Chapter 3 - THE RED COAT IN THE CLOSET
The drive back to the mansion felt like plunging into a nightmare.
The silence inside the SUV was suffocating. Luca stared out the window, the silver pocket watch gripped so tightly in his fist that his knuckles were white. The revelation at the cemetery had stripped away the polished exterior of the mafia boss, leaving behind a son who had just realized his father’s grave had been violated by the woman he was about to marry.
Teresa sat between Margaret and me, holding her sister’s hand as if she feared Margaret would vanish into thin air.
“She pawned his cufflinks,” Teresa whispered, tears spilling down her wrinkled cheeks. “Antonio loved those. He wore them to our silver anniversary.”
“She’s a scavenger, Resa,” Margaret said softly, her eyes full of venom. “The Bellini family always has been. Antonio knew it. He just couldn't prove it in time.”
Luca finally turned his head. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.
“Hannah. Are you absolutely certain about the coat?”
I swallowed hard, my heart racing. “Yes, sir. It’s a heavy wool coat, deep crimson. It belonged to your father, didn't it? It has a torn silk lining on the inside left pocket.”
Luca’s expression darkened. “He was wearing that coat the night he had his final heart attack in the study. The paramedics took it off him. We never found it after that.”
“Vanessa had it,” I said quietly. “It’s pushed all the way to the back of her winter wardrobe. She hid it inside a plastic dry-cleaning bag.”
“Why would she keep it?” Margaret asked, frowning. “If she stole it from a dying man, why not destroy it?”
“Because there’s something inside it she hasn't been able to figure out,” Luca said coldly.
When the SUV pulled up to the grand entrance of the Moretti estate, the front doors were already wide open. The engagement dinner guests were completely gone, the driveway empty of their luxury cars.
But the house wasn't quiet.
Marco, the head of security, was standing at the bottom of the grand staircase, his arms crossed over his massive chest. At the top of the stairs stood Vanessa.
She had changed out of her red silk gown and was wearing a black cashmere sweater and trousers. Two large leather suitcases sat at her feet.
“I am leaving,” Vanessa snapped at Marco. “And if you try to stop me, my father will have you buried under this driveway.”
“Nobody is leaving,” Luca’s voice echoed through the grand foyer.
Vanessa froze. She looked down at us, her eyes widening as she saw Margaret standing beside Teresa.
“You brought her here?” Vanessa sneered, gripping the banister. “Are we having a family reunion now? Should we invite the rest of the neighborhood lunatics?”
Luca didn’t engage with her insults. He bypassed her completely, taking the stairs two at a time. “Marco. Lock the front doors. No one gets in or out.”
“Luca, what are you doing?” Vanessa demanded, stepping in front of him.
He didn't even look at her. He shoved past her, marching straight down the long hallway toward the master suite.
“Luca! You can’t go in there!” Vanessa screamed, panic finally cracking her voice. She abandoned her suitcases and ran after him.
I hurried up the stairs, keeping close to Teresa and Margaret. We reached the doorway of the bedroom just as Luca threw open the massive walk-in closet.
Clothes were thrown everywhere. Hangers were scattered across the floor. Vanessa had been frantically searching for something before she packed.
Luca ignored the mess. He walked straight to the back of the closet, ripped away a row of designer dresses, and pulled out a plastic dry-cleaning bag.
Inside was the heavy, crimson wool coat.
“No!” Vanessa shrieked. She lunged forward, trying to rip the coat from his hands.
Luca easily caught her wrists, shoving her backward so hard she tripped over a stray shoe and fell to the carpet.
“My father died wearing this,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, lethal register. “He was gasping for air on the floor of his study, and you took his coat.”
“I was trying to help him!” she cried, scooting backward. “He took it off! I was just holding it for him!”
“And you kept it for four years because you're sentimental?” Luca sneered.
He threw the coat onto the massive king-sized bed. He immediately began checking the pockets. Left. Right. The breast pocket.
Nothing.
He turned the coat inside out. I watched carefully, my eyes drawn to the tear in the silk lining I had noticed while cleaning.
“Mr. Moretti,” I pointed, my hand trembling. “The lining.”
Luca looked. The inside pocket was completely torn open, but there was a strange, heavy lump resting at the very bottom hem of the coat, trapped between the wool and the silk.
Luca reached in through the tear.
He pulled out a small, velvet jewelry box.
Vanessa let out a strangled sob. “Give it to me. It’s mine!”
Luca ignored her. He opened the box.
Inside sat an incredibly intricate, silver charm bracelet. It was heavily oxidized, looking ancient. But as Luca held it up to the light, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“This isn't my father’s,” Luca murmured. “This is women’s jewelry.”
“It’s a Bellini heirloom!” Vanessa yelled, scrambling to her feet. “It belongs to my mother! He stole it from us!”
But Teresa suddenly let go of my arm.
She walked slowly into the bedroom, her eyes fixed on the silver bracelet dangling from her son’s fingers.
“Antonio didn't steal that,” Teresa said softly.
Luca turned to his mother. “You recognize this?”
Teresa nodded. She reached out and touched one of the small, silver charms. It was shaped like a tiny dove.
“It’s not a bracelet,” she whispered. “It’s a map.”
Vanessa’s face went entirely white.
“A map to what?” Luca asked.
“Before your father died,” Teresa explained, her voice remarkably steady, “he told me that if the Bellini family ever tried to take this house, he had hidden a confession. A document that proves everything Don Bellini has ever done to destroy our family.”
Luca stared at the bracelet. “Where is it?”
Teresa gently turned the silver dove charm over. Engraved on the back of the tiny bird were three numbers.
4 - 0 - 9.
“It’s a safety deposit box,” Luca realized, his eyes widening. “At the downtown vault. That’s why she kept the coat. She knew the bracelet was the key, but she couldn't figure out the code!”
“Exactly,” Margaret said from the doorway.
But as Luca held the bracelet, examining the other charms, he suddenly frowned.
“There’s a problem,” Luca said, the triumph draining from his face. “You can’t just walk into the downtown vault with a number. You need the physical bank key to open the box. And it’s not in the coat.”
Vanessa let out a sharp, cruel laugh from the floor.
“You see?” she mocked, wiping tears of frustration from her face. “You have nothing. Your father was a paranoid old fool. He probably lost the key years ago! This whole thing is a waste of time!”
I looked down at the floor, my heart sinking. We were so close.
But then, I heard the soft rattle of metal.
I turned my head.
Teresa was reaching into the pocket of her cardigan. Her trembling fingers pulled out the small, wooden rosary she prayed with every single night.
She looked at Vanessa, her eyes burning with a quiet, powerful defiance.
“He didn't lose it,” Teresa said.
She snapped the wooden cross in half.
I gasped. The hollowed-out wooden cross fell away, revealing a small, jagged, silver bank key hidden perfectly inside.
“He told me to guard this with my life,” Teresa whispered, holding the key up to the light.
Vanessa screamed in rage, lunging toward the old woman to snatch it.
But before Luca could even grab her, the sound of heavy, shattering glass echoed from downstairs, followed by the deafening roar of a gunshot.
Marco’s voice boomed through the mansion.
“BOSS! WE HAVE A BREACH!”
Luca drew a handgun from his waistband in a fraction of a second. He pushed Teresa and Margaret behind me.
“Lock the door,” Luca ordered me.
But it was too late.
Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs. The bedroom door was kicked entirely open, snapping the hinges.
Standing in the doorway, surrounded by four men holding automatic weapons, was an older, heavily scarred man in a grey suit.
It was Don Bellini. Vanessa’s father.
And as his cold, dead eyes swept the room, they didn't land on Luca. They didn't land on his daughter.
They landed on me.
May you like
Don Bellini tilted his head, a twisted smile creeping across his face.
“Well, well,” the mafia boss rasped. “Why is Clara Collins’s daughter working in this house?”
