Chapter 5 - THE TORN COAT
I fell to my knees right beside Luca.
I didn’t care about the broken glass from the water glass I had knocked over. I didn’t care that my apron was soaked.
I reached out and gently touched the little boy’s cold, damp cheek.
“What’s your name?” I whispered, tears blurring my vision.
“Leo,” he said, blinking at me.
I pulled him into my arms, hugging him so tightly I felt his little heart beating against my chest.
He felt real. He was real.
My sister’s son. My nephew.
Leo hugged me back awkwardly, his small hands clutching my shoulders.
“Are you Aunt Anna?” he asked into my neck.
“Yes,” I sobbed. “Yes, baby. I’m Anna.”
Beside me, Luca took the heavy wool coat from the floor.
He ran his fingers over the thick, dark fabric. He stopped at a massive, jagged tear near the left shoulder. The fabric around it was stiff and rust-colored.
Blood.
“This was the coat my father was wearing the night he disappeared,” Luca said, his voice tight with raw emotion.
He looked up at Richard.
“How did Clara get my father’s coat?”
Richard was trembling, backed up against an empty table.
“I don’t know! I swear! When I came back with the cleaning supplies, the coat was gone!”
Luca didn’t believe him. But before he could press further, his mother reached out.
Her hands were shaking as she touched the lapel of the coat.
“Luca,” she whispered. “Check the inside pocket.”
Luca frowned. He slipped his large hand into the silk-lined interior pocket of the bloodstained coat.
He pulled out a faded, dog-eared photograph.
He stared at it for a long time.
The muscles in his jaw locked. A dangerous, terrifying stillness washed over him.
He didn’t show it to me. He didn’t show it to Richard.
He turned it around and held it up for his mother to see.
“Care to explain this, Mama?” he asked.
His voice was so cold it made the hair on my arms stand up.
I looked at the photograph.
It was a picture taken at least fifteen years ago, in a sunny backyard.
Vincenzo Moretti was smiling, holding a glass of wine.
Beside him stood Mama Moretti, looking young and radiant.
And standing between them, with Vincenzo’s arm wrapped proudly around his shoulders, was a teenage boy.
A boy I recognized instantly.
It was Richard Hale.
I gasped, looking from the photo to my manager.
Richard’s face crumpled. He covered his face with his hands.
“He was my father,” Richard wept. “Vincenzo was my father.”
Luca stood up slowly, towering over his mother.
“You told me he was an orphan,” Luca said to his mother. “You told me Richard was just a charity case you took in from the old neighborhood.”
Mama Moretti wouldn’t look at him. She stared down at her diamond necklace.
“Your father had an affair before we were married,” she whispered. “Richard was the result. We kept it quiet to protect the family name.”
“You kept it quiet to protect your pride,” Luca snapped.
He turned to Richard.
“Is that why you covered up his murder? Because the killer promised you a piece of the empire I inherited?”
“No!” Richard shouted. “No, Luca! I covered it up because she told me to!”
Richard pointed a shaking finger directly at Mama Moretti.
The entire restaurant seemed to gasp at once.
I pulled Leo behind me, shielding him.
May you like
Mama Moretti didn’t deny it. She just sat perfectly still, adjusting the blue diamond at her throat.
“I told you to burn that coat, Richard,” she said quietly.
