Chapter 2 - She Saw Them Burning The Letters
“She saw them burning the letters.”
The six words hung in the suffocating silence of the grand dining room.
Adrian Moretti stopped dead in his tracks.
His hand, which had been reaching for the heavy brass door handle, fell slowly to his side.
The crystal chandeliers seemed to dim.
Thirty-four guests held their collective breath, their expensive champagne glasses suspended in mid-air.
Luca stepped away from his mother’s wheelchair.
His eyes locked onto his younger brother.
“What letters, Adrian?” Luca’s voice was dangerously quiet.
Adrian didn’t turn around.
His broad shoulders were rigid beneath his tailored suit.
“Adrian,” Luca repeated, closing the distance between them with slow, terrifyingly measured steps. “Look at me.”
Vanessa stepped forward, her red evening gown rustling against the marble floor.
“Luca, please,” she laughed, a high, nervous sound. “Your mother is confused. She’s mixing up her soap operas again.”
Luca didn’t even glance at his fiancée.
He stopped two feet behind his brother.
“Turn around.”
Slowly, Adrian turned.
His face was pale. The usual arrogance of the younger Moretti brother had entirely vanished.
“They were just old papers, Luca,” Adrian stammered, his eyes darting toward Vanessa for a split second.
It was a tiny movement.
But it was all the confirmation Luca needed.
“Elena’s letters,” Luca whispered.
My heart ached for him.
Elena had been Luca’s wife. Lily’s mother.
She had passed away six years ago, leaving behind a locked cedar box of handwritten letters meant for Lily to read when she turned eighteen.
It was the only piece of her mother the little girl had left.
“You burned my wife’s letters to our daughter?” Luca’s voice broke on the last word.
Adrian swallowed hard.
“Vanessa said they were making Lily depressed. She said Lily needed to move on. She paid me to empty the cedar box.”
“You liar!” Vanessa shrieked, dropping her composure entirely. “I never said that!”
“Where is my daughter, Adrian?” Luca demanded, grabbing his brother by the lapels of his suit.
“Saint Mary’s,” Adrian choked out. “The old convent orphanage in the valley. Vanessa told me to take her there this morning so she wouldn't ruin the engagement party by crying about the letters.”
Teresa let out a quiet sob from her wheelchair.
I squeezed the older woman's shoulder, my own hands trembling with rage.
Luca threw his brother backward against the heavy oak doors.
“If my daughter has a single scratch on her,” Luca snarled, “you won’t live to see morning.”
He didn't look at Vanessa.
He didn't cancel the party.
He just turned to me.
“Sophie. Come with me.”
I didn't hesitate. I dropped the navy cardigan onto the piano bench and followed the mafia boss out into the freezing November rain.
We didn't take a driver.
Luca threw the keys to his black SUV to me, told me to get in, and slid into the driver’s seat himself.
He drove like a man possessed.
The tires screamed against the wet asphalt as we tore down the mountain roads toward the valley.
The windshield wipers beat a frantic rhythm against the glass.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said softly, gripping the passenger handle. “Lily is a strong girl. She knows you would never send her away.”
Luca’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white.
“I let that woman into my house,” he whispered, his voice thick with self-loathing. “I let her chase my mother to a wheelchair, and I let her banish my little girl. What kind of father does that?”
“A father who wanted his daughter to have a mother figure again,” I replied.
He glanced at me, the harsh lines of his face softening for just a fraction of a second.
We pulled up to the wrought-iron gates of Saint Mary’s Convent.
The old stone building looked menacing in the storm.
Luca didn't bother buzzing the intercom.
He kicked the heavy wooden doors open and marched straight into the dimly lit foyer.
An elderly nun sat behind a wooden reception desk, startled by the intrusion.
“Where is Lily Moretti?” Luca demanded.
The nun adjusted her glasses, recognizing the notorious businessman immediately.
“Mr. Moretti,” she stammered, standing up. “Lily isn't here.”
Luca froze.
“What do you mean she isn't here? My brother dropped her off this morning.”
“He did,” the nun nodded nervously. “But someone came to pick her up an hour ago.”
My stomach dropped to the floor.
“Who?” Luca asked, his voice echoing in the empty hall.
“A woman,” the nun said. “She said she was your fiancée. She signed the release forms.”
Vanessa.
But Vanessa had been at the mansion. She had been wearing a red dress, drinking champagne.
She couldn't have been here an hour ago.
“Answer one question, open two,” I muttered under my breath.
Someone had impersonated Vanessa. Or Vanessa had sent an accomplice.
“Did she leave anything behind?” I asked the nun urgently.
The old woman nodded.
“She dropped this in the hallway when the man grabbed her arm.”
She handed a piece of crumpled paper across the desk.
It was a child's drawing.
Drawn in frantic, heavy black crayon.
It showed a little girl crying in the back of a black car.
And beneath the car, written in Lily’s neat handwriting, were six numbers and letters.
A license plate.
But it wasn't Vanessa’s car.
Luca stared at the drawing, the blood draining completely from his face.
May you like
“That’s Marco’s license plate,” Luca whispered.
Marco was his head of security.
