Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Gold Watch
The silence in the dining room shattered under the weight of Luca’s words.
“The confession proving he was the one who ordered the hit on our mother.”
Leo staggered backward, his knee hitting the heavy mahogany chair. The glass of ginger ale on the table rattled.
“No,” Leo gasped, his face turning entirely pale. “No, that’s impossible. Mom died in a robbery. A mugging gone wrong. The police caught the guy!”
“The police caught a scapegoat,” Luca said, his voice raw, hollowed out by a secret he had carried for too long. “A low-level street thug paid to take the fall. I found the truth a year ago, Leo. Hidden inside the casing of Dad’s gold pocket watch.”
I stood paralyzed by the serving station.
Elena Moretti’s death twelve years ago was legendary in Chicago. She was beloved. Her murder had supposedly broken Antonio Moretti’s heart, turning him into the ruthless, unforgiving Don who terrorized the city until his own death last year.
“Why?” Leo demanded, tears springing to his eyes, his voice rising in panic. “Why would Dad kill her? He loved her!”
“He didn’t love her,” Luca snarled, the anger finally breaking through his grief. “He possessed her. She found out he was trafficking weapons through the family’s charitable foundation—the very foundation she built. She was going to leave him, Leo. She was going to take us and go to the FBI.”
Luca ran a shaking hand through his hair.
“He couldn't let her destroy his empire. So he arranged the mugging. He had her shot in an alley to silence her.”
Leo covered his face with his hands, letting out a broken, agonizing sob. The mother he adored, murdered by the father he had spent his life trying to please.
“I wanted to tell you,” Luca whispered, stepping toward his brother. “But you were drinking so heavily when Dad died. You were barely holding on. If I told you our father murdered our mother... it would have killed you, Leo.”
Leo looked up, his eyes bloodshot, his body trembling with rage.
“And now Vanessa has the proof,” Leo realized. “She has the letter.”
“Vanessa knows that if she hands that confession to the Commission, the other families will use it to tear the Moretti syndicate apart,” Luca said grimly. “A Don who murders his own innocent wife breaks the sacred code. The Commission will declare our entire bloodline tainted. They’ll strip us of everything and divide Chicago among themselves.”
“She won't go to the Commission,” Marco interrupted, his voice tight. “She’s going to her father. Arthur Bellini will use it to blackmail us into paying off his debt to the Russians.”
Luca’s expression hardened into a mask of pure ice.
“He’s not getting a dime,” Luca stated. “And he’s not keeping that letter.”
Luca turned to Marco. “Get the men. Lock down the city. I want every road, every airport, and every train station monitored. Vanessa doesn't leave Chicago.”
“Yes, Boss,” Marco said, sprinting out of the dining room.
Luca grabbed his suit jacket off the back of a chair. He looked at Leo.
“Stay here,” Luca commanded. “It’s not safe.”
“I’m going with you,” Leo refused instantly, wiping his face. “She’s my mother too, Luca. I am not sitting in this house while that woman leverages her murder.”
Luca studied his younger brother. He saw the fierce, unyielding determination in Leo’s eyes—a strength that hadn't been there two years ago.
Luca nodded once. “Get your coat.”
As the two brothers turned to leave, Luca stopped and looked at me.
“Hannah,” Luca said softly. “Go home. I’ll have a driver take you. My house is going to be a warzone by morning. Keep your mother safe.”
“Be careful, Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, clutching the envelope of cash he had given me.
“I always am,” Luca replied.
Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a black SUV, speeding away from the massive iron gates of the Moretti estate.
The rain had started to fall, slicking the dark Chicago streets.
I leaned my head against the cold glass, my mind spinning. I was just a maid. I needed to pay my mother’s medical bills. But somehow, I had just watched a mafia empire begin to crumble from the inside out.
The driver, a quiet, heavily tattooed man named Tony, kept his eyes on the road.
“Miss Collins,” Tony grunted, his voice gruff. “I’m supposed to drop you at your apartment in Logan Square. Is that right?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said quietly.
I looked down at the thick envelope in my lap. It was more money than I had made in a year. I could finally pay off the hospital. My mother wouldn't have to worry anymore.
But as we approached my neighborhood, a creeping sense of dread settled over my chest.
Tony turned the SUV onto my street.
He suddenly slammed on the brakes.
I jolted forward against my seatbelt. “What’s wrong?”
Tony didn't answer. He threw the SUV into reverse, his eyes wide with panic.
I looked out the windshield.
Parked directly in front of my small apartment building were three black, unmarked vans.
Standing on the sidewalk, holding a heavy assault rifle in the pouring rain, was a man wearing a red ski mask.
“Ambush,” Tony cursed violently in Italian.
Before Tony could punch the accelerator, a massive tow truck suddenly reversed out of an alleyway behind us, completely blocking our escape route.
We were boxed in.
Tony drew a handgun from his shoulder holster. “Get on the floor, Hannah! Now!”
I scrambled down behind the driver’s seat, my heart hammering wildly against my ribs.
Why were they here? I was just a maid!
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the car as a bullet pierced the passenger window. Tony fired back, the deafening roar of his weapon filling the small cabin.
“Drive! Just drive through them!” I screamed, covering my ears.
“I can’t!” Tony shouted back.
Suddenly, my passenger door was yanked open with terrifying force.
A man in a red mask grabbed me by the hair, hauling me out of the vehicle and throwing me onto the wet pavement. I screamed, scraping my hands and knees against the harsh concrete.
I looked up, terrified, as two more men dragged a bleeding Tony out of the driver’s seat.
A tall man in an expensive trench coat stepped out from behind the black vans. He didn't wear a mask.
He held an umbrella over his head, looking down at me with a cold, aristocratic disdain.
It was Arthur Bellini. Vanessa’s father.
“Mr. Bellini?” I gasped, shivering in the freezing rain. “What do you want with me? I don't know anything!”
Arthur smiled, a cruel, thin stretch of his lips.
“You know enough, little maid,” Arthur said smoothly. “My daughter tells me you’re quite special to the Moretti brothers. Special enough to earn a promotion tonight.”
“Please,” I begged, crying now. “My mother is sick upstairs. She needs me.”
Arthur looked up at my apartment building.
“I know she’s sick, Hannah,” Arthur said softly. “That’s why I brought her down to see you.”
He snapped his fingers.
The back doors of one of the black vans swung open.
My stomach plummeted.
Two masked men dragged a fragile, terrified woman out of the van. She was wearing her nightgown, her face pale, an oxygen tube trailing uselessly behind her.
“Mom!” I screamed, trying to scramble toward her.
A masked man kicked me hard in the ribs, knocking me back to the pavement. I gasped, the air leaving my lungs in a painful rush.
“Leave her alone!” I sobbed, clutching my side.
Arthur crouched down in front of me, the rain dripping from his umbrella onto my face.
“You see, Hannah,” Arthur explained, his voice conversational, “Luca Moretti is a very dangerous man. If I try to negotiate with him using his father’s confession, he will simply kill me and take the letter.”
He grabbed my chin roughly, forcing me to look at him.
“But if I offer him a trade,” Arthur smiled. “His mother’s murderer’s confession... for the life of the innocent maid and her dying mother... Luca’s nobility will force his hand. He will pay my debt to the Russians to buy your lives, and he will let me destroy his family’s reputation in peace.”
Arthur stood up, wiping his hand on his trench coat.
“Put them in the van,” Arthur ordered his men.
As they dragged me toward the dark vehicle, I looked frantically down the street, praying for a miracle.
And then I saw it.
Lying in the gutter, reflecting the dim light of a streetlamp, was the thick envelope of cash Luca had given me.
But it wasn't just cash.
Spilling out of the torn envelope, completely unnoticed by Arthur’s men, was a small, heavy bronze medallion.
Leo’s two-year sobriety chip.
He had slipped it into my envelope before I left the mansion.
I stared at it as the van doors slammed shut, plunging me and my mother into absolute darkness.
Leo had given me his most prized possession.
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And when he realized it was missing, the Moretti brothers wouldn't just come looking for the letter.
They were going to come looking for me.
