Chapter 2 - THE BLUEPRINT IN THE COAT
“Gabriel, answer me,” Antonella demanded.
Her voice didn't shake. It cut through the thick silence of the dining room like a blade. The twenty-six relatives who had been quietly eating their appetizers were now frozen, their forks hovering over porcelain plates.
Gabriel didn't look at his grandmother. He looked at the empty doorway where Isabella had just disappeared.
“It’s not what it sounds like,” he said smoothly, falling back into the calm, detached tone he used for business.
“Then what is it?” I asked. My heart hammered against my ribs. “Why would Isabella think you’re making decisions about this house?”
He finally looked at me. His dark eyes were unreadable.
“Claire, this isn't the time.”
He stood up, tossing his linen napkin onto the table. “I’m going to my study. The rest of you, finish your meal.”
He walked out. Just like that.
He expected us to simply resume eating after his mistress had detonated a bomb in the middle of Sunday dinner.
I looked at Antonella. She was staring at her untouched wine glass, her knuckles white where she gripped the table's edge.
“Nonna,” I whispered, touching her arm.
She didn't look at me. “Go after him, Claire.”
“He won't talk to me.”
“He will,” she said fiercely. “Or he is no grandson of mine.”
I stood up. The hallway was dim, smelling of roasted garlic and the expensive cedar of Gabriel’s cigars. I walked past the grand staircase, toward the heavy oak doors of his study.
The door was slightly ajar. I could hear him pacing.
I pushed the door open. He was standing by his mahogany desk, pouring a glass of scotch. He didn't even look up.
“I told you it wasn't the time, Claire.”
“When is the time, Gabriel?” I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me. “When Isabella decides it is? When she starts picking out the curtains for this house?”
He downed the scotch in one swallow and slammed the glass onto the desk.
“Isabella is not getting this house. I told her what she wanted to hear to keep her quiet.”
“To keep her quiet about what?”
He rubbed his temples, suddenly looking utterly exhausted. “Business. Things you don't need to burden yourself with.”
“I am burdened, Gabriel. I just watched you let another woman hold my hand at grace.”
He flinched. For a fraction of a second, something like guilt flashed across his face.
“I made a mistake tonight,” he admitted, his voice dropping. “I shouldn't have brought her here. I thought...” He trailed off.
“You thought you could phase me out.”
“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly.
He walked past me, grabbing his heavy wool overcoat from the leather armchair. “I have to go fix this. Stay with Antonella. Tell her... tell her the deed to the house is safe.”
He brushed past me, his shoulder grazing mine. It was the closest we had been all evening, and I felt nothing but a cold draft.
As he walked out the door, his overcoat caught on the brass handle. He tugged it, rushing, and something slipped out of the deep inner pocket.
A thick, folded envelope hit the Persian rug with a soft thud.
Gabriel didn't notice. He was already down the hall, the front door slamming shut a second later.
I stood alone in the study.
Slowly, I walked over and picked up the envelope. It was unsealed, bearing the logo of a prominent Chicago real estate development firm.
I pulled out the papers.
It wasn't a deed.
It was a demolition permit.
Attached to it was a set of architectural blueprints for a massive luxury high-rise, plotted exactly on the coordinates of Antonella’s historic estate.
My hands shook. He wasn't just selling the house. He was tearing it down.
But that wasn't the worst part.
I flipped to the second page to see the signature of the primary investor authorizing the demolition.
The name wasn't Gabriel Moretti.
The name on the line was Elias Romano.
Isabella’s father. The head of the rival family Gabriel had sworn to destroy five years ago.
Answer One: Gabriel was trading his grandmother’s legacy to our worst enemies.
Open Two: Why would a proud mafia boss surrender his family's crown jewel? And why was he pretending to be in love with the enemy's daughter to do it?
I folded the papers, my mind racing. I had to show Antonella.
But as I slipped the blueprints back into the envelope, something else fell out and fluttered to the floor.
I bent down.
It was a child’s drawing, done in bright, messy crayon. A stick figure of a tall man in a dark suit holding hands with a little boy.
Written in clumsy, block letters at the top: DADDY AND LEO.
I stared at the drawing, the blood draining from my face.
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Gabriel didn't have a child.
At least, that was what he had told me for seven years.
