, Luca?” I cried into his chest. “What did Mark see?”
Luca pulled back slightly, his hands gripping my shoulders. His dark eyes were burning with a terrifying rage.
“I don’t know,” Luca said softly. “But Mark made a copy of that footage. And he hid it inside Marco’s dropped watch before Marco could realize he left it behind.”
Luca looked toward the bed, where my daughter was sleeping peacefully.
“Mark was smart,” Luca whispered. “If he hid the watch, he must have left a clue on how to find the car. We need to find out what he brought home that night.”
I wiped my eyes, a memory suddenly striking me like lightning.
“The baseball cap,” I gasped.
Luca frowned. “What?”
“Mark didn’t come home that night,” I explained, my words tumbling out fast. “But the police brought his personal effects from the crash. His wallet, his keys... and his favorite Cubs baseball cap.”
I looked at Luca.
“Sophie sleeps with it every night. She brought it with her in her little backpack.”
I ran to the bed and unzipped Sophie’s tiny pink backpack. Tucked beneath her pajamas was the faded, oil-stained blue baseball cap.
I carried it back to the desk. My hands were shaking as I ran my fingers along the inner sweatband of the hat.
I felt something stiff and crinkling.
I carefully used the letter opener to slice the stitching.
A small, folded piece of thick yellow paper slid out onto the desk.
Luca picked it up and unfolded it.
It was a receipt for a private storage locker at a facility on the South Side.
But it wasn't the location that made Luca’s breath catch.
It was the name printed at the top of the receipt.
The locker wasn’t rented in Mark’s name.
May you like
It was rented in the name of Eleanor Moretti.
Luca’s mother.
