Chapter 2 - THE SADDLE POUCH
Luca Moretti didn't raise his voice.
He didn't slam his hands on the engagement table.
He simply stood frozen, staring at Vanessa Bellini.
"My name?" Luca repeated. His voice was dangerously quiet.
Vanessa took a step back, her red silk gown suddenly looking less like a symbol of power and more like a target.
"Luca, please. Graham is exaggerating. He misunderstood—"
"Graham," Luca said, not taking his eyes off his fiancée. "Bring the saddle."
"Right away, sir." Graham turned and hurried out of the dining room.
"Luca, you can't be serious," Vanessa pleaded, her voice pitching higher. "You're going to disrupt our engagement dinner over a scrap of paper left by a dead woman?"
The silence in the dining room was absolute.
Thirty-two wealthy guests barely dared to breathe.
I watched from my place near the kitchen door, my hands gripping the edge of my serving tray.
Luca slowly turned his head.
"A dead woman," he repeated. Every word was cut from ice. "You are speaking about my late wife. You are speaking about my daughter's mother."
"I just meant it was a long time ago," Vanessa stammered, looking around the table, desperately seeking an ally among the Chicago elite.
No one met her eyes.
"You told Ava the note would make me cancel the wedding," Luca said. "Why would you say that to a twelve-year-old child?"
"She's confused!" Vanessa insisted. "I merely suggested that dwelling on the past might make you sad. I was protecting you."
"You were protecting yourself," Luca said softly. He reached down and gently placed a hand on Ava's shoulder. The little girl was trembling, still clutching Copper’s brass nameplate.
Graham returned ten minutes later.
He wasn't carrying a small pouch. He was carrying the entire saddle. It was old brown leather, worn soft from years of use.
He laid it gently on a side table near the grand fireplace.
Tied to the front D-ring, near where a rider’s hands would rest, was a small, weathered leather pouch.
Luca walked over to the saddle. He didn't hesitate. He untied the leather string and opened the pouch.
He reached inside and pulled out a small, folded piece of thick cream stationery.
The outside of the paper was marked with elegant handwriting.For Luca.
"Don't read it," Vanessa whispered, her face pale. "Luca, please. It will ruin everything we've built."
Luca ignored her. He unfolded the paper.
He read it once.
Then he read it again.
The silence in the room was heavy, thick as smoke.
I watched Luca’s expression change from cold anger to profound, agonizing devastation.
He looked at the paper as if it had physically burned him.
"Daddy?" Ava whispered, taking a timid step forward. "What does it say?"
Luca didn't answer his daughter. He looked up, his eyes locking onto Vanessa.
"Where did you get this?"
"I didn't!" Vanessa cried out. "It was in the pouch! Caroline left it there!"
"Caroline died four years ago," Luca said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "The ink on this paper is fresh. The watermark is from the Bellini family stationer."
My heart pounded.
"You forged a letter from my dead wife," Luca said.
A collective murmur rippled through the room.
Vanessa's face flushed a deep, furious crimson. "I had to! You wouldn't stop comparing me to her! You wouldn't let her go!"
"So you wrote a letter pretending to be Caroline," Luca said, stepping toward her. "Saying that she wanted me to move on. Saying that she wanted me to sell Copper and send Ava to boarding school so I could focus on my new wife."
Vanessa backed away, hitting the edge of the dining table. "It's what she would have wanted! She wanted you to be happy!"
"You tried to use my dead wife to manipulate me into sending my daughter away," Luca whispered.
"She's a spoiled brat!" Vanessa shouted, losing her carefully crafted composure. She pointed a manicured finger at Ava. "She clings to that stupid horse and that stupid nameplate! I was going to give you a real family, Luca! A strong family!"
Luca looked at the wedding coordinator, who was trembling near the doorway.
"Cancel the caterers. Cancel the florist."
Vanessa gasped. "Luca! You can't be serious. Our families—my father—"
"Your father will receive his investments back by tomorrow morning," Luca said without looking at her. "The engagement is over. Get out of my house."
"You will regret this," Vanessa hissed, her eyes flashing with pure venom. She looked at Ava, then at me. "This is your fault," she spat at me. "You're the one who brought that halter to the table!"
"Do not speak to my staff," Luca warned.
Vanessa turned and fled the dining room, her heels clicking furiously against the marble floor.
Luca closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, the darkness was gone, replaced by profound exhaustion.
"Rachel," he said softly.
"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"Take Ava upstairs. Have Graham bring Copper back to his stall."
"Yes, sir."
I gently took Ava's hand. She was still clutching the brass nameplate.
We walked out of the dining room, leaving the ruined engagement dinner behind.
When we reached her bedroom, Ava sat on the edge of her mattress.
"Is Daddy really not getting married?"
"It seems that way, sweetheart," I said, going to her closet to find her pajamas.
"Vanessa is going to be really mad."
"Your father will protect you," I promised, though my stomach was tied in knots. Vanessa’s family was powerful. She wasn't the kind of woman to just pack her bags and walk away quietly.
I went to the bathroom to start the warm water. When I came back out, Ava was standing by her heavy oak dresser.
She was holding a small, silver-framed photograph of her mother.
"Miss Rachel?"
"Yes, honey?"
"Vanessa lied about the letter," Ava said quietly.
May you like
"I know. Your dad figured it out."
"No," Ava said, looking up at me. "She lied about writing it. Because I saw Mommy write it before she died."
