Chapter 2 - THE INK ON THE PAPER WAS STILL WET
The dining room fell into a suffocating silence.
Thirty of Chicago’s most influential people stared at the sealed envelope resting beside Luca’s plate.
Vanessa’s hands were shaking so badly her heavy diamond bracelet rattled against the edge of the mahogany table.
“Luca, please,” she whispered, her voice tight and desperate. “Not here. We can talk about this in private.”
“There is no private,” Luca said.
His voice wasn’t a shout. It was a terrifying, dead calm.
He picked up the envelope.
Vanessa reached across the table, her manicured fingers grazing his sleeve. “It’s a lie. David is a con artist. He’s just trying to extort us before the wedding.”
“If he’s a con artist,” Luca said without looking at her, “then why are you shaking?”
He tore the envelope open.
I stood frozen near the swinging kitchen doors. Maria Conti remained perfectly still, her hands resting on her old wooden sewing box.
Luca pulled out a single sheet of heavy, legal-grade paper.
He unfolded it.
His eyes scanned the text.
For several seconds, the only sound in the room was the quiet hum of the crystal chandeliers.
Then, Luca’s jaw tightened.
“This isn’t just a letter,” Luca said quietly.
He turned the paper around and dropped it onto the table in front of Vanessa.
It was a State of Illinois Marriage Certificate.
“It’s dated seven years ago,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “And there is no divorce decree attached. You aren’t just his ex-wife, Vanessa. You are currently married to him.”
Vanessa backed away from the table.
“My father handled the annulment!” she cried, looking at the wealthy politicians and businessmen watching them. “It was supposed to be erased! David promised he wouldn’t come back!”
“Why did you marry him?” Luca demanded.
“I didn’t want to! It was a business arrangement. My family needed him to sign over a property!”
Luca stared at her.
The betrayal in his eyes was absolute. But then, he looked closer at the document.
He frowned.
He picked it up again, reading the bottom corner.
“This certificate is a certified copy,” Luca said slowly. “Pulled from the county clerk’s office.”
He looked up at Vanessa.
“The stamp is dated yesterday.”
Vanessa went completely pale.
“David pulled this yesterday,” Luca continued. “He mailed it to Maria because he knew she was the only one who wouldn’t be intimidated by your family. He wanted me to see it.”
“He’s trying to ruin me!” Vanessa shrieked.
“No,” Luca said. He reached into the envelope again. “He’s trying to trade.”
Luca pulled something else from the bottom of the envelope.
It wasn't paper.
It was a small, ornate silver key.
The moment Vanessa saw it, she stopped breathing entirely.
“Emma,” Luca said, his voice slicing through the tension.
I jumped. “Yes, sir?”
“Go to my master suite. In the back of my closet is my mother’s cedar chest.”
Vanessa lunged forward. “No! Luca, you can’t!”
Luca ignored her.
“Bring the chest down here, Emma.”
“I can’t, Mr. Moretti,” I said, my heart pounding. “It’s too heavy.”
“Then bring what’s inside it.”
Vanessa’s brother, Dominic Bellini, stood up from the far end of the table. He was a massive man with cold eyes.
“That’s enough, Luca,” Dominic growled. “You’re embarrassing my sister.”
Luca didn’t even look at him.
“Sit down, Dominic. Or my men will sit you down.”
Dominic glared, but he slowly lowered himself back into his chair.
Luca looked at me.
“Go, Emma.”
I turned and ran up the grand staircase.
My hands were sweating. I pushed open the heavy oak doors to Luca’s bedroom and hurried into the massive walk-in closet.
The cedar chest sat in the corner, covered by a velvet blanket.
It was beautiful, carved with roses and vines.
I lifted the lid.
The scent of cedar and old lavender filled the air.
But as I looked inside, my stomach dropped.
The silk lining of the chest had been slashed open with a knife.
I reached into the torn fabric.
I expected to find jewelry. Or money.
Instead, I pulled out a heavy, leather-bound book.
It wasn't a diary.
It was an accounting ledger.
And printed in gold letters across the front was a name I had spent my entire life trying to forget.
Reed & Associates.
My father’s accounting firm.
The one that had burned to the ground ten years ago.
My hands shook as I opened the cover.
Taped to the very first page was a photograph of a man and a woman holding a baby.
The woman was Lucia Moretti.
The man was my father.
And the baby was me.
Before I could process what I was looking at, a heavy hand grabbed my shoulder from behind and spun me around.
It was Dominic Bellini.
May you like
And he was holding a gun.
“Give me the book, Emma,” he whispered.
