Chapter 3 - THE SECRET IN THE HOSPITAL ROOM
The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind Vanessa.
The echo rang through the ballroom.
Every eye slowly turned to me.
My hands were shaking so violently I had to set the champagne tray down on a side table before I dropped it.
Luca was staring at me.
The look in his eyes had changed from betrayal to a terrifying, quiet focus.
“Emma,” he said.
“I don’t know what she’s talking about, Mr. Moretti,” I said quickly, backing toward the kitchen doors. “My father is Thomas Reed. He was a baker. He had a stroke six months ago. He’s in a nursing home. He doesn’t know anyone from Chicago.”
Luca stepped closer.
“He’s a baker?”
“Yes.”
“Did he ever drive for a living?”
“No. Never.”
Arthur Greene closed the piano lid with a soft thud.
“Your father is Thomas Reed?” the old man asked.
I looked at the pianist. “Yes.”
Mr. Greene reached into his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a small, worn leather notebook. He flipped through the yellowed pages.
“Thomas Reed,” Mr. Greene read aloud. “Employed by the Bellini family, 1991 to 1999.”
The floor seemed to drop out from beneath me.
“No,” I whispered. “That’s impossible. We lived in Ohio. He owned a bakery.”
Mr. Greene looked at me with deep sympathy.
“Sometimes, my dear, the people who love us most tell the biggest lies to keep us safe.”
Luca turned to his security chief, Marco, who was standing by the entrance.
“Clear the room,” Luca ordered. “Dinner is over.”
Within five minutes, the ballroom was empty.
It was just me, Luca, and Arthur Greene.
Luca poured two glasses of whiskey. He handed one to me.
I didn’t drink, but I took it. My fingers were ice cold.
“Mr. Greene,” Luca said, pacing in front of the fireplace. “Why did Vanessa's mother hate my mother? If they were ‘blood sisters’, why did Catherine Bellini want my family destroyed?”
“Envy is a poison that works slowly, Luca,” Mr. Greene said. “Catherine wanted your father. But your father chose Lucia. Catherine swore she would take everything Lucia loved.”
Luca stopped pacing.
He looked at the piano.
“The car crash. It wasn't an accident, was it?”
“I don't know,” Mr. Greene said softly. “But I know who does.”
The old man looked at me.
“Your father.”
I shook my head. “My father can’t speak. The stroke paralyzed the right side of his face. He hasn’t said a word in six months.”
“Where is he?” Luca asked.
“Oakwood Care Center,” I said.
Luca grabbed his coat. “We’re going.”
“Now?” I asked. “It’s ten at night.”
“I’ve waited twenty years for the truth, Emma. I’m not waiting until morning.”
When we arrived at Oakwood, the hallways were dark and quiet.
I led Luca to Room 114.
I pushed the door open, expecting to see my father asleep in his bed.
The bed was empty.
Panic seized my chest. “Dad?”
The bathroom door was open. Empty.
Then, Luca pointed to the corner of the room.
My father was sitting in his wheelchair, staring out the window into the dark parking lot.
He was clutching something tightly against his chest.
I ran to him. “Dad? Are you okay?”
He didn't look at me. His eyes were wide with terror.
I gently pried his fingers open to see what he was holding so tightly.
It was a child’s drawing.
Crayon on construction paper.
It showed three stick figures. A man, a woman, and a little boy.
And across the top, written in a child's messy handwriting, were the words:
FOR UNCLE THOMAS. FROM LEO.
May you like
Luca froze behind me.
“Leo?” Luca whispered. “My nephew Leo died with his parents four years ago.”
