Chapter 8
The elevator ride to the penthouse executive suite felt like ascending to an execution.
The glass elevator shot up the side of the skyscraper, the city lights of Chicago falling away beneath us. The only sound was the low hum of the cables. Luca stood in the center, his hand resting casually near his waistband where the pistol was concealed. Michael stood beside him, clutching the wooden box of evidence.
I stood slightly behind them, my heart hammering against my ribs. I was a housemaid. An hour ago, my biggest worry was a broken champagne glass. Now, I was walking into a war.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open to the sixty-fourth floor.
The executive suite was entirely dark except for the warm, golden glow spilling from Luca’s private office at the end of the hall.
We walked silently down the plush carpet. As we neared the open double doors, we heard the frantic clicking of a digital keypad, followed by a heavy metallic thud.
“Got it,” Dominic’s greedy voice echoed.
We stepped into the doorway.
The office was a mess. Drawers were pulled out, files thrown on the floor. Dominic Bellini stood in front of the massive wall safe, pulling out thick stacks of legal deeds. Vanessa stood beside him, clutching her silk purse, looking completely panicked.
“Hurry up, Dad,” Vanessa hissed, looking over her shoulder. “If security checks the logs—”
“Security is already off for the night, sweetheart,” Luca said.
Vanessa screamed and dropped her purse.
Dominic spun around, dropping a stack of deeds. His face went chalk-white when he saw the three of us blocking the exit.
Luca stepped into the room. He didn’t draw his weapon. He didn’t need to. The sheer, overwhelming aura of violence rolling off him was enough to make Dominic back up against the safe.
“Put them back,” Luca said quietly.
Dominic swallowed hard, his eyes darting toward the window, looking for an escape that didn’t exist. “Luca. My boy. Let’s be reasonable. The wedding is off. Vanessa deserves a severance for the humiliation. A few properties—”
“Put. Them. Back,” Luca repeated, his voice dropping an octave.
Dominic’s hands shook as he tossed the deeds back into the safe.
Vanessa pressed herself against the mahogany desk, weeping. “Luca, please! You humiliated us tonight! You chose a maid and a bastard over your own fiancée! We are just taking what is owed to us!”
Michael stepped forward. He placed the small wooden box on the edge of Luca’s desk.
“You aren’t owed anything, Vanessa,” Michael said, his voice remarkably steady.
Vanessa sneered at him. “Shut up, you stray. You don’t belong here.”
“Actually, he belongs here more than anyone,” I said, stepping out from behind Luca.
Vanessa looked at me, her eyes flashing with pure venom. “You? What are you even doing here, Emily? Who let the help into the penthouse?”
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t look at the floor. I walked right up to the desk and pulled the photograph of Antonio and Rosa out of the box. I placed it face up on the polished wood.
“Take a good look, Vanessa,” I said.
Vanessa frowned. She hesitantly leaned forward and looked at the photo. “Who is that woman with Antonio?”
“That’s Rosa Carter,” Michael said. “My biological mother. Emily’s grandmother.”
Vanessa blinked, confused. “I don’t care who she is.”
“You should,” Luca said, stepping up beside me. “Because she’s the woman your father assaulted in Naples.”
Vanessa froze. She slowly turned to look at her father.
Dominic’s face twisted into a snarl. “Don’t listen to them, Vanessa! They’re lying to turn you against me!”
“Read the police report, Vanessa,” Luca said, tossing the yellowed carbon copy onto the desk next to the photo. “Domenico Bellinacci. 1978. Wanted for assault and battery. He fled to Chicago to escape prison.”
Vanessa’s hands trembled as she picked up the police report. She read the name. She read the description of the crime. The paper shook so violently it made a rustling sound in the quiet room.
“Dad?” Vanessa whispered, her voice breaking. “You told me Antonio ruined our family. You told me he stole Michael from us out of spite.”
“He did!” Dominic shouted, pointing a shaking finger at Michael. “He stole my son!”
“I’m not your son,” Michael spat, tears of pure hatred filling his eyes. “I am Antonio Moretti’s son. You were just the monster who burned me on radiators when I cried!”
Michael ripped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeve, exposing the massive burn scar on his forearm.
Vanessa stared at the scar. She remembered.
“My God,” Vanessa whispered, backing away from her father. “When I was little... you used to tell me if I misbehaved, I would get the radiator treatment. I thought it was just a story.”
“Vanessa, listen to me—” Dominic pleaded, reaching for her.
“Don’t touch me!” she screamed, slapping his hand away.
The realization hit her like a physical blow. Her entire life, her hatred of the Moretti family, her viciousness toward Michael—it had all been built on her father’s lies. She had spent years trying to destroy a man who had actually rescued her half-brother from the monster she lived with.
Vanessa crumpled to the floor, sobbing hysterically, burying her face in her hands.
Dominic looked at his daughter, then at Luca. He realized he had nothing left. No leverage. No family. No money.
In a sudden, desperate panic, Dominic lunged for a heavy bronze letter opener sitting on the desk.
He didn’t go for Luca. He went for me.
“You ruined this!” Dominic roared, raising the blade toward my chest.
Before I could even scream, a gunshot deafened the room.
The bronze letter opener shattered in Dominic’s hand.
Dominic screamed in agony, clutching his bleeding, stinging fingers, and dropped to his knees.
Luca stood three feet away, his pistol aimed dead center at Dominic’s forehead. A thin wisp of smoke curled from the barrel.
May you like
“Emily,” Luca said, his eyes never leaving Dominic. “Call Marcus. Tell him to bring the police up. Tell them we have a man confessing to a twenty-five-year-old kidnapping and attempted assault.”
I picked up the phone on the desk. My hands were shaking, but my voice was completely steady.
