Chapter 3 - THE GHOSTS IN THE SILVER
"That's impossible," I whispered.
I stepped back, pulling Lucy tighter against my chest.
Luca stood up, the silver beads dangling from his trembling fingers. He didn't look like a billionaire in that moment. He looked like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, realizing the ground was crumbling beneath his feet.
"My mother died when Richard and I were teenagers," Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I watched them close the casket. She was holding this exact rosary."
Lucy peeked over my shoulder. "That's the shiny necklace the bad man dropped."
Luca’s head snapped toward her. "What bad man, sweetheart?"
"The man who came to take Mommy away," Lucy whispered, burying her face into my neck. "I was hiding in the closet. Mommy told me to run and find you, but I had to wait until they left."
My heart pounded so hard I thought it might crack my ribs.
"Lucy," Luca said, kneeling so he was at eye level with her. He didn't rush her. He didn't raise his voice. "Did you see the man's face?"
She shook her head. "No. But he wore a big black ring. Like a stamp."
Luca froze.
A signet ring.
I had worked for the Moretti family for three years. I knew exactly what that ring looked like. It was heavy gold, stamped with the family crest.
Richard wore one.
Luca wore one.
But there was a third ring. One that belonged to their uncle, Marcus Moretti, the family’s fiercely private attorney.
"Marcus," Luca breathed, the realization darkening his eyes. "Richard didn't do this alone."
He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. He didn't wait for a greeting.
"Lock down the estate," Luca ordered his head of security. "Nobody goes in. Nobody comes out. Find my brother and put him in my office. If he tries to leave, break his legs."
He hung up before the man could answer.
"Elena," Luca turned to me. "I need to get Lucy somewhere safe. And you shouldn't be involved in this anymore. It’s too dangerous."
I thought about my mother. I thought about the paycheck I desperately needed.
But then I felt Lucy’s small arms wrap around my neck.
"I'm not leaving her, Mr. Moretti," I said, my voice shaking but firm. "I know how your family operates. They won't just hurt your wife. They'll hurt anyone who knows she exists."
Luca looked at me. For the first time all night, I saw a flicker of profound respect in his dark eyes.
"Anna is not my wife," he said softly. "But she should have been."
He walked over to the tiny kitchen table to gather the scattered medical bills. If we were going to find her, we needed to know what doctors she was seeing.
As he scooped up the papers, something fell to the floor.
It was a piece of folded notebook paper.
Luca picked it up and opened it. I watched the color completely drain from his face.
"Mr. Moretti?" I asked gently.
He handed me the paper.
It wasn't a doctor's bill. It was a receipt from a private courier service, dated exactly one week ago.
And the delivery address made my breath hitch.
It was addressed to Margaret Brooks.
My mother.
"Elena," Luca said quietly. "Why is Anna sending packages to your mother?"
The room spun.
My mother had worked as a housekeeper for the Moretti family fifteen years ago, long before I ever put on the uniform. She had retired early due to "health issues." We never talked about her time there. She explicitly told me never to ask.
But a week ago, a strange package had arrived at our apartment. My mother had hidden it before I could ask what it was.
"I... I don't know," I stammered, my mind racing. "My mother has been terrified for weeks. She jumps at every knock on the door."
Luca’s eyes hardened, but not with anger toward me. With a terrifying realization.
"This didn't start eight years ago with Anna," he said. "It started fifteen years ago."
Suddenly, my cell phone buzzed in my apron pocket.
The screen lit up. It was my mother.
I answered immediately. "Mom?"
"Elena," she whispered. Her voice was trembling so violently I could barely understand her. "Elena, you need to stay away from the hotel. Don't come home."
"Mom, what's wrong? Where are you?"
"They found out she mailed it to me," my mother cried. "I hear them on the stairs, Elena. They’re coming to the door."
There was a loud, violent crash through the phone. Wood splintering.
"Mom!" I screamed.
The phone clattered to the floor on her end.
Then, a man's voice picked up the receiver.
"Hello, Elena," the voice said. Calm. Elegant. Chilling.
It was Marcus Moretti.
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"Tell my nephew," Marcus said smoothly, "that if he wants his beloved Anna back alive, he’s going to trade me the documents your mother has been hiding for fifteen years. And he’s going to do it tonight."
TITLE: THE SINS OF THE FATHER
