Chapter 6 - THE INK IN THE LIBRARY
Luca’s footsteps echoed down the long marble corridor, fading as he ran toward the East Wing where the family library was located.
I stood in the ruined banquet hall, the silence rushing back in to fill the space he left behind.
Frank Moretti let out a long, ragged exhale. He slumped forward, resting his forehead against the cool mahogany table. He looked utterly defeated.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, stepping closer to him. “I had to tell him. He was never going to stop asking.”
Frank didn’t look up. “You don’t understand what you’ve done, Natalie,” he said, his voice muffled against the wood. “You’ve opened a grave that was meant to stay sealed forever.”
“He deserves the truth about his mother,” I said gently, placing a hand on his trembling shoulder.
“The truth doesn’t set you free in this world, sweetheart,” Frank replied, finally lifting his head. His eyes were red-rimmed and haunted. “The truth gets you killed.”
Before I could ask what he meant, heavy, slow footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Luca walked back into the banquet hall.
He looked like a ghost.
His broad shoulders, usually so squared and imposing, were slumped. In his right hand, he held a piece of yellowed, brittle stationery. The seal had been broken.
He walked slowly toward the table, completely ignoring the broken glass and spilled wine at his feet. He stopped a few feet away from his father.
“You told me she took the pills by accident,” Luca said. His voice was completely devoid of emotion. It was flat, dead.
Frank closed his eyes, bracing himself for the impact.
“You told me she mixed her sleeping medication with a glass of wine,” Luca continued, staring at the paper in his hand. “You told me she loved us, and that she would never leave us on purpose.”
“She did love you, Luca,” Frank cried, his voice breaking. “She loved you more than anything in the world.”
“Then why did she write this?” Luca asked, his voice suddenly cracking. He held up the letter. His hand was shaking so badly the paper rustled loudly in the quiet room.
He didn’t wait for his father to answer. Luca looked down at the faded ink and began to read aloud.
“‘My dearest Frank. By the time you find this, it will be over. I cannot live with the guilt of what I have done, and I cannot allow my sins to destroy our son’s future. You were right. They found out about the money. They found out about the leak. The Feds are preparing the indictments right now.’”
I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand.
The Feds.
Nineteen years ago, the Moretti family had been hit by a massive, coordinated FBI raid. It was a legendary bust that nearly dismantled their entire empire. Half of Luca’s uncles went to federal prison. The family had always believed they were betrayed by a rival mob faction.
Luca continued reading, his voice thick with tears.
“‘I never meant to hurt the family, Frank. I only gave the agent the shipping ledgers because he threatened to arrest Luca on that weapons charge. I was trying to protect our boy. But the agent lied to me. He took the ledgers and used them to build the RICO case against your brothers. I sold out our family, Frank. I am the rat.’”
Luca stopped reading. He slowly lowered the letter.
The silence in the room was absolute.
Isabella Moretti, the beloved matriarch, the woman whose portrait hung in the grand foyer, had been an FBI informant. She had traded her family’s freedom to save her teenage son from a minor weapons charge. And when she realized she had been played, the guilt drove her to take her own life.
“You knew,” Luca whispered, staring at his father. “You found her body. You found the letter. And you hid it.”
Frank nodded slowly, tears streaming down his face. “If the family found out she was the informant… they would have erased her memory. They would have desecrated her grave. My brothers would have looked at you, her son, with suspicion for the rest of your life. I couldn't let them take her dignity, Luca. And I couldn't let them take you.”
“So you took the blame,” Luca realized, the horrifying truth dawning on him.
Nineteen years ago, immediately following the raids, Frank Moretti had gone on a legendary, destructive drinking binge. He had stumbled around the city, acting sloppy, talking too loud. The family assumed Frank, in a drunken stupor, had accidentally leaked the ledgers. They stripped him of his power. They humiliated him. They forced him to step down, allowing a young, seventeen-year-old Luca to take the reins prematurely.
Frank had let his entire family hate him. He had let his own son view him as a weak, pathetic drunk, just to protect his wife’s reputation.
“You ruined your own life to protect hers,” Luca said, his voice breaking into a sob. He dropped the letter onto the table and fell to his knees in front of his father’s chair.
Luca buried his face in his father’s lap, crying like a child. Frank gently placed a trembling hand on his son’s dark hair, stroking it softly.
“I would do it a thousand times over, my boy,” Frank whispered, kissing the top of Luca’s head. “A thousand times, just to keep you safe.”
I stood in the corner, tears freely rolling down my cheeks. I had never witnessed such a profound act of sacrificial love.
But then, a cold realization struck me.
Vanessa.
How did Vanessa know about the necklace? How did she know about the secret Frank was keeping?
“Mr. Moretti,” I said softly, wiping my eyes. Both men looked up at me. “How did Vanessa know? If you hid the letter nineteen years ago, how did she know what to engrave on the necklace to torture you?”
Frank’s face hardened. He gently pushed Luca away and stood up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tarnished silver lighter.
“Because of this,” Frank said, setting the lighter on the table.
Luca stood up, wiping his eyes. He looked at the lighter. “What is that?”
“The night your mother died,” Frank said, his voice steadying with a cold, hard anger, “I found this lighter on her nightstand, right next to the empty pill bottle. It didn’t belong to her.”
Frank turned the lighter over. There was a crest engraved on the side. An FBI insignia, accompanied by a set of initials: T.B.
“The FBI agent who manipulated your mother into treason,” Frank said, looking directly at Luca, “the man who drove her to suicide… his name was Agent Thomas Bellini.”
May you like
Luca stopped breathing.
“He was Vanessa’s father,” Frank whispered.
