The Numbers Written In Blue Ink

The words echoed in the massive dining room.

Do not marry her.

Luca stared at the woman sitting at the other end of the table.

Vanessa’s face was completely drained of color.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Sofia stood up, her chair scraping violently against the polished marble floor.

“You knew,” Sofia whispered, her voice shaking with rage. “You knew he was changing the trust, and you let your degenerate brother take him.”

“I didn’t!” Vanessa cried, looking desperately at Luca. “Luca, you have to believe me! Anthony must have found out about the amendment. He acted alone!”

Luca didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t have to.

“Daniel,” Luca said into the phone, his eyes never leaving Vanessa’s face.

“Yes, boss.”

“Lock the estate gates. No one leaves. Bring Vanessa to the basement office.”

Vanessa gasped. “Luca, please! I’m your fiancée!”

“Take off the ring,” Luca said softly.

Vanessa froze.

“Take it off,” Luca repeated, the calmness in his voice far more terrifying than anger. “Or I will have Daniel cut it off your finger.”

Trembling, Vanessa slid the three-carat diamond from her hand and dropped it on the tablecloth.

Two security guards stepped into the dining room. They flanked Vanessa, gripping her arms, and escorted her away.

The silence she left behind was suffocating.

Sofia began to sob, covering her face.

The rest of the family sat frozen, terrified for Vittorio.

Luca turned to me.

His dark eyes were unreadable, but I could see the pulse beating furiously at his jaw.

“Emma.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You said my father pushed the pen away.”

I nodded, my heart hammering in my chest.

“He did. He wouldn't sign the residential care papers.”

Luca picked up the blue fountain pen I had found under the chair.

“If he didn't sign,” Luca murmured, staring at the bent gold nib, “then why was the pen open? Why is there ink on the tip?”

I looked down at my hands.

My left wrist was throbbing where Vanessa had grabbed me.

But my right hand was perfectly fine.

I turned it over.

The small smear of blue ink I had noticed earlier was still near my thumb.

Only, in the bright light of the crystal chandeliers, I realized something.

It wasn’t just a smear.

I pulled my hand closer to my face.

My breath caught.

“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered.

Luca immediately stepped closer. “What is it?”

“It’s not a smudge,” I said, my voice trembling. I held my palm out to him. “When I caught your father… when Vanessa grabbed my wrist… your father grabbed my right hand.”

Luca stared at my palm.

Written in faint, rushed blue ink, right across my lifeline, were three numbers.

8 - 4 - 2

Sofia rushed over, wiping her tears. “What is that? A combination?”

“No,” Luca said, his eyes darkening with realization. “It’s a flight number.”

Sofia gasped.

Luca pulled his phone back up. “Daniel. Check all private charters leaving O'Hare and Midway tonight. Look for flight 842.”

A few seconds of agonizing silence.

Then Daniel’s voice came through.

“Boss. Flight 842. It’s a private jet leaving Midway Airport for Zurich, Switzerland.”

Luca’s expression turned to stone.

“When does it take off?”

“At 9:00 PM.”

Luca looked at his watch.

It was 8:15.

“They aren't taking my father to an assisted living facility,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “They’re taking him out of the country.”

He turned toward the door, then stopped and looked back at me.

“Emma.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Get your coat. You’re coming with me.”

I froze. “Me?”

“You’re the only one who saw the faces of the medical transport men,” Luca said. “I need you.”

Before I could process it, Daniel’s voice interrupted again, tight with sudden alarm.

“Boss. You need to come down to the basement right now.”

“What is it?” Luca demanded.