Chapter 7 - THE PHOTOGRAPH
My mother’s hands shook as she held the silver frame out to me.
The glass was cracked, but the image inside was clear.
It was a photograph taken nearly thirty years ago.
It showed three people standing in front of this exact mansion.
One was a younger Luca Moretti.
Beside him was his beautiful wife, Elena.
And standing next to Elena, holding her hand with the easy familiarity of a sister, was my mother, Clara.
I stared at the picture, the breath leaving my lungs.
“Mom?” I whispered. “You knew them?”
My mother wiped her eyes.
“I didn’t just know her, Emma. Elena was my best friend. We grew up together in the old neighborhood before she married into the syndicate.”
I looked at Luca. He nodded slowly, his eyes heavy with memory.
“When I married Elena,” Luca said quietly, “she knew the dangers of this life. She made me promise that if anything ever happened to her, I would make sure her closest friend—your mother—was protected.”
My head spun.
“But we were poor,” I said, looking at my mother. “Dad worked constantly. We struggled to pay for groceries.”
“Because we chose to,” my mother said gently. “When Elena started suspecting Victor Bellini of embezzlement, she knew her life was in danger. She gave your father that fifty thousand dollars to hide the evidence.”
“The memory card,” Matteo realized, stepping closer.
“Yes,” my mother nodded. “Elena trusted Thomas more than anyone. He took her car to his shop, hid the card inside a hollowed-out pearl, and restrung her necklace.”
“But Victor found out,” Anna said, her voice breaking.
“Victor knew Thomas worked on the car,” my mother cried softly. “He paid one of his own men to tamper with the brakes after Thomas was done. He tried to frame your father for the murder.”
My heart ached with a pain so sharp it took my breath away.
My father hadn’t taken a payoff.
He had risked his life to help his wife’s best friend.
“After Elena died,” Luca said, his voice thick with emotion, “your father came to me. He told me Victor was responsible. He told me about the necklace.”
“Then why didn’t you go after Victor seven years ago?” Matteo asked, confused.
“Because Victor threatened to kill your family,” Luca said, looking at me. “Victor told me if I ever moved against him, he would slaughter Thomas, Clara, and little Emma.”
Luca looked down at the ruined floor.
“So I made a deal. I let Victor believe he had won. I let him think I didn’t know. And I forced your father to take his family and disappear into the working class, where Victor would forget about you.”
“But Dad didn’t spend the money,” I realized.
“No,” my mother smiled proudly through her tears. “He hid it. He said it was blood money. We lived on his mechanic’s salary because we wanted you to have an honest life, Emma.”
“Then why did you come to work here?” Anna asked me.
“I didn’t know,” I said, wiping my eyes. “When Dad had his stroke, the bills piled up. The agency sent me here. I had no idea.”
“I knew,” Luca said softly.
I looked at him, shocked.
“When I saw your name on the agency list,” Luca confessed, “I hired you immediately. It was the only way I could secretly pay for your father’s medical bills without Victor finding out.”
He had been overpaying me for months. Massive "bonuses" for simple tasks.
It wasn't pity. It was a debt of honor.
“It’s over now,” Luca said, taking my hand and helping me stand. “Victor is going to prison for the rest of his life. The Commission will see to it.”
Luca turned to his children.
He opened his arms, and Anna and Matteo rushed into them.
The mafia boss, the feared man of Chicago, held his children and wept.
It was the happy ending we all desperately needed.
But as I helped my mother stand, her canvas tote bag slipped off her shoulder.
It hit the floor, spilling her belongings.
A lipstick. A wallet.
And a heavily tarnished brass key.
Anna froze.
May you like
She looked at the key on the floor, then at the identical brass key in her own hand. The key to the Moretti mansion.
“Emma,” Anna whispered. “Why does your mother have a key to our house?”
