Chapter 8 - THE LETTERS IN THE FALSE BOTTOM
The house was so quiet it felt like holding your breath underwater.
The heavy oak doors of the mansion were locked. The Bellini family’s SUV was gone, their taillights fading into the Chicago night forever.
Inside the massive living room, a fire cracked gently in the stone fireplace.
Luca sat on the large leather sofa, his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. He had taken off his suit jacket, and his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. He looked ten years older than he had that morning.
Emma was curled up beside him, her head resting on his thigh, completely exhausted by the tears and the screaming. She was clutching her tape-repaired photograph of her mother and the stack of blue envelopes to her chest.
Eleanor sat in the armchair across from them. She had finally stopped crying, but her eyes were red and swollen. She was holding the heavy silver charm bracelet in her lap, rubbing her thumb over the emerald birthstone.
I stood by the archway, holding a silver tray with hot tea.
I didn’t know if I was supposed to leave, but nobody told me to go. So I stayed.
“I failed you,” Luca whispered into the quiet room. He didn’t look up. “Both of you.”
Eleanor looked at him, her expression softening. “Luca, you were grieving. Grief makes us blind.”
“I let a stranger into this house,” Luca said, his voice thick with self-hatred. “I let her hurt my daughter. I let her banish you. I was so desperate to feel something other than the pain of losing Nora that I didn't even see what she was doing.”
He lifted his head and looked at Eleanor.
“I’m so sorry, Eleanor. I broke my promise to you.”
Eleanor slowly stood up. She walked over to the sofa and sat down on the other side of Luca. She placed her frail, wrinkled hand over his large, scarred one.
“You didn’t break your promise,” she said softly. “You kept it tonight. You chose us.”
Luca looked down at his daughter. Emma was fighting to keep her eyes open.
“Daddy?” she mumbled sleepily.
“Yes, baby?”
“Can I read my first letter now?”
Luca smiled, a genuine, heartbreaking smile. “Yes, sweetheart. You can read it.”
Emma sat up and carefully untied the white ribbon holding the envelopes together. She took the top one—the one marked for her eleventh birthday, which was only two weeks away.
She opened the flap and pulled out a single sheet of pale blue stationery.
The room was completely silent as Emma read her mother’s words.
I watched the little girl’s eyes scan the page. At first, her brow furrowed. Then, her lips parted in surprise. Finally, a massive, glowing smile spread across her face.
She hugged the letter to her chest.
“What did she say, baby?” Luca asked gently.
Emma looked up, her eyes shining.
“She said she loves me. She said she’s proud of me. And she said…” Emma paused, looking over at Eleanor. “She said Grandma makes the best peach cobbler in the world, and I have to make sure Daddy eats his vegetables.”
Luca let out a wet, choked laugh. He pulled Emma into his arms and kissed the top of her head.
“I will, baby. I promise.”
Eleanor smiled through her tears. “I brought the cobbler inside, you know. It’s sitting in the kitchen.”
Luca looked up, wiping his eyes. “Then we should eat it.”
The tension in the room broke like a fever. For the first time in months, the mansion didn't feel like a museum, or a battlefield. It felt like a home.
I hurried to the kitchen to fetch the plates.
When I returned, the three of them were sitting on the floor around the coffee table. Luca Moretti, the feared mafia boss, was cutting a slice of homemade peach cobbler in his wrinkled dress shirt.
He handed the first plate to Eleanor.
“You’re staying the night,” Luca said to her. It wasn’t a request.
“I don’t have my things, Luca,” Eleanor protested mildly.
“Claire will set up the guest room. You can wear one of my shirts. You are not going back to an empty apartment tonight.” He looked her in the eyes. “You’re family.”
Eleanor nodded, her chin trembling. “Thank you, Luca.”
As they ate, Emma finally surrendered to her exhaustion. She fell asleep right there on the rug, her head resting on her grandmother’s lap, one hand gripping her mother’s letter.
Luca watched them for a long time.
Then, he stood up and walked over to me.
“Claire,” he said softly.
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“I need you to come to my study in the morning. Nine sharp.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Did I do something wrong, sir?”
Luca shook his head. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were clear.
“No. You did everything right today. But there is one more thing we need to discuss.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. He handed it to me.
“Vanessa left her coat in the hallway,” Luca said quietly. “I checked the pockets before I threw it in the trash. I found this.”
I unfolded the paper.
It was a receipt.
From a private investigator.
And at the bottom of the receipt, under the ‘Subject of Inquiry’ line, was my name.
Claire Dawson.
Underneath my name was a note written in red pen: Subject's mother is in Saint Jude’s Hospital. Over $40,000 in medical debt. Highly vulnerable.
I stopped breathing. The paper slipped from my fingers.
May you like
Luca looked at me, his expression unreadable.
“We’ll talk tomorrow, Claire. Goodnight.”
