Chapter 3 - The Tape in the Safe
The dining room felt as though the oxygen had been sucked out of it.
The recording from the night Mom died.
Frank Moretti collapsed back into his chair, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"What are you talking about, Luca?" Frank gasped, his voice thin and fragile. "Your mother died in a car accident. The police said the brakes failed on the mountain road."
Luca didn't answer his father right away. He stared at Marco, his chest heaving, the ruthless Don struggling to maintain his composure.
"Did she take the original tape, or just the digital copy?" Luca demanded, his voice dropping to a terrifying, lethal growl.
"Both, Boss," Marco said, his eyes filled with grim apology. "The entire lockbox is gone."
Luca cursed violently in Italian, sweeping a crystal vase off the table. It shattered against the wall, raining glass across the Persian rug. I flinched, stepping back against the serving cart.
"Luca!" Frank shouted, finding a sudden surge of strength. He stood up, his cloudy eyes locking onto his son. "Answer me! What recording?!"
Luca stopped pacing. He looked at the old man, his shoulders dropping as the weight of a ten-year-old secret finally crushed him.
"It wasn't an accident, Dad," Luca whispered, his voice cracking.
Frank froze. The silence in the room was absolute.
"Mom's brakes didn't fail," Luca continued, taking a slow step toward his father. "The brake lines were cut. I found out three years ago when I finally tracked down the mechanic who supposedly serviced her car that week."
Frank stared at him, the color draining completely from his face. "Cut? By who?"
"By the mechanic," Luca said bitterly. "He confessed before he died. He said he was paid fifty thousand dollars to sever the line just enough so it would snap under pressure on the mountain pass."
"Who paid him?" Frank demanded, tears springing to his eyes, his hands shaking violently.
Luca swallowed hard. He looked at me, realizing I was still standing there, a witness to a mafia family’s darkest secret. But he didn't care. He was too broken.
"I don't know," Luca admitted, his voice barely audible. "The mechanic said the man who hired him wore a ski mask. But he gave me a tape. A microcassette recording he made of their conversation in his garage, to use as blackmail if he ever needed it."
Luca closed his eyes, the agony evident on his sharp features.
"The man in the recording," Luca breathed. "His voice... I know his voice, Dad. But the tape is distorted. I couldn't prove who it was without a forensic audio analysis. I was going to send it to an expert in New York next week."
Frank fell back into his chair, burying his face in his hands, sobbing openly for the wife he had lost a decade ago.
I watched them, my heart breaking for the old man. I had spent five years dusting the framed photographs of Elena Moretti scattered throughout the mansion. She had been beautiful. Kind. Everyone on the staff spoke of her like a saint.
"And now Vanessa has it," Marco stated grimly, breaking the silence.
Luca’s eyes snapped open, the sorrow vanishing instantly, replaced by a cold, murderous fury.
"She knows," Luca realized, his jaw clenching. "She knew I had that recording in my safe. She stole it because she knows exactly who is on that tape."
"Her father," Marco deduced, gripping the handle of his holstered weapon. "Arthur Bellini."
"Arthur Bellini always hated my mother," Luca snarled, pacing toward the door. "She blocked his development deals. She refused to let the syndicate invest in his corrupt casinos. He had the motive. And now his daughter has the only evidence."
Luca turned to Marco.
"Lock down the city," Luca ordered, his voice echoing with absolute authority. "I want every airport, every train station, and every tollway watched. Vanessa Bellini does not leave Chicago."
"Yes, Boss," Marco nodded, turning to sprint out of the room.
"And Marco," Luca called out, stopping the massive security chief in his tracks.
Luca’s dark eyes were terrifyingly blank.
"When you find her," Luca commanded softly, "bring her to the warehouse. Do not kill her. I want to look her in the eyes when she hands me that tape."
"Understood," Marco said, disappearing into the hallway.
Luca stood in the empty dining room, breathing heavily. He looked at his father, who was still weeping silently in his chair. Luca walked over, kneeling beside the old man, wrapping his arms around him in a fierce, protective embrace.
"I will get justice for her, Dad," Luca promised fiercely. "I swear on my life."
I quietly pushed my serving cart toward the kitchen doors, desperate to give them privacy.
"Claire," Luca said, his voice stopping me just before I reached the exit.
I turned around, my hands trembling on the cart handle. "Yes, sir?"
Luca stood up, wiping his face. The mafia Don was back, calculating and ruthless.
"Pack a bag," Luca ordered. "You’re not going home tonight."
I frowned, confusion overriding my fear. "Sir? You just gave me the week off. I need to check on my sister."
"Your sister is already being moved to a safe house," Luca stated bluntly.
My heart dropped into my stomach. "What? Why?"
"Because Vanessa is desperate," Luca explained, walking toward me. "She knows you humiliated her tonight. She knows you protected my father and broke her engagement. If she realizes I’m hunting her, she won't just run. She’ll look for leverage."
He stopped inches from me, his presence overwhelming.
"She knows I value loyalty," Luca said, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "And she knows I value you."
I felt a sudden, strange flutter in my chest, but the terror quickly smothered it.
"You think she would hurt me?" I asked, my voice shaking.
"I think a woman who would steal the evidence of my mother’s murder is capable of anything," Luca replied grimly. "You protected my father tonight. Now, I am going to protect you. You are staying here, under guard, until Vanessa is dealt with."
I didn't argue. I knew better than to argue with the Don of Chicago when his eyes looked like that.
"I’ll pack a bag," I whispered.
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in a luxurious guest suite on the third floor of the mansion. The door was locked from the outside, guarded by two heavily armed men.
I paced the plush carpet, clutching my phone, trying to reach my sister, but it went straight to voicemail. Luca’s men had probably confiscated her phone to prevent tracking.
I walked over to the massive window, looking out over the manicured grounds of the estate. The rain had started to fall, slicking the cobblestone driveway below.
Suddenly, a pair of headlights flashed in the distance, tearing up the driveway at a reckless speed.
It was a black SUV, but it wasn't one of Luca’s armored vehicles. It was moving too erratically.
The SUV smashed through the secondary security gate, tearing the iron hinges off, and skidded to a violent halt directly in front of the mansion’s main steps.
I pressed my face against the glass, my heart hammering.
The driver’s side door flew open.
A man stumbled out into the rain. He was clutching his stomach, his white shirt stained a deep, terrifying crimson.
He took two steps toward the mansion before his knees buckled. He collapsed onto the wet cobblestones.
The front doors of the mansion burst open below me. Luca and Marco sprinted out into the rain, their weapons drawn, rushing toward the fallen man.
I squinted through the rain, trying to see the man’s face as Luca knelt beside him, turning him over.
When I saw who it was, I screamed.
It wasn't one of Luca’s guards. It wasn't an assassin.
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It was Arthur Bellini. Vanessa’s father.
And clutched tightly in his bloody fist was the small, black velvet box Vanessa had stolen from the safe.
