Chapter 8 - The Russian Deadline
The silver soccer charm rested in Luca’s palm, gleaming under the harsh hospital lights. It was a terrifyingly specific threat. They had breached the Moretti mansion, bypassed the security, and taken an item directly from Daniel’s room.
They could reach the boy.
Isabella grabbed Daniel tighter on the couch, pulling his sleeping body against her chest. “We have to run, Luca. We have to take him and disappear.”
“We can’t run from Volkov, Izzy,” Luca said, his voice heavy with the reality of their world. “He has eyes in every airport, every train station. If we run, we look weak, and he hunts us down.”
“So we pay him!” Isabella pleaded. “Give him the ten million!”
“I don't have ten million in liquid cash,” Luca admitted, the shame evident on his face. “Mother controlled the offshore accounts. When I threw the signet ring into the woods, I locked us out of the reserves. We’re cash-poor until the legitimate businesses turn a profit next quarter.”
Answer one. Open two.
Luca had sacrificed the family’s dirty money to save my mother, but in doing so, he had stripped himself of the very funds needed to save his son.
I looked at the silver charm. Then, a thought struck me.
“What about Vanessa?” I asked.
Luca and Isabella looked at me.
“Vanessa’s father runs the clinic,” I continued, my mind racing. “Victor gave Vanessa a two-million-dollar wire transfer to fake Isabella’s payoff. Vanessa forged the document, but the money had to go somewhere. Victor was trying to pay off his debt to Volkov, right?”
Luca’s eyes widened. “Victor didn't send the money offshore. He transferred it to Vanessa’s account to hide it from Mother, intending to use it as a down payment for Volkov.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Vanessa still has the two million.”
“It’s not ten,” Isabella pointed out, “but it’s a start.”
Luca grabbed his coat. “I’m going back to the mansion. Vanessa is locked in the guest room. I’ll make her transfer the funds.”
“I’m coming with you,” I said immediately.
“No, Hannah. Stay here with Izzy and Daniel. You’re safe in the hospital.”
“Vanessa hates me,” I reminded him. “She tried to ruin my life. She nearly killed my mother. If you go in there as the angry ex-fiancé, she’ll stall. Let me talk to her. She thinks I’m just a maid. She won't expect me to know how to break her.”
Luca considered it, then nodded. “Let’s go.”
We left Isabella and Daniel under the protection of Luca’s four best guards. We drove back to the Moretti mansion, the city waking up to a gray, damp morning.
The estate looked like a war zone. The front gates were smashed. Bullet holes riddled the limestone pillars. The Russian strike team had hit hard and fast, leaving a message and vanishing.
We walked into the house. The remaining guards were tense, heavily armed.
Luca led me upstairs to the second-floor guest room. He unlocked the door.
Vanessa was sitting on the edge of the bed, her red evening gown torn, her makeup smeared. She looked up, her eyes wide with terror when she saw Luca, but her expression twisted into a sneer when she saw me.
“Brought the help to gloat?” Vanessa spat.
“I brought her to give you a way out,” Luca said coldly. “Victor owes Volkov ten million. Volkov wants it in 24 hours. I need the two million Victor transferred to you.”
Vanessa laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Are you crazy? That money is my severance package, Luca. Victor promised it to me for putting up with your brat of a son.”
I felt a surge of pure, unfiltered anger. I stepped past Luca, walking directly up to Vanessa.
“You’re going to transfer the money, Vanessa,” I said evenly.
She stood up, trying to tower over me. “Or what, Hannah? You’ll dust my room?”
I didn't blink. “Or I will testify.”
Vanessa paused.
“I’ll testify that you forged a bank document to facilitate a murder-for-hire,” I said, keeping my voice low and steady. “I’ll testify that you and your father kidnapped a cancer patient. I’ll testify that you aided Victor Moretti in attempting to assassinate Isabella Moretti.”
Vanessa swallowed hard, the bravado slipping.
“You have no proof,” she whispered.
“I have the visitor’s pass with Isabella’s blood on it,” I countered. “I have my mother’s medical records showing the illegal transfer. And I have Luca’s lawyers, who will ensure you spend the rest of your life in a federal penitentiary.”
I leaned in closer.
“Transfer the two million. Now. And maybe Luca lets you walk out the front door instead of handing you over to the FBI.”
Vanessa looked at Luca. He stood silently, letting me handle it.
Her shoulders slumped. She was broken.
She pulled her phone from her clutch and opened her banking app. With shaking fingers, she authorized the transfer back to Luca’s primary account.
“It’s done,” she whispered, tears of defeat spilling over.
Luca checked his phone. The notification chimed.
“Get out of my house,” Luca told her.
Vanessa didn't say a word. She grabbed her coat and practically ran out the door.
“That’s two million,” I sighed, feeling the adrenaline crash. “But we’re still short eight.”
Luca rubbed his face, exhausted. “Volkov won't take partial payment. He’s a businessman. If I don't have the full ten, he’ll take Daniel to make an example of us.”
I looked around the luxurious guest room, my eyes landing on an old family portrait hanging on the wall. It was Luca’s father, holding a young Luca and Victor.
“Wait,” I said.
I walked over to the painting. I examined the frame.
“Luca,” I said slowly. “Your father left the empire to Daniel. The money, the businesses. But what about the physical assets?”
Luca frowned. “The houses, the cars… yes, they’re in the trust for Daniel.”
“And the art?” I asked, pointing to the painting.
Luca stepped forward. “My father was a collector. He had millions in art locked in the basement vault.”
Answer one. Open two.
“We don't need cash,” I said, my heart soaring. “We can pay Volkov in art.”
Luca’s eyes lit up with hope. “Hannah, you’re a genius.”
We ran down to the basement vault. Luca entered the code. The heavy steel door swung open.
But the hope died instantly in my chest.
The vault was completely empty.
Every painting, every sculpture, every piece of jewelry was gone.
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And standing in the center of the empty room, holding a single, rolled-up canvas, was Eleanor Moretti.
TITLE: The Art of Betrayal
