Chapter 7 - THE SHEET MUSIC IN THE FIRE
The drive back to the Gold Coast felt like moving through a nightmare.
The rain was relentless, pounding against the windshield of the police cruiser that Luca had commandeered with a few phone calls to the Commissioner.
Leo was safely with child services, guarded by three of Luca’s top men.
But Mr. Santoro—my father—was still in the safe room at the mansion.
“If Vanessa knows where the sheet music is, why didn’t she steal it before?” I asked, clutching the dashboard.
“Because it’s in a biometric safe,” Luca explained, swerving around a slow-moving truck. “It only opens for my fingerprint. Or Matteo’s.”
I felt sick.
Vanessa hadn’t left the estate. She was waiting for the police to take Carlo away so she could force Matteo to open the safe.
We tore through the open iron gates of the Moretti mansion.
The front doors were wide open.
No guards. No staff.
“Stay behind me,” Luca commanded, drawing his backup weapon.
We ran into the grand foyer.
The house was eerily silent.
A trail of muddy footprints led across the marble floor, heading directly toward the west wing.
Toward the music room.
We followed the footprints, my heart hammering so loudly I thought it might burst.
When we reached the closed double doors of the music room, Luca didn’t hesitate. He kicked them open.
The smell of smoke hit me instantly.
Vanessa was standing by the fireplace.
In one hand, she held a lighter.
In the other, she held a thick stack of yellowed sheet music.
Kneeling on the floor in front of her, bleeding from a cut on his cheek, was Matteo Santoro.
“Drop the lighter, Vanessa,” Luca ordered, aiming his gun squarely at her chest.
Vanessa looked up, her red gown now stained with soot and mud. Her elegant updo was a tangled mess. She looked completely unhinged.
“You’re too late, Luca,” she laughed, a hysterical, broken sound. “The coordinates are gone. The Bellini empire is safe.”
She tossed a burning piece of paper into the fireplace.
“No!” Mr. Santoro cried out, trying to crawl forward, but Vanessa kicked him sharply in the ribs.
I couldn’t stop myself.
“Dad!” I screamed.
Mr. Santoro froze.
He looked at me, his scarred face twisting in shock and profound sorrow.
“Emma,” he whispered.
Vanessa laughed. “Oh, how touching. The maid finally knows she’s the bastard child of a piano tuner.”
“She’s a better woman than you will ever be,” Luca spat. “Step away from the fire, Vanessa.”
“Shoot me, Luca,” Vanessa taunted, holding the rest of the sheet music over the flames. “If you shoot me, I drop the papers. Your mother’s legacy burns forever. Just like she did.”
Luca’s finger tightened on the trigger, but he was trapped. He couldn’t risk the documents.
I looked at my father on the floor.
He was staring at the piano.
His eyes darted from the keys to me.
He was trying to tell me something.
I looked at the piano. The sheet music holder was empty, but the wooden lid covering the keys was closed.
He played six notes.
That’s what happened at the engagement dinner. He played six notes that made Luca drop his glass.
I remembered the notes. My mother used to hum them to me when I was a child.
I didn’t look at Vanessa.
I lunged for the piano.
“Stop her!” Vanessa screamed, momentarily distracted.
I threw open the wooden lid.
I pressed the six keys, hard and fast.
C, E, G, F, D, C.
The piano chord rang out, loud and dissonant in the tense room.
A loud click echoed from beneath the piano bench.
Vanessa jumped.
Luca didn’t wait. With Vanessa distracted, he crossed the room in two massive strides, grabbing her wrist and twisting the lighter out of her hand.
He slammed her against the wall, pinning her there.
“Marco!” Luca shouted.
Guards flooded into the room, grabbing Vanessa and dragging her away as she screamed and kicked.
I dropped to my knees beside Mr. Santoro.
“Are you okay?” I cried, examining the cut on his cheek.
He reached out a trembling hand and touched my face.
“You look just like her,” he wept. “You look just like Sarah.”
I threw my arms around him, holding him tightly. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me think she raised me alone?”
“Because Carlo Bellini promised to kill you if I ever claimed you,” my father whispered. “I had to stay away. I had to let you be safe.”
Luca walked over, holding the stack of sheet music Vanessa had tried to burn.
“She didn’t burn the coordinates,” Luca said, his voice thick with relief. “These are blank pages.”
I looked up. “Then where is the real music?”
My father smiled faintly. He pointed to the piano bench.
“When you played the notes,” my father said, “you unlocked the false bottom of the bench.”
Luca knelt down and reached under the wooden bench.
He pulled out a flat, leather-bound folder.
He opened it.
Inside was Elena Moretti’s original, handwritten sheet music.
And tucked into the very front pocket was a sealed envelope.
It was addressed:
May you like
To my son, Luciano. And to the girl who will love him.
TITLE: The Letter in the Bench
