Chapter 2 - THE SECRETS OF THE SEALED ROOM
“Has anyone told you why your wife was inside that room the night before her accident?”
Roberto’s voice echoed through the silent banquet hall.
Luca stared at the silver key resting in his palm. His broad shoulders went completely rigid. The heavy crystal chandeliers cast long shadows across his face.
“My father sealed that room fifteen years ago,” Luca said, his voice dangerously low. “Nobody has been inside it since.”
Vanessa took a trembling step backward.
The red silk of her gown rustled against the floor. “Luca, please. This is ridiculous. He’s lying to you. They’re all lying.”
But Isabella squeezed my hand. Her small fingers were cold.
“Mommy wasn’t lying,” the ten-year-old whispered. “She went inside when everyone was sleeping. She said the ghosts in there told her the truth.”
A murmur ripped through the fifty wealthy guests.
Vanessa’s father, a heavy-set man with cold eyes, stood up. “This dinner is over. Luca, control your staff and your child.”
Luca didn’t even look at him.
He slowly closed his hand around the silver key. When he raised his eyes, the look in them made Vanessa’s father sit slowly back down. It was the look of a man who ruled the Chicago underworld, a man who didn't ask for permission.
“Nobody leaves,” Luca commanded.
He turned to Roberto. “You. With me. Now.”
Then he looked at me.
“Emily, bring Isabella. You’re coming too.”
Vanessa gasped. “You’re taking the maid? Luca, this is our engagement dinner!”
“Not anymore,” Luca said coldly.
He didn't wait for her response. He turned and walked toward the grand staircase.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I had only been a housekeeper here for eleven months. I cleaned the floors, polished the silver, and made sure Isabella’s bed was made. I wasn't supposed to be part of the mafia boss's family secrets.
But Isabella tugged my hand. “Come on, Emily. We have to show him.”
I swallowed hard, nodded, and followed Luca up the sweeping marble steps. Roberto walked silently beside us.
The fourth floor of the Moretti mansion was always dark. The staff was strictly forbidden from coming up here. Dust thick as velvet covered the hardwood floors, and the air smelled of old paper and dried lavender.
At the end of the hallway stood heavy oak double doors.
Luca stopped in front of them. He looked down at the silver key.
“My father locked this study before he died,” Luca murmured, almost to himself. “He said the family’s darkest debts were buried in here.”
“They were,” Roberto said softly. “But not your father’s debts.”
Luca slid the key into the lock.
It turned with a heavy, metallic click.
When Luca pushed the doors open, a cloud of dust swirled into the dim hallway light. I reached out and pulled Isabella closer to my apron. She buried her face against my side.
Luca found the light switch.
The room was massive. Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling. In the center sat a massive mahogany desk.
But it wasn't the dust or the books that made Luca freeze.
It was the desk.
It had been violently ransacked. Drawers were pulled out and thrown onto the floor. Papers were scattered everywhere.
And in the center of the desk, perfectly clean and untouched by the dust, sat a woman’s black leather handbag.
Luca exhaled a shaky breath. “That’s Elena’s bag. She had it the night she died.”
I felt a sudden chill run down my spine.
If this room had been locked for fifteen years, and Elena died two years ago... how did her bag get in here?
Luca walked slowly toward the desk. He reached out with a trembling hand and unzipped the bag. Inside, he pulled out a beautiful, silver rosary.
Isabella gasped. “Mommy’s praying beads!”
But as Luca pulled the rosary out, something else caught on the silver chain and fell to the desk with a heavy thud.
It was a thick, black ledger.
The edges were burned, as if someone had tried to destroy it in a fire but failed.
Roberto stepped forward. “Open it, Mr. Moretti. Look at the dates.”
Luca opened the burned ledger. His eyes scanned the first page.
Then his face drained of all color.
“This is impossible,” Luca whispered.
I took a hesitant step forward. “Sir? What is it?”
Luca looked up, his eyes burning with a mixture of betrayal and pure rage.
“This ledger documents millions of dollars stolen from the Moretti family,” he said, his voice shaking. “But it wasn't written by my father.”
He turned the book around so we could see the signature at the bottom of the page.
It read: Vincent Bellini.
Vanessa’s father.
“He’s been draining my family’s accounts for twenty years,” Luca realized, the truth hitting him like a physical blow.
Roberto nodded solemnly. “Your wife found this out. She realized the Bellini family was orchestrating a massive theft. And she realized Vanessa was positioned to marry you to finish the job.”
I covered my mouth.
Vanessa hadn't just hated Isabella. She was part of a decades-long plot to destroy this family.
“Elena locked the evidence in here to hide it from them,” Roberto continued. “She knew they were watching her.”
Luca stared at the ledger.
“If Vanessa’s family found out Elena knew...” Luca’s voice cracked. “My God. The car crash.”
The heavy realization hung in the air.
Elena’s death hadn't been an accident.
Suddenly, Isabella let go of my hand. She walked over to the corner of the room, near a dusty velvet armchair.
“Daddy?” she called out.
Luca turned. “Don't touch anything, sweetheart.”
“But Daddy, there's a letter here.”
Luca walked over. Sitting on the seat of the velvet chair was a pristine, white envelope. It clearly hadn't been there for fifteen years. It looked recent.
Luca picked it up.
He flipped it over to read the name handwritten on the front.
He frowned in deep confusion.
May you like
He didn't open it. Instead, he turned and looked directly at me.
“Emily,” Luca said, his voice tight. “Why does my dead wife have an envelope addressed to you?”
