Chapter 2 - THE TRUTH ABOUT YOUR MOTHER
The dining room went completely silent.
Forty-six guests held their breath.
I stood beside Antonio’s chair, the spilled champagne still freezing against my skin, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Luca Moretti didn't yell. He didn't pull a weapon.
He just stared at Robert Bellini.
“My mother died in a car accident when I was four,” Luca said. His voice was dangerously calm. “My father died ten years later.”
“That’s what the police report said,” Robert replied, wiping his brow with a linen napkin. “That’s what your father paid them to say.”
Vanessa sobbed, covering her face.
Luca didn’t look at her. He kept his eyes on Robert.
“Explain.”
“Not here, Luca,” Robert whispered, gesturing to the wide-eyed guests. “Please. In the study.”
“No,” Antonio’s hands moved violently.
I swallowed hard, translating the grandfather’s frantic signs.
“Mr. Moretti says no,” I said, my voice shaking but clear. “He says Robert is lying. He says to make him empty his pockets.”
Robert’s head snapped toward me. “Shut up, you little brat.”
Luca stepped between Robert and me.
“Empty your pockets, Robert.”
“Luca, be reasonable—”
“Empty them.”
Robert’s hands trembled as he reached into his tuxedo jacket. He pulled out a leather wallet, a set of keys, and a silver money clip.
“The inside pocket,” Antonio signed.
I translated.
Robert closed his eyes. He reached into his inner breast pocket and pulled out a small, faded train ticket.
It was yellowed with age.
Luca took it. He read the faded ink.
“Union Station to Montreal. Dated October 14th, 2004.” Luca looked up. “That’s the night my father died.”
“He bought it for me,” Robert said quickly. “He wanted me to take Vanessa and leave Chicago. He said things were getting too dangerous.”
Antonio slammed his fist on the table again.
He pointed at the ticket, then at Vanessa, and signed a single, sharp motion.
“He says... the ticket wasn’t for Robert,” I translated, my voice dropping to a whisper. “It was for your mother.”
Luca froze.
He looked at the date on the ticket again.
“My mother died in 1994,” Luca said. “Ten years before this ticket was printed.”
“She didn't die in 1994,” Vanessa cried out, her flawless makeup ruined. “Luca, she ran away! My father helped her hide!”
The room spun.
The mother Luca had mourned for thirty years hadn't died in a car crash. She had abandoned him.
But Antonio was shaking his head frantically. He grabbed my wrist, his old fingers digging into my skin.
He signed three words.
I looked at Luca, terrified to speak.
May you like
“Tell me, Emily,” Luca commanded softly.
“He says... she didn't run away. She was hiding in the basement.”
