Chapter 7 - THE RACE TO DETROIT
“No.”
The word tore from my throat as a visceral, suffocating panic clamped down on my chest.
I lunged for my phone in my apron pocket and dialed the number for my mother’s apartment.
It rang. And rang.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I chanted, tears blurring my vision.
Finally, the line clicked.
“Hello?” a groggy voice answered. It was Sarah, the night aide.
“Sarah! Is my mother there? Is she safe?”
“Hannah? Yes, she’s sleeping in her room. Why? It’s past midnight.”
I slumped against the doorframe, a massive breath of relief escaping my lips.
“Are the doors locked? Did anyone come by?”
“Everything is locked up tight, honey. Nobody is here but us.”
I looked at Luca. He was already pulling his phone from his pocket, dialing rapidly.
“Pack your things,” Luca ordered, pointing a finger at me. “We’re leaving in five minutes.”
“But she’s safe!” I cried. “Sarah said she’s asleep!”
Luca didn’t look convinced. “Someone slid that note under my mother’s door. Someone who bypassed my security. I’m not taking chances.”
He put his phone to his ear. “Matteo. I need the jet fueled and ready at O'Hare in twenty minutes. Get a car to the front door. We’re going to Detroit.”
He hung up and turned to his mother.
“Mom, lock this door. Do not open it until I call you myself.”
Teresa nodded firmly, pulling Sophie closer to her side. “Bring her mother back safe, Luca.”
Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a black armored SUV, speeding through the dark streets of Chicago.
Luca sat beside me, his jaw set, staring out the window.
The silence was agonizing.
“Who sent the note?” I finally asked, my voice trembling.
Luca didn’t look at me. “Marco wasn’t working alone. He was funneling money to the Rossi family in New York. They’ve been trying to move into Chicago for years.”
“And the will?”
“The real will gives control of the entire syndicate to a trust fund for Sophie, overseen by my mother,” Luca explained quietly. “Marco forged a fake will that named him as the executor if I died. He was planning to kill me, Hannah. But Catherine found out.”
“So the Rossis want the real will to destroy you?”
“Yes.” Luca turned to face me. “And they know your mother hid it.”
We arrived at the private airfield, and within minutes, we were in the air.
The flight to Detroit took less than an hour, but it felt like a lifetime.
When we landed, a black car was waiting on the tarmac.
Luca drove, ignoring speed limits, tearing through the quiet suburban streets of my neighborhood.
He skidded to a halt in front of my small apartment building.
The street was entirely dark. The streetlights had been shot out.
Luca pulled his gun.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered.
We ran up the stairs to the second floor.
The door to my apartment was slightly ajar.
My heart stopped.
“Sarah!” I screamed, pushing past Luca and running inside.
The living room was a mess. Lamps were overturned, a chair smashed.
Sarah was lying on the floor, holding her head, groaning softly.
“Sarah! Oh my god, are you okay?” I dropped to my knees beside her.
“Hannah?” she groaned, blinking up at me. “Three men... they broke in... I tried to stop them...”
“Where is my mother?” I sobbed.
Luca was already checking the bedrooms.
He emerged a few seconds later, his face grim.
“She’s not here.”
I covered my face with my hands, a jagged sob tearing from my throat.
They took her.
My sweet, confused, fragile mother. She wouldn’t even understand what was happening. She would be so terrified.
Luca knelt beside me and gripped my shoulders firmly.
“Look at me, Hannah.”
I looked up through my tears.
“I will find her,” Luca vowed, his dark eyes fierce and uncompromising. “I swear on my life, I will bring her back to you.”
He stood up and began pacing the living room, pulling out his phone.
I looked down at the floor, crying silently.
Then, I saw it.
Underneath the overturned armchair, partially hidden by a rug, was a small, familiar object.
I reached out and pulled it free.
It was my mother’s knitting bag.
But it felt strangely heavy.
I opened the bag and pushed aside the purple yarn.
At the bottom of the bag was a thick, sealed manila envelope.
My hands shook as I pulled it out.
Written on the front, in my mother’s elegant handwriting, were three words:
For Luca Moretti.
“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered.
Luca turned around.
I held up the envelope.
He walked over and took it from my hands. He tore it open.
Inside was a stack of legal documents.
The real will.
And a handwritten letter.
Luca unfolded the letter and began to read.
His eyes widened.
He read it again, his breathing suddenly ragged.
He looked down at me, an expression of complete shock on his face.
“Hannah,” he whispered.
“What is it?” I asked, terrified by the look in his eyes.
“Your mother didn’t just take the will,” Luca said softly.
He handed me the letter.
“Read the last line.”
I looked down at my mother’s handwriting.
I protected the will, Luca. But more importantly, I protected the child.
I looked up, confused. “The child? She means Sophie?”
Luca shook his head slowly.
“No, Hannah. Catherine wasn’t just pregnant with Sophie when she died.”
May you like
He pointed at the letter.
“She was pregnant with twins.”
