Chapter 2 - THE SECRET IN THE DRAWING
The crystal chandeliers above the dining table suddenly felt blinding.
Thirty-six guests sat in suffocating silence, their eyes darting between Luca, his mother, and the man sitting at the far end of the table.
Michael Moretti was three years younger than Luca. He had always been the quieter brother, the one who handled the family’s legitimate accounting while Luca dealt with the heavy burdens of the Moretti empire.
Now, Michael looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff.
“Michael,” Luca said. His voice was completely flat, a dangerous calm that sent a chill through the room. “Why do you need every Sunday with Vanessa?”
Vanessa immediately stood up, her red silk gown scraping against the heavy wooden chair.
“Luca, this is absurd,” she laughed, though the sound was high and brittle. “Your mother is confused. Her hearing aid was malfunctioning, and she misheard a private conversation—”
“Sit down, Vanessa.”
Luca didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t look at her. But the absolute authority in his tone made her freeze.
Slowly, she sank back into her chair.
Luca kept his eyes locked on his brother. “I won’t ask twice, Michael.”
Michael swallowed hard. He looked down at his half-empty wine glass, then across the table at Vanessa. The look they exchanged wasn’t romantic. It was pure, unadulterated panic.
“It’s not what it sounds like, Luca,” Michael said, his voice trembling slightly. “We aren’t having an affair.”
“Then what are you having?”
Michael closed his eyes. He reached a shaking hand into the inside pocket of his tailored suit jacket.
Vanessa slammed her hands on the table. “Michael, don’t! You promised!”
Michael ignored her. He pulled out a piece of paper, folded twice, and slid it down the long polished mahogany table. It stopped right next to Luca’s plate.
I stood behind Teresa’s chair, my heart hammering against my ribs. Teresa reached up and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly.
Luca picked up the paper.
He unfolded it slowly.
From where I stood, I could see it wasn’t a document or a bank statement. It was a piece of construction paper, colored with crayons. A child’s drawing. It showed a house, a crooked tree, and two stick figures holding hands.
But it was the clumsy, oversized letters written at the top that made the air leave the room.
To Daddy.
Luca stared at the paper. The color drained from his face entirely.
“Where did you get this?” Luca whispered, his voice cracking.
“He made it on Sunday,” Michael answered quietly. “At the safe house upstate. Vanessa and I go every week to drop off the supplies and pay the caretakers.”
Teresa let out a sharp gasp. “A child? Who… whose child?”
Luca didn’t look up. His thumb gently traced the crayon letters.
“Isabella’s,” Luca said softly.
The name hit the room like a physical blow. Isabella was Luca’s first fiancée. She had died in a tragic car accident seven years ago, pregnant with their unborn child. Everyone believed the baby had died with her.
“She didn’t die immediately, Luca,” Michael choked out, tears pooling in his eyes. “She survived the crash just long enough to deliver. But Arthur Bellini’s men got to the hospital first.”
Luca slowly lifted his head. His eyes were completely dark.
“Vanessa’s father took my son?”
“Yes,” Michael said. “And Vanessa found out a year ago. She’s been using him to blackmail me.”
Vanessa jumped to her feet again. “I was protecting this family! If the other syndicates knew you had an heir, they would have killed him!”
Luca stood up. He didn’t yell. He simply walked around the table toward his brother.
“Why did she need to blackmail you, Michael?” Luca asked. “What leverage could she possibly have to make you hide my own son from me?”
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Michael looked up, tears finally spilling down his cheeks.
“Because I was the one driving the car the night Isabella died, Luca. And Vanessa has the proof.”
