Chapter 5 - THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE CHAIN
I stepped closer, my legs feeling like lead.
The photograph tangled in the silver rosary was small, the edges burned and curled, like it had been rescued from a fire. But the faces were unmistakable.
It was a picture of my mother.
She looked younger, healthier, wearing her old uniform from the diner she used to work at. But she wasn't alone in the photo. She was standing next to a man I didn't recognize—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scar running through his left eyebrow, handing her a thick manila envelope.
"Who is that?" I whispered, my voice shaking. "Why is my mother in this picture?"
Luca gently moved Caleb behind him, keeping his eyes on me.
"That man," Luca said softly, "is Vanessa's brother, Dominic Bellini. And this photo was taken the day after my wife’s car went off the bridge."
The air in the room vanished. I couldn't breathe. I stared at the torn photo, trying to process the impossible. My mother lived in a modest apartment across town. She baked cookies and knitted scarves. She was currently recovering from knee surgery. She had absolutely nothing to do with the mafia, the Bellinis, or the Morettis.
"You're lying," I said, stepping backward. "My mom doesn't know these people. She’s never met Vanessa’s brother."
"The pawn broker confirmed it, Rachel," Luca said gently. "Vanessa gave him this rosary and this photograph as collateral for a massive loan. She was paying someone off. And judging by this picture, she was paying off the woman who helped orchestrate Isabella's accident."
"No!" I shouted. I didn't care that he was my boss. I didn't care that he was dangerous. "My mother is a good person! She was working double shifts at a diner to pay our rent when your wife died! She didn't hurt anyone!"
Caleb tugged on Luca’s sleeve. "Daddy, Miss Rachel is nice. Don't be mean to her."
Luca’s intense gaze never left my face. "I want to believe you, Rachel. I really do. You protected my son tonight. But the woman who took this photo, the woman who was blackmailing Vanessa... the trail leads directly to your family."
"Then let me call her," I begged, tears spilling hot and fast down my cheeks. "Let me call my mom right now. I’ll put it on speaker. She’ll explain everything."
Luca considered me for a long moment. He looked at the unconscious man zip-tied on the floor, then back at me.
He reached into his pocket and handed me my own cell phone. "Do it."
My hands shook as I dialed my mother’s number. It was 3:00 AM. It rang three times before she answered, her voice groggy and thick with sleep.
"Rachel, honey? Is everything okay? Why are you calling so late?"
"Mom," I choked out, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I need you to tell me the truth. Do you know a man named Dominic Bellini?"
Complete silence on the other end of the line.
"Mom?" I pleaded. "Please."
When she finally spoke, all the warmth was gone from her voice. She sounded terrified.
"Rachel, listen to me very carefully," she whispered, her breath hitching. "You need to leave the Moretti estate right now. Pack your bags and walk out the front door. Do not tell Luca where you are going."
"Mom, I can't leave! Why did you take an envelope from Dominic Bellini four years ago?"
A jagged sob broke through the phone speaker. "I didn't take it for myself, baby. I took it for you."
"What are you talking about?"
"Vanessa Bellini found out who your father really was," my mother cried. "She told me if I didn't help her stage the accident on the bridge, she would tell the rival families where we lived. She would have had you killed, Rachel. I had no choice!"
The phone slipped from my sweaty fingers and clattered onto the hardwood floor.
My mother. My sweet, gentle mother had helped murder Isabella Moretti to protect me.
I fell to my knees, burying my face in my hands. The world spun out of control. My entire life was built on a lie. I had been serving the man whose wife my mother helped kill. And I had been comforting the little boy who lost his mother because of it.
I waited for Luca to pull out a gun. I waited for him to drag me by my hair and throw me out into the rain. I deserved it.
Instead, I felt a strong, warm hand grip my shoulder.
I looked up. Luca was kneeling in front of me. His face was a mask of sheer agony, but there was no anger directed at me.
"She was blackmailed," Luca said quietly. "Vanessa held a gun to your mother's head to get to my wife."
"I'm so sorry," I sobbed, unable to stop shaking. "I didn't know. I swear to God, I didn't know."
"I know you didn't," Luca said. He picked up my phone and ended the call.
Caleb walked over and wrapped his small arms around my neck, hugging me tightly. "It's okay, Miss Rachel. We know you're good."
I hugged the boy back, crying into his shoulder.
Luca stood up, his jaw set in a terrifying line. He pulled out his own phone and dialed a number.
"Robert," Luca said to the baseball coach, his voice devoid of all emotion. "Wake up the men. We are going to the Bellini compound. Nobody leaves that house."
He hung up the phone and looked down at me.
"Get your coat, Rachel," Luca said. "We’re going to get your mother before Vanessa’s brother does."
I scrambled to my feet, wiping my face. "What about Caleb?"
"He comes with us. It isn't safe here anymore."
We rushed down the stairs, Caleb holding tightly to my hand. The massive front doors were already open. Two armored black SUVs were waiting in the driveway, rain bouncing off the bulletproof glass.
Luca ushered us into the back of the second vehicle. He slammed the door shut and climbed into the front passenger seat.
"Drive," Luca ordered the driver.
The SUV peeled out of the estate, tires screeching against the wet asphalt. We sped through the dark, empty streets of Chicago. I held Caleb close, praying we would reach my mother's apartment in time.
But as we turned onto my mother's street, the driver suddenly slammed on the brakes.
The SUV skidded to a halt.
"Sir," the driver said, his voice tight.
I looked out the window and screamed.
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My mother's apartment building wasn't there anymore. It was entirely engulfed in towering, roaring orange flames, illuminating the dark Chicago sky like a nightmare.
And standing on the sidewalk across the street, watching the building burn, was a figure holding a bright yellow gasoline can.
