Chapter 11 - THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE HOSPITAL WARD
I stared at the frail, well-dressed man sitting in the hospital chair.
“Saved him?” I echoed, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. “My father is dead. He died in a car accident.”
The old man chuckled, a dry, raspy sound that rattled in his chest.
“Your father’s car went off a bridge, yes,” the man said, leaning heavily on his cane. “But he wasn’t in it. I pulled him out before Carlo’s men arrived. I gave him a new name, a new life, and a new face.”
The room began to spin.
“You’re lying,” I whispered, gripping the doorframe to stay upright. “My mother said—”
“Your mother knows exactly where he is, Sophie,” the man interrupted smoothly. “She’s known for twenty-four years. Why do you think she never remarried? Why do you think she hated the Moretti family with such terrifying passion?”
He stood up slowly, tapping his cane against the linoleum floor.
“My name is Donato Bellini,” he said.
My breath caught. Bellini. Vanessa’s last name.
“I am Vanessa’s grandfather,” Donato continued. “And I was Carlo Moretti’s greatest rival. When Carlo sent Adrian away, I saw an opportunity. I funded Adrian’s rise. I funded your mother’s warehouse. I pulled every string to ensure the Moretti empire collapsed from the inside.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked, tears blurring my vision.
“Because Adrian failed,” Donato said, his voice hardening into something cold and ruthless. “He let his emotions regarding his father cloud his judgment. He let Luca live. I do not make the same mistakes.”
Donato reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a photograph. He handed it to me.
It was a recent picture. A man with graying hair, sitting on a porch somewhere tropical, smiling.
But it wasn’t Carlo Moretti.
I recognized the eyes. The shape of the jaw.
It was my father. Marcus Bennett. Alive.
“If you want to see him again, Sophie,” Donato whispered, “you are going to do exactly what I say.”
He pulled a small, clear vial of liquid from his pocket and pressed it into my trembling hand.
“Luca trusts you. He eats the food you cook. He drinks the coffee you pour. Three drops of this, and his heart will stop in his sleep. The coroner will rule it a stress-induced heart attack.”
I stared at the vial. It felt heavy, like lead, in my palm.
“If you refuse,” Donato said, stepping past me toward the door, “I will make sure your father dies for real this time. And then, I will send someone to finish off little Noah.”
He paused in the doorway, putting his fedora on his head.
“You have until midnight tonight, Sophie. Make the right choice.”
He walked down the hallway, blending seamlessly into the crowd of visitors and doctors.
I stood alone in Room 402, staring at the vial of poison in my hand.
Kill Luca. The man who had protected me, who had offered me a home, who had spared my mother despite her betrayal.
Or let the father I thought I lost twenty-four years ago die all over again, and doom an innocent child.
I walked back to the catering van in a daze. I drove back to the estate, the silence in the cab deafening.
When I walked through the service doors into the kitchen, the sun was fully up.
Luca was sitting alone at the kitchen island, nursing a cup of black coffee. He looked up when I entered, his eyes scanning my pale face.
“Where did you go?” Luca asked gently.
“I just needed some air,” I lied, my voice cracking.
Luca didn’t push. He patted the stool next to him. “Sit with me.”
I walked over and sat down. My hand, deep in my apron pocket, was wrapped tightly around the glass vial.
“I’m dissolving the empire, Sophie,” Luca said quietly, staring into his coffee mug.
I froze. “What?”
“After last night,” Luca sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “Seeing what this life did to Adrian... what it did to Thomas... what it did to your family. I’m done. I’m selling the legitimate assets, liquidating the rest, and stepping down. I’m going to make sure Noah grows up in a normal world.”
He looked at me, a soft, weary smile on his face.
“I want a normal life, Sophie. Maybe open a restaurant. You could run the kitchen.”
Tears spilled over my eyelashes. He was giving it all up. He was choosing peace.
And I was sitting next to him with poison in my pocket.
I reached into my apron. I pulled out the vial and slammed it onto the granite counter.
Luca looked at the vial, then at me, confusion knitting his brow.
“Donato Bellini,” I choked out, sobbing. “He’s alive. He orchestrated everything. He told me to put this in your coffee, or he’ll kill my father.”
Luca’s expression went completely blank. “Your father is dead.”
“No, he’s not,” I cried, pulling the photograph out of my pocket and shoving it toward him. “Donato saved him. He’s been holding him over my mother’s head for twenty-four years. That’s why she worked for Adrian. That’s why she betrayed you.”
Luca stared at the photo of Marcus Bennett.
Then he picked up the vial of poison.
The soft, weary man who wanted to open a restaurant vanished. The mafia boss returned, his eyes burning with a terrifying, absolute clarity.
“He threatened Noah?” Luca asked, his voice dead deadly quiet.
I nodded, terrified.
May you like
Luca stood up, slipping the vial into his pocket.
“Call Thomas,” Luca said. “Tell him to arm up.”
