Chapter 2 - THE TRASH BIN IN THE BRIDAL SUITE
The phone felt heavy in Luca’s hand.
He didn't shout. He didn't swear.
But the cold, terrifying silence that settled over him made the air in the empty hallway feel suffocating.
He pressed the phone closer to his ear, listening to his nineteen-year-old daughter sobbing softly at an airport gate thirty miles away.
"Mia," he said, his voice dropping to a low, absolute calm. "Do not move from where you are sitting."
"Dad, I just want to go back to Boston."
"You are not going to Boston. You are staying right there."
He heard her take a shaky breath. "She doesn't want me there, Dad. She said I don't fit into your new life."
Luca’s jaw locked.
"Vanessa does not speak for me. She will never speak for me again."
He didn't wait for Mia to argue.
He immediately dialed his head of security.
"Daniel. Take the armored SUV to O'Hare. Terminal Three. Find Mia. Do not let her out of your sight, and bring her home."
"Understood, Boss," Daniel replied instantly. "And Miss Bellini?"
Luca looked toward the heavy oak doors of the dining room.
He could hear the faint sound of classical music. The laughter of his guests. The clinking of crystal champagne flutes.
"Leave Vanessa to me," Luca said.
He ended the call.
But he didn't walk back into the dining room.
Instead, he turned down the long, carpeted corridor toward the staff quarters.
I was sitting on a hard wooden chair in the kitchen, pressing a fresh ice pack against my aching ribs.
The pain was a dull, relentless throbbing that made it hard to catch my breath.
Mrs. Carter, the head housekeeper, was wrapping a tight elastic bandage around my waist over my undershirt.
"You shouldn't have come back to work, Rachel," she scolded gently. "You have two cracked ribs. You need rest, not a five-hour serving shift."
"I need the money, Mrs. Carter," I whispered, wincing as she pulled the bandage tight. "My dad's rent is due."
Before she could reply, the heavy swinging doors of the kitchen opened.
Luca Moretti walked in.
Mrs. Carter immediately stepped back, her eyes wide.
"Mr. Moretti. I was just—"
"It's fine, Mrs. Carter," Luca said quietly. "Could you give us a moment?"
The housekeeper nodded and hurried out of the kitchen.
I immediately tried to stand up, pulling my black uniform apron back over my head.
"Don't stand," Luca said, crossing the room.
He pulled up a chair and sat directly across from me.
Without his suit jacket, he looked less like a billionaire executive and more like the dangerous, uncompromising man the newspapers whispered about.
"Rachel," he said, his dark eyes studying my pale face. "I just spoke to my daughter."
My heart skipped a beat. "Is she okay, sir?"
"She's at the airport. My men are bringing her back."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "She told me what Vanessa offered her. The tuition money. The demand that she disown me."
I stared at the floor, shame burning in my cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Moretti. I didn't want to cause trouble. I just couldn't listen to her toast."
"You didn't cause trouble. You stopped me from making the biggest mistake of my life."
I looked up.
His expression was unreadable, but there was a fierce, protective gratitude in his eyes.
"Mia said she brought a gift for me," Luca continued. "Do you know what she did with it?"
I thought back to the afternoon.
"She had it in her hands when Vanessa cornered her in the guest room. When Mia left, she didn't have it anymore."
Luca stood up. "Take me to that room."
I slowly got to my feet, gritting my teeth against the pain in my side.
I led him up the back service stairs, moving as quickly as my bruised ribs would allow.
The guest wing was completely silent.
I opened the door to the room Mia had occupied for less than an hour.
The bed was perfectly made. The dresser was empty.
Luca walked to the center of the room, scanning the pristine surfaces.
"Vanessa's staff cleaned it immediately," I said softly.
But Luca walked directly to the small wastebasket tucked beneath the mahogany writing desk.
He reached inside and pulled out a small, crushed velvet box.
He opened it.
Inside lay a delicate silver rosary.
It belonged to Luca's late mother. It was the only thing she had left for him, and he had given it to Mia when she was baptized.
Vanessa had deliberately taken a pair of heavy scissors and cut the silver chain into three jagged pieces before throwing it in the trash.
Luca stared at the ruined heirloom.
The silence in the room was terrifying.
I took a step back, giving him space, but as I did, my shoe bumped against the wastebasket.
A crumpled piece of paper spilled out onto the carpet.
I bent down to pick it up, intending to throw it back away.
But when I smoothed out the heavy, expensive paper, my breath caught in my throat.
It was a photograph.
It wasn't a picture of Mia. Or Luca. Or Vanessa.
It was a surveillance photograph of a man walking out of a small grocery store on the South Side of Chicago.
Someone had taken a thick red marker and drawn a heavy circle around his face.
And on the back of the photograph, written in Vanessa's elegant, sloping handwriting, were four terrifying words.
He dies before midnight.
My hands began to shake violently.
May you like
Because the man in the photograph wasn't a stranger.
He was my father.
