Chapter 6 - The Box of Letters
The mansion’s attic was a sprawling, cavernous space filled with dust-covered furniture and forgotten family history.
Luca led the way with a flashlight, his jaw set in a rigid line. I followed closely behind, the scrape on my neck stinging as the dry air hit it.
“Vanessa’s father played her,” Luca said, his voice echoing slightly in the rafters. “He fed her a lie about my father’s debts to make her desperate enough to tear up the gatehouse.”
“Why?” I asked, stepping over a rolled-up tapestry.
“Because whatever is actually in the gatehouse isn’t a ledger of debt. It’s a ledger of leverage. My father was building a case against the Bellinis. George was helping him hide it.”
He stopped in front of a massive, intricately carved wooden wardrobe at the far end of the attic.
“And this,” Luca said, pointing his flashlight at the base of the wardrobe, “is my actual hiding spot.”
He dropped to one knee, wedged his fingers under the heavy oak baseboard, and pulled. The wood snapped free, revealing a hidden compartment.
He reached inside and pulled out a small, rusted metal lockbox.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
Luca sat on a dusty trunk and set the box on his lap. He didn’t have a key. He didn’t need one. He used the handle of his pocket knife to shatter the old, brittle padlock.
He flipped the lid open.
Inside, there were no ledgers. No diamonds. No blackmail material.
Just a stack of envelopes bound in twine.
Luca picked them up. He slid the top envelope free and turned it over.
My breath caught in my throat.
The handwriting on the envelope was elegant, sweeping, and entirely familiar. It was the exact same handwriting I saw on my mother’s grocery lists every week.
The letter was addressed to Luca’s father.
From Catherine Mercer.
My mother.
“What is this?” I whispered, backing away a step.
Luca looked from the envelope to me, his brow furrowing in deep confusion.
“Julia… did your mother know my father?”
“No,” I said quickly. “My mom is a retired schoolteacher. She’s never been anywhere near this estate.”
Luca untied the twine. He opened the first letter.
His eyes scanned the page. The silence in the attic stretched until I thought my chest would explode.
When he finally looked up, his expression was completely unreadable.
“She didn’t just know him, Julia.”
He handed the letter to me.
My hands shook violently as I took the aged paper.
My dearest Antonio,
I received the funds for Julia’s tuition. You are too generous. She is growing up so beautifully, and every time I look at her, I see your eyes.
I stopped reading.
The letters blurred. The attic spun.
I see your eyes.
“No,” I gasped, dropping the letter onto the dusty floor. “No, that’s impossible. My father was a mechanic. He died when I was ten.”
Luca stood up slowly.
“Your father raised you. But he wasn’t your blood.”
He looked at me, not as his housekeeper, but as someone entirely different.
“You’re my sister.”
Before I could process the words—before I could scream, or cry, or run—the heavy attic door slammed shut behind us.
The sound of a heavy iron bolt sliding into place echoed in the dark.
“A touching family reunion,” a voice sneered from the other side of the door.
It was Dominic.
May you like
And I smelled smoke.
TITLE: The Fire in the Rafters
