Chapter 3 - THE TRUTH ABOUT HANNAH COLLINS
“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” I whispered, stepping backward.
The dining room felt like it was closing in on me.
Thirty-six wealthy, powerful guests stared at me in stunned silence.
Luca stood completely still, staring at the note in his hand.
If anything happens to me, find Hannah Collins. She is the only one who knows the truth.
“Hannah,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Did you know my wife?”
“No!” I shook my head frantically. “Mr. Moretti, I swear. I never met her. I was living in Detroit three years ago. I only moved to Chicago last year to take care of my mother.”
“Then how did Catherine know your name?”
I looked at the note.
The ink was faded, the paper yellowed at the edges.
It had clearly been written years ago.
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice trembling.
Vanessa stepped forward, her red dress rustling.
Her fear had suddenly morphed into vicious triumph.
“She’s lying, Luca.”
Vanessa pointed at me. “Look at her. She’s planted herself in this house. She manipulated your mother. She used your daughter. She’s been scheming to ruin us from the moment she arrived.”
Teresa slammed her hand on the table.
“Stop it, Vanessa! Hannah is a good girl!”
“She’s a fraud!” Vanessa snapped. “Luca, think about it! How convenient that your mother’s new favorite maid just happens to have your dead wife’s locket in her pocket.”
Luca didn’t look at Vanessa.
He looked at me.
His dark eyes searched my face, looking for a lie.
“Sophie gave it to me yesterday,” I said, my voice breaking. “She was crying. She said Vanessa tried to take it from her, and she asked me to hide it.”
“Why didn’t you give it to me?” Luca asked quietly.
“Because I was scared!” I admitted. “I need this job, Mr. Moretti. I need it to pay for my mother’s medical care. Vanessa told me that if I ever spoke about Catherine, she would fire me immediately.”
Luca’s jaw clenched.
He slowly turned toward Vanessa.
“You threatened my staff?”
Vanessa swallowed hard. “I was protecting our future, Luca. We can’t have the help gossiping about the past.”
“The past,” Luca repeated softly.
He looked down at the silver locket.
Then, he did something unexpected.
He turned toward his uncle, Marco Moretti, who had been sitting silently at the end of the table.
Marco was a formidable man with silver hair and a sharp, calculating gaze.
“Uncle Marco,” Luca said. “You handled the hospital paperwork the night Catherine died. Didn’t you?”
Marco slowly stood up.
“Yes, Luca. I did.”
“What was the name of the nurse who was on duty that night?”
My breath hitched.
Marco frowned. “I don’t see how that’s relevant—”
“What was her name, Marco?” Luca’s voice cracked like a whip.
Marco hesitated.
Then, he looked directly at me.
“Her name was Evelyn Collins.”
The room spun.
My knees gave out.
I stumbled backward, catching myself on the edge of a chair.
Evelyn Collins.
My mother.
Tears blurred my vision. “No,” I whispered. “My mother worked in a clinic in Detroit. She wasn’t in Chicago three years ago.”
Marco looked away. “She was here, Hannah. She was the head nurse in the emergency room.”
I stared at him, my mind racing.
My mother had always refused to talk about why we left Chicago when I was young, or why she occasionally traveled back here for “consulting work.”
She never mentioned a hospital.
She never mentioned the Moretti family.
Luca walked toward me.
He stopped inches away, his towering presence overwhelming.
“Your mother was with my wife when she died,” Luca said softly.
I shook my head. “I didn’t know. I swear to you, I didn’t know.”
Vanessa laughed, a harsh, bitter sound.
“Of course she knew, Luca! She’s blackmailing us. Her mother probably stole that locket off Catherine’s dead body, and now the daughter is here to squeeze money out of you.”
“Shut up, Vanessa,” Luca didn’t even look at her.
He kept his eyes on me.
“Hannah,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “I need to speak with your mother.”
“You can’t,” I whispered, tears spilling over my cheeks. “She has dementia, Mr. Moretti. Ever since her hip surgery, her memory... she barely remembers me some days.”
Vanessa scoffed loudly. “Oh, how convenient!”
Luca ignored her.
He reached out and gently wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb.
The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to my heart.
“Hannah,” he murmured. “I believe you.”
Vanessa gasped. “Luca, you can’t be serious! She’s a thief and a liar!”
“The only liar in this room is you, Vanessa,” Luca said coldly.
He turned toward his fiancée.
“You lied about my mother’s care. You lied about my daughter’s belongings. You hired an appraiser to empty my wife’s room before the wedding.”
He took off his suit jacket and tossed it over a chair.
“The wedding is off.”
Thirty-six guests gasped in unison.
Vanessa’s face twisted in horror.
“Luca, no! You can’t do this to me! My father—”
“Your father can take you home,” Luca interrupted, glaring at the older man, who immediately stood up and looked at the floor.
“Pack your bags, Vanessa. You have one hour to leave this house.”
Vanessa began sobbing hysterically, begging, pleading.
But Luca had already turned his back on her.
He walked over to his mother and knelt beside her.
“Mom. Are you alright?”
Teresa smiled through her tears and touched his cheek.
“I’m fine, my brave boy.”
He kissed her forehead, then looked back at me.
“Hannah, come with me.”
My heart pounded as I followed him out of the dining room and into his private study.
He closed the heavy oak doors, shutting out the noise of the guests.
The room smelled of leather and expensive cologne.
Luca walked over to his desk, unlocked the bottom drawer, and pulled out a manila envelope.
He tossed it onto the desk.
“Three years ago, the police told me Catherine died in a car accident.”
He looked at me, his eyes dark with pain.
“But the autopsy report was sealed. Uncle Marco handled everything. He said it was to protect the family’s privacy.”
I stood frozen, afraid to breathe.
“Why are you telling me this, Mr. Moretti?”
He stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could feel the heat radiating from him.
“Because I finally opened the envelope yesterday, Hannah.”
He reached into the envelope and pulled out a faded, terrifyingly familiar object.
A child’s drawing.
A drawing of a blue velvet box.
“Sophie drew this last week,” I whispered.
“No,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
“Catherine drew this on the back of a hospital napkin, hours before she died.”
He turned the napkin over.
May you like
There, written in blood, were three terrifying words.
Marco pushed me.
