Chapter 10 - THE NAME ON THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE
“A marriage certificate?” Luca repeated, stepping away from me to take the paper from Daniel. “Whose?”
I stood frozen. After Marcus Bellini, corrupt judges, and kidnapping plots, I couldn't imagine what other secrets this family could possibly hide.
Luca unfolded the crisp, aged paper.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then, a slow, disbelieving laugh escaped his lips. He looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head.
“What is it?” I asked, stepping closer.
Luca handed me the certificate.
“Marcus Bellini wasn't just a monster, Hannah. He was a hypocrite of the highest order.”
I looked at the document. It was dated thirty-five years ago.
It was a certified marriage license from the State of Nevada.
Husband: Marcus Bellini.
Wife: Eleanor Moretti.
My jaw dropped. “Eleanor Moretti? But that’s...”
“My aunt,” Luca finished for me. “My father’s estranged sister. She ran away from the family when I was a baby. We were told she died in Europe.”
“She didn't die,” Daniel said, looking at the document. “She married the enemy.”
“Marcus built his entire empire on a crusade to destroy the Moretti bloodline,” Luca said, pacing the foyer. “He claimed my father ruined his life. He claimed my father took everything from him. But Marcus married my aunt in secret. He was legally family the entire time.”
I stared at the paper, trying to process the sheer absurdity of it.
“Why would he keep this a secret?” I asked. “If he married a Moretti, he could have demanded a seat at the Commission table thirty years ago. He wouldn't have needed to steal Leo to secure an heir.”
Luca stopped pacing.
His eyes darkened as he realized the truth.
“Because Marcus didn't just hate my father,” Luca said softly. “He feared him. If my father knew Marcus had touched his sister, he would have wiped the Bellinis off the map. Marcus kept it a secret to survive.”
Luca looked at Daniel.
“Is Eleanor still alive?”
“I don't know, sir,” Daniel admitted. “If she is, Marcus has kept her hidden for three decades.”
“Find her,” Luca ordered. “If she’s alive, she deserves to know her husband is going to prison for the rest of his life. And she deserves to come home.”
Daniel nodded and walked away to make the calls.
The grand foyer was quiet again.
“It’s really over, isn't it?” I asked, leaning against the marble table.
“It’s over,” Luca smiled gently. He walked over and took my hand. “Come on. Let’s go make pancakes. The kids are going to be hungry when they wake up.”
We walked into the massive, industrial kitchen.
It felt incredibly surreal to be standing there in my normal clothes, pulling flour and eggs from the pantry while the most feared man in Chicago tied an apron around his waist.
For the next hour, we didn't talk about the mafia, or kidnapping, or hitmen.
We just cooked.
We laughed when Luca flipped a pancake too high and it landed on the stove hood. We drank terrible instant coffee because the espresso machine was broken.
It was normal. It was beautiful.
Around eight o'clock, the sound of small, hesitant footsteps echoed in the hallway.
I turned around.
Sophie and Leo stood in the doorway.
Sophie was still wearing her yellow cardigan over her pajamas. Leo was wearing an oversized t-shirt Luca had found for him. They were holding hands.
Leo looked terrified. He stared at Luca, his eyes wide and uncertain. The conditioning of eight years wasn't going to vanish overnight.
Luca didn't rush him. He set the spatula down and crouched so he was at eye level with his son.
“Good morning, buddy,” Luca said softly.
Leo swallowed hard. “My... my grandpa isn't coming back, is he?”
“No, Leo,” Luca said gently. “He’s not. You’re safe here. Nobody is ever going to take you away again.”
Sophie tugged on Leo’s hand.
“Daddy makes the best pancakes,” she whispered encouragingly. “With chocolate chips.”
Leo looked at the towering stack of pancakes on the island counter. His stomach growled audibly, making Sophie giggle.
A tiny, shy smile crept onto Leo’s face.
He let go of Sophie’s hand and took a hesitant step toward Luca.
Luca’s eyes filled with tears, but he kept his smile steady. He opened his arms.
Leo walked forward and wrapped his small arms around Luca’s neck.
Luca closed his eyes, burying his face in his son’s dark hair, holding him with a fierce, unbreakable love.
I wiped a tear from my own eye, turning away to give them the moment they had been denied for eight years.
I picked up the plates to set the table.
But as I walked past the kitchen window, I stopped dead in my tracks.
The morning sun was shining brightly on the front lawn.
But parked just outside the iron gates, idling quietly, was a black sedan with heavily tinted windows.
It wasn't a police car. It wasn't one of Luca’s security vehicles.
And standing beside the car, staring directly at the kitchen window, was a woman in a long, elegant black coat.
She wasn't Vanessa. She was older. Much older.
She raised her hand and pressed something flat against the glass of the passenger window for me to see.
It was a piece of paper.
A photograph.
May you like
Even from this distance, I could read the bold, black handwriting scrawled across the bottom of the picture.
I AM NOT DEAD, LUCA.
