Chapter 3 - THE SILVER LIGHTER ON THE MAHOGANY TABLE
Frank Moretti didn’t answer.
He sat frozen in his chair, staring at the tarnished silver lighter resting in his son’s palm. The proud, gentle mechanic I had come to know seemed to shrink, aging ten years in a matter of seconds.
“Answer me, Pop,” Luca said. The softness was gone. This was the voice of a syndicate boss addressing a threat.
“Luca, please,” Frank whispered, his voice cracking. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is!” Luca shouted, the sudden volume making me flinch. He slammed his hand on the mahogany table, rattling the crystal glasses. “My mother was gunned down in the street thirty years ago. Lorenzo Rossi ordered the hit. A week later, Rossi was found dead in an alley, his pockets emptied. The police called it a mugging. But you have his lighter.”
Luca’s chest heaved. “Did you kill Lorenzo Rossi, Dad?”
I pressed my hand to my mouth. Frank? The man who wouldn't let me kill a spider in the kitchen?
Frank squeezed his eyes shut. A single, heavy tear escaped, tracking down the deep wrinkles of his face.
“No, son,” Frank rasped. “I didn't kill Lorenzo Rossi.”
“Then how did you get this?”
Frank opened his eyes. He looked at Luca with a sorrow so profound it seemed to suffocate the air in the room.
“Because Lorenzo Rossi didn't order the hit on your mother, Luca,” Frank said quietly.
Luca froze.
“What?”
“Lorenzo didn't kill her,” Frank repeated, his hands gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white.
“He confessed to it!” Luca argued, his mind reeling. “Before he died, his own lieutenants said he ordered it!”
“His lieutenants lied,” Frank said softly. “They were paid to lie. The hit on your mother wasn't ordered by a rival family, Luca. It was ordered from inside.”
The blood drained from Luca’s face. He stumbled back a step, looking at his father as if he were a stranger.
“Inside?” Luca breathed. “By who?”
Before Frank could answer, the heavy wooden doors of the dining room swung open.
Marco, the head of security, stepped in. His face was uncharacteristically pale.
“Boss,” Marco interrupted, his voice tight. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have a massive problem.”
Luca didn't take his eyes off his father. “Not now, Marco.”
“Sir, it’s Vanessa,” Marco insisted, taking a step further into the room.
Luca finally turned his head. “Did she leave?”
“No, sir. She went to her suite to pack, like you ordered. But when my men went up to escort her out…” Marco swallowed hard. “She was dead, boss.”
I gasped aloud.
“Dead?” Luca demanded, the anger instantly evaporating into shock.
“She’s lying on the floor of her closet,” Marco said grimly. “It looks like a professional hit. Silenced weapon. Two shots to the chest.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. Vanessa Bellini, the woman who had tormented me all evening, had been murdered in this house while we were sitting downstairs.
“Lock down the estate,” Luca ordered instantly, pulling his weapon from his shoulder holster. “Nobody leaves. Not the staff, not the guards.”
He turned back to his father, who was staring at the doorway in absolute horror.
“We are not finished with this conversation,” Luca told Frank, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying intensity. He slipped the silver lighter into his jacket pocket.
“Hannah,” Luca said, turning to me. “Stay with my father. Do not let him out of your sight. Lock the doors from the inside.”
“Yes, sir,” I stammered, terrified.
Luca and Marco sprinted out of the dining room, the heavy doors slamming shut behind them.
I rushed to the doors and threw the heavy brass deadbolt, my hands shaking violently.
I turned back to Frank. He was still sitting at the table, looking incredibly frail.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said softly, walking back to him. “Are you okay?”
“They’re tying up loose ends,” Frank whispered, staring blankly at the empty chair where Vanessa had sat an hour ago.
“Who is tying up loose ends?” I asked, kneeling beside him.
Frank looked at me, his eyes filled with a desperate, frantic terror.
“Vanessa knew,” Frank breathed. “She found out this afternoon. That’s why she was so cruel to me tonight, Hannah. She wasn't just embarrassed by me. She was trying to force me to leave the estate.”
“Why?” I asked, confused.
“Because she found the lighter in my room,” Frank said, his voice shaking. “She cornered me in the hallway before dinner. She told me she knew what the lighter meant. She told me to leave the house tonight and never come back, or she would tell Luca the truth.”
My mind raced. “But if she knew the truth, why would someone kill her for it?”
“Because she didn't just threaten me,” Frank said, closing his eyes. “She threatened the man who actually gave me the lighter thirty years ago.”
“Who gave it to you, Mr. Moretti?” I asked softly.
Frank opened his eyes. He looked terrified.
“Luca’s uncle,” Frank whispered. “Victor.”
Victor Moretti. Luca’s uncle, and the second-in-command of the entire Moretti syndicate.
Before I could even process the name, the heavy brass doorknob of the dining room rattled violently.
Someone was trying to get in.
“Open the door, Frank,” a smooth, chilling voice called out from the hallway.
It was Victor Moretti.
Frank grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong.
“Hannah,” Frank whispered frantically, pulling me close. “Listen to me. Victor killed Luca’s mother thirty years ago to take control of the family finances. He framed Lorenzo Rossi. I found out, and Victor paid me to stay quiet. The lighter was proof. He gave it to me as a threat—a reminder that he could kill a boss, and he could easily kill a mechanic.”
The doorknob rattled harder. A heavy shoulder slammed against the wood.
“Frank!” Victor yelled, no longer pretending to be polite. “Open the door!”
“He killed Vanessa because she tried to blackmail him,” Frank continued rapidly, tears spilling down his face. “And now he’s here to kill me.”
Frank shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small, heavy iron key. It looked like an old-fashioned skeleton key.
He pressed it into my hand, closing my fingers tightly over it.
“Hannah, take this,” Frank ordered, his voice suddenly sharp and commanding. “Go to the old wine cellar. There’s a locked grate behind the third rack on the left. This key opens it. Inside is a lockbox with the original financial ledgers from thirty years ago. It proves Victor stole the money and ordered the hit.”
“Mr. Moretti, no!” I cried, trying to pull him up from the chair. “We have to hide! I’m not leaving you!”
“I’m an old man with a bad heart, sweetheart,” Frank smiled sadly, touching my cheek. “I can’t run. I’ve been hiding from the truth for thirty years. It’s time I finally stood up for my wife.”
The heavy mahogany doors splintered as Victor kicked them violently.
“Run, Hannah,” Frank commanded. “Give the ledgers to Luca. Tell him I’m sorry.”
He pushed me toward the servant’s entrance at the back of the dining room.
I didn't want to leave him, but the main doors were giving way. I turned and ran into the narrow servant’s hallway just as the heavy brass deadbolt snapped.
I looked back one last time.
Victor Moretti stepped into the dining room, holding a suppressed pistol.
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Frank didn't cower. He stood up from the table, straightening his back, and faced the man who had murdered his wife.
I didn't wait to see the rest. I turned and sprinted down the dark hallway toward the cellar, clutching the iron key as a muffled gunshot echoed through the mansion.
