Chapter 4 - THE COAT
The silence in the bedroom was suffocating.
I backed away from the photograph as if it were on fire. The pain in my bruised ribs flared, but I barely felt it. My mind was spinning violently.
“That’s… that’s impossible,” I stammered, my voice breaking. “I grew up in South Side. I didn’t even know Dorothy Miller until I started working here and saw her at your Christmas party.”
Luca didn’t move. His dark eyes remained locked on my face, studying every twitch, every micro-expression.
“Are you sure about that?” he asked softly.
“Yes!” I cried out, terrified he thought I was part of some scheme. “My mother has been sick my whole life. We never had money. We never took photos like that. I swear to you, Mr. Moretti, I don't know why Vanessa has this.”
Luca slowly picked up the photo from the carpet. He looked at the image of the young Dorothy, then at the little girl holding her hand.
“When my father went to prison, Dorothy was the only one who didn’t abandon my mother,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a reflective, hollow tone. “She protected us. But there were always whispers in the neighborhood. Whispers that my father had a child before he met my mother. A child he paid heavily to keep hidden to protect his reputation in the syndicate.”
The blood drained from my face.
“No,” I whispered, stumbling back until my shoulders hit the wall. “No. My father was a mechanic. He died when I was a baby.”
“Did he?” Luca asked.
He walked over to his massive oak wardrobe and opened the double doors. He reached into the back and pulled out a heavy, moth-eaten wool coat. It was men’s. Old. Fashioned from cheap navy wool.
He laid it on the bed next to the sleeping Leo.
“My father wore this the night he was arrested,” Luca said quietly. “He told my mother to give it to Dorothy for safekeeping. We never knew why. Until I found it in Dorothy’s attic last year when I paid to have her roof replaced.”
Luca reached into the inner lining of the coat. He pulled out a small, tarnished brass key.
“Dorothy swore to me she didn’t know what this key opened,” Luca said, turning to face me. “But Vanessa’s family owns the oldest bank in downtown Chicago. The kind of bank that still uses brass safety deposit keys.”
I couldn't breathe. The room felt incredibly small.
“Vanessa found out about the safety deposit box,” Luca continued, stepping closer. “She realized there was something in there that my father left behind. Something worth a fortune. But to claim it, you would need the bloodline. You would need proof.”
He held up the DNA receipt.
“She wasn't faking a pregnancy, Kate. She was testing your DNA against the hair left on my father’s old coat.”
A sob tore from my throat. “Why didn't you fire her? Why didn't you just throw her out tonight?”
“Because,” Luca said, his eyes darkening with a terrifying resolve, “if she knows who you are, her father knows. And her father is fifty million dollars in debt to the Cartel. They need whatever is in that box to save their lives.”
He reached out and gently grasped my shoulders. His touch was surprisingly warm, grounding me as I started to hyperventilate.
“They won't stop with a DNA test, Kate. If you are my half-sister, you are the only one who can legally open that box under the old banking laws. They are going to come for you.”
Before I could process the words, Luca’s cell phone vibrated on the desk.
He picked it up. His eyes scanned the text message.
When he looked back at me, the quiet, gentle man was gone. The Mafia Boss had returned.
“We need to leave. Now,” he ordered.
“What? Why?”
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“That was my head of security at the gate,” Luca said, grabbing his suit jacket and pulling a heavy, black handgun from his desk drawer.
“Vanessa just pulled back into the driveway. And she brought three unmarked SUVs with her.”
