Chapter 3 - [THE GIRL IN THE BURNING CAR]
The crystal chandelier above the table seemed to sway.
Vanessa’s face went completely chalk-white.
Luca froze halfway to his uncle.
He looked from Carlo to Vanessa.
“Your daughter?” he asked.
Vanessa was shaking her head violently.
“No. No, Carlo, shut up.”
Carlo Moretti leaned back in his leather dining chair.
He looked completely unbothered by the destruction he was causing.
“Vanessa’s family was broke twenty-two years ago,” Carlo said smoothly.
“Her father owed my brother a lot of money. He offered his oldest daughter, Sofia, to work off the debt.”
I watched Vanessa.
She was gripping the edge of the table so hard her knuckles were bone-white.
“Sofia was the hitchhiker your mother picked up that night,” Carlo continued.
“It wasn’t an accident. Vanessa’s father planted her on that road. He knew the route Lucia drove. He cut the brakes himself at the restaurant, planted the wire cutters in your coat while you were eating, and sent his daughter to flag you down.”
Luca’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Why?”
“Because he wanted Lucia dead,” Carlo said simply. “If Lucia died, and the wire cutters were found on you, your father would have disowned you. Leaving the Moretti empire vulnerable.”
Carlo tapped the gold watch against the table.
“But the idiot didn’t realize the car would catch fire. He didn’t realize his own daughter’s body would burn beyond recognition, and that Lucia would use it to fake her own death.”
Vanessa was sobbing now.
Loud, ugly, gasping sobs.
“They told me she ran away,” Vanessa cried.
She looked at Luca.
“My father told me Sofia ran away with a boyfriend. I was only five years old!”
Luca stared at her.
“When did you find out the truth?”
Vanessa swallowed hard.
“When I was seventeen. I found my father’s diaries. I found out he killed my sister to frame you.”
“And you didn’t tell the police?” Luca asked.
His voice was rising.
The deadly calm was breaking.
“He was my father!” Vanessa screamed. “And the Morettis ruined us! He did it to save our family from yours!”
Answer one.
Open two.
Vanessa knew her sister burned in that car.
She knew her father framed a sixteen-year-old boy.
But why was she marrying him?
Luca asked the exact same question.
“If you hate my family. If you know we killed your sister. Why are you wearing my ring?”
Vanessa looked down at the massive diamond on her left hand.
She let out a wet, bitter laugh.
“Because three years ago, Carlo found out.”
The entire room turned back to Carlo.
The old man smiled.
It was a terrifying, cold smile.
“I found the father’s diary after he passed away,” Carlo said. “I realized the Bellini family owed us a blood debt. A life for a life.”
Carlo looked at Vanessa.
“So I told her she had a choice. I expose the diary, let the syndicate slaughter her entire extended family for attempting to murder the Moretti heir...”
Carlo gestured to Luca.
“Or she marries you. Combines the families. And gives me control of the Bellini shipping ports.”
I felt my stomach drop.
This entire engagement.
The flowers.
The champagne.
The ring.
It was a hostage situation.
Vanessa looked at Luca.
Tears were streaming down her flawless makeup.
“I didn’t want to marry you. But I had to protect my mother. My little brothers.”
Luca didn’t look angry anymore.
He looked sick.
His entire life was a chess board, and his uncle was moving all the pieces.
“You forced her to marry me,” Luca said to Carlo.
“I secured our future,” Carlo corrected.
Luca reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a heavy silver object.
A gun.
The forty-two guests panicked.
Chairs scraped against the marble floor.
Women screamed.
“Quiet!” Luca roared.
The room froze instantly.
Luca aimed the gun directly at Carlo’s chest.
“Where is she?”
Carlo didn’t flinch.
“Who?”
“My mother.”
Luca cocked the hammer.
“You knew Vanessa’s father killed the hitchhiker. You knew the body in the casket was Sofia Bellini. Which means you knew my mother was alive.”
Carlo’s smile finally faded.
“Where is my mother?” Luca demanded.
Before Carlo could answer, a small voice echoed from the hallway.
“She’s at the train station.”
Everyone turned.
Standing in the doorway was a little girl.
She was seven years old.
Dark curls. Large brown eyes.
She was wearing a faded pink nightgown.
It was Mia.
Rosa’s granddaughter.
She lived in the staff quarters with us.
Mia walked barefoot across the cold marble floor.
She ignored the forty-two rich guests.
She ignored the gun in Luca’s hand.
She walked straight up to Luca and handed him a crumpled, yellowed piece of paper.
It was a child’s drawing.
A picture of a house, a tree, and a mother holding a little boy’s hand.
But there were dark, rusted stains on the edges of the paper.
Old blood.
“She rides the Blue Line every night,” Mia said softly.
May you like
“She told me to give this to you if you ever found out.”
TITLE: THE BLOOD ON THE DRAWING
