Chapter 8 - THE TICKING WATCH
he study was so quiet I could hear the rhythmic tick-tick-tick of the silver watch in Luca’s hand.
I stared at the note.
The fire wasn't an accident, Luca. I'm coming home.
“What fire?” I asked, looking up at him.
Luca’s eyes were locked on the small piece of paper. The calm, composed leader I had worked alongside for the past six months was gone. In his place was a man staring at a ghost.
“Twenty years ago,” Luca said, his voice hollow. “My father didn't die of a simple heart attack. He had the heart attack while pulling my uncle out of a burning warehouse.”
“Your uncle?”
“Marcus Moretti. My father’s younger brother.” Luca closed the watch tightly in his fist. “The official report said the warehouse caught fire due to faulty wiring. Marcus was trapped inside. My father saved him, but the strain killed him.”
He looked at me, his eyes burning.
“Marcus vanished two days after the funeral. He left the family, the business, everything. We thought the grief broke him. We thought he ran away.”
“But this note,” I said, pointing to the paper. “He’s saying the fire was set intentionally.”
Luca nodded slowly. “And if Marcus is sending my father’s watch… it means he knows who set it. And he’s finally coming back to finish it.”
The intercom on the desk buzzed, making us both jump.
“Mr. Moretti?” Mrs. Carter’s voice crackled through the speaker.
Luca pressed the button. “Yes.”
“Sir, there is a man at the front gates. Security is asking for instructions.”
“Who is it?”
“He says his name is Marcus Moretti.”
Luca didn't hesitate. “Open the gates. Bring him to the study.”
Ten minutes later, the heavy oak doors of the study swung open.
A man walked in. He looked like an older, battle-scarred version of Luca. He wore a worn leather jacket, heavy boots, and carried a duffel bag over one shoulder. His hair was gray, and a jagged burn scar ran down the left side of his neck.
Marcus Moretti dropped the duffel bag on the floor.
He looked at Luca.
“You grew up, kid,” Marcus said. His voice was like grinding stones.
Luca walked around the desk. He didn't smile.
“Where have you been for twenty years, Uncle Marcus?”
“Hunting,” Marcus answered simply. He glanced at me. “Who is she?”
“Rachel Moore. She manages the estate. You can speak freely in front of her.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. He walked to the liquor cabinet, poured himself three fingers of scotch, and swallowed it in one gulp.
“I sent the watch,” Marcus said, turning back to us.
“I got it,” Luca said, placing the silver watch on the desk. “You said the fire wasn't an accident.”
“It was a hit,” Marcus said, leaning against the cabinet. “Someone in our own crew locked the warehouse doors from the outside and lit the match. They wanted me dead because I found out someone was skimming from the family pension fund. Your father died because he wouldn't let me burn.”
Luca’s jaw clenched. “Who did it?”
Marcus walked over to the desk. He reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a stack of old, yellowed bank statements. He tossed them onto the mahogany wood.
“I spent twenty years tracking the offshore accounts,” Marcus said. “The money skimmed from the pension fund was funneled into a shell corporation in the Caymans. Three months ago, I finally cracked the proxy.”
He pointed a calloused finger at the top statement.
“The shell corporation is owned by Don Rossi.”
Luca went completely still.
“Rossi?”
I recognized the name. The Rossi family was the oldest, most traditional cartel in Chicago. They were supposed to be the Morettis' closest allies. They sat at the head of the Commission.
“Rossi ordered the fire,” Marcus said grimly. “He killed your father, Luca. And he’s been smiling in your face, pretending to be your ally, for two decades.”
Luca stared at the bank statements. The betrayal was staggering. The Bellinis were enemies—you expected them to attack. But Rossi was family.
“Why come back now?” Luca asked quietly.
“Because Don Rossi is dying,” Marcus said. “He has stage-four cancer. He’s stepping down next week and handing the empire to his son, Carlo. Before he dies in a warm bed, I am going to look him in the eye and make him pay for my brother.”
Luca shook his head. “If you touch Don Rossi, the entire Commission will turn on us. It will start a war this city hasn't seen since the twenties.”
“I don't care about the city,” Marcus growled. “I care about blood.”
Before the argument could escalate, the study doors opened again.
Aunt Rose walked in, leaning on her cane.
She stopped when she saw Marcus.
She didn't look surprised. She looked furious.
“Marcus Moretti,” Rose snapped, her voice echoing in the room.
Marcus swallowed hard. He suddenly looked like a scolded teenager. “Hello, Rose.”
“You disappear for twenty years, you leave this boy to raise himself in a den of wolves, and you come back demanding blood?” Rose stepped forward, her cane striking the floor. “You haven't changed at all.”
“Rose, Rossi killed Antonio—”
“I know who killed Antonio!” Rose shouted.
The room froze.
Marcus stared at her. Luca stepped back.
“You knew?” Luca whispered.
Rose closed her eyes, tears leaking out.
“Of course I knew. Your father knew, too.”
She reached into the collar of her dress and pulled out a heavy gold locket. She popped it open. Inside wasn't a picture, but a tiny, folded slip of paper.
“Antonio gave me this the night before the warehouse fire,” Rose said, her voice breaking. “He knew Rossi was skimming. He knew Rossi was planning to kill Marcus.”
She handed the slip of paper to Luca.
“Your father went into that fire knowing it was a trap. He traded his life to save yours, Marcus. Because he knew if you survived, Rossi would think the hit failed and wouldn't come after Luca.”
Marcus stumbled backward, falling into a leather armchair. The tough, scarred hunter completely broke down, burying his face in his hands.
Luca read the paper.
His hands began to shake.
“Aunt Rose,” Luca said, his voice deadly quiet. “This isn't just a letter. This is a signed confession from my father. He details Rossi’s entire embezzlement scheme.”
“Yes,” Rose said.
“Why didn't you show this to the Commission twenty years ago? We could have destroyed Rossi legally.”
Rose looked at me, then at Luca.
“Because twenty years ago, you were a boy, Luca. If I exposed Rossi, his men would have slaughtered you to cover it up. I had to wait until you were strong enough to finish it.”
She looked at Marcus, weeping in the chair.
“And I had to wait until he came home.”
Luca looked at the confession. Then he looked at the vintage silver watch ticking on his desk.
He picked up the phone.
“Mrs. Carter,” Luca said, his voice ice-cold.
“Yes, sir?”
“Call the Rossi family. Tell Don Rossi I am hosting a private dinner tomorrow night. Just him, his son, and me.”
May you like
Luca hung up the phone and looked at his uncle.
“We aren't starting a war, Marcus,” Luca said. “We are ending one.”
