Chapter 4 - THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN
“Mommy!” Lily cried again.
I tried to run toward her.
I didn't care about the bad knee.
I didn't care about the blood.
But Luca caught my arm, pulling me back hard against the cottage wall.
“Don't move,” he ordered quietly.
Vanessa stepped fully into the pale light of the porch bulb.
She had changed out of her red silk engagement gown.
She was wearing a long, dark trench coat.
A red coat.
The exact same coat she wore in the twelve-year-old photograph.
“Well,” Vanessa said, her voice smooth and chillingly calm. “This is a lovely family reunion.”
Her hand tightened on my daughter’s shoulder.
Lily whimpered.
“Take your hand off my child,” I hissed, my voice trembling with a rage I didn't know I possessed.
Vanessa smiled.
“Or what, Rachel? You’ll tell the police about David? You’ve been hiding in my fiancé’s house for over a year, scrubbing floors, hoping to find a smoking gun. And all you found was an old lady’s luggage.”
Luca stepped in front of me.
He held his gun at his side, hidden in the shadows of his leg, but ready.
“Let the girl go, Vanessa.”
Vanessa’s smile faded.
She looked at Luca.
For a brief second, the mask of the perfect, loving fiancée cracked, revealing the cold, calculating heir to the Bellini cartel.
“You ruined dinner, Luca,” she sighed. “We had guests. My father is very disappointed.”
“Your father murdered my mother.”
Vanessa clicked her tongue.
“Isabella had a tragic accident. The roads were slick.”
“I have the key, Vanessa.”
Luca held up his left hand.
The brass key caught the porch light.
Vanessa’s eyes locked onto it.
Hunger flashed across her face.
Twelve years of searching, and it was finally right in front of her.
“Give it to me,” she demanded.
“Let the girl walk to her mother.”
Vanessa pulled a small, silver revolver from her coat pocket and pressed the barrel against Lily’s back.
“The key, Luca. Or the maid loses her other reason for living.”
I screamed.
“No! Please!”
Luca didn't hesitate.
He didn't negotiate.
He tossed the heavy brass key onto the gravel path.
It landed with a dull clink, exactly halfway between them.
Vanessa laughed softly.
“You always were too sentimental, Luca. It’s why you’ll never be the man your father was.”
She shoved Lily forward.
My daughter stumbled over the gravel, crying.
I caught her in my arms, burying my face in her hair, pulling her behind the safety of Luca’s broad shoulders.
Vanessa kept her gun aimed at us as she slowly crouched down.
Her fingers brushed the gravel.
She picked up the brass key.
She held it up to the light, inspecting the rose and vine insignia.
“Finally,” Vanessa whispered.
She stood up and pointed her gun at Luca’s chest.
“You know I can’t leave you alive now, darling. You and the maid. It’s a shame. I really did like the ring you gave me.”
Luca didn't raise his hands.
He didn't beg.
He just looked at her with an expression of pure, unadulterated pity.
“You should have looked closer at the key, Vanessa,” Luca said.
Vanessa frowned.
She glanced down at the brass object in her hand.
“My mother was paranoid,” Luca continued, his voice echoing in the quiet garden. “She knew the Bellinis would never stop looking for her vault. So she didn't just leave a key.”
Vanessa rubbed her thumb over the key.
Her face suddenly changed.
The insignia—the rose and vine—wasn’t engraved into the metal.
It was a sticker.
A heavy, metallic foil sticker placed over the real engraving.
Vanessa scratched the foil away with her fingernail.
Underneath, there was no bank logo.
There was only a manufacturer’s name.
YAMAHA.
“It’s a piano key, you idiot,” Luca said.
Vanessa stared at it, her mind short-circuiting.
“What?”
“It opens the fallboard of the grand piano in the main ballroom,” Luca said. “A piano we donated to the Chicago Symphony Orchestra six months ago.”
Vanessa’s face contorted with rage.
She raised her gun, aiming directly at Luca’s head.
“I’ll kill you!”
Before she could pull the trigger, the front gates of the Moretti estate exploded open.
Not opened.
Exploded.
The sound of a heavy armored SUV ramming through the wrought-iron gates echoed across the manicured lawns.
Headlights swept across the garden, blinding us.
Tires screeched on the gravel driveway as three black SUVs surrounded the cottage.
Doors slammed open.
Men in tactical gear poured out, weapons raised.
Vanessa smiled triumphantly.
“My father’s men,” she laughed, lowering her gun slightly. “You thought you could trick me, Luca? My family owns this city.”
A man stepped out of the lead SUV.
He was older, in his sixties, wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit.
He walked with a silver-tipped cane.
Don Bellini.
Vanessa ran toward him.
“Papa! He doesn't have the real key! It’s a fake!”
Don Bellini didn't look at his daughter.
He walked right past her.
He stopped ten feet from Luca.
For a moment, neither man spoke.
Then, Don Bellini slowly lowered his cane.
He looked at the armed men surrounding the cottage.
“Lower your weapons,” Bellini commanded.
The men obeyed instantly.
Vanessa stared at her father in shock.
“Papa? What are you doing? Kill them!”
Don Bellini finally turned to his daughter.
He raised his hand.
And struck her across the face with such force that she collapsed onto the gravel.
“You stupid, arrogant girl,” Bellini hissed.
I clutched Lily tighter.
Luca didn't move.
Bellini looked back at Luca.
He reached into his suit jacket.
He didn't pull out a gun.
He pulled out an old, faded piece of paper.
“I didn't come here to kill you, Luca,” the old mafia boss said, his voice trembling with an emotion I couldn't identify. Fear? Grief?
“I came here because of this.”
He held up the paper.
It was a child’s drawing.
A crude crayon drawing of a house, a tree, and three stick figures.
But at the top, written in Isabella Moretti’s elegant handwriting, were three words.
May you like
They are yours.
“Luca,” Bellini whispered. “Where did you find my grandsons?”
