Chapter 6 - Vanessa’s True Colors
By two in the morning, the Moretti mansion on Lake Michigan was ablaze with floodlights, but it was as silent as a tomb. High-voltage gates stood sealed, and armed guards patrolled every balcony with assault rifles held low.
Marco had brought Emily, Michael, and me through the reinforced subterranean garage. He immediately situated Emily and Michael in the master suite on the second floor, posting two armed guards directly outside their heavy oak door.
"Claire," Marco had said, catching my arm in the hallway. "The boss gave orders before we left Maple Street. When we get back, you are to go to the west parlor. He wants you present when he speaks to Vanessa."
"Me?" I had asked, bewildered. "Why me?"
"Because you saw how this started," Marco replied gruffly. "And the boss believes in witnessing truth."
Now, I stood in the corner of the west parlor. The room was opulent—plush velvet armchairs, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a massive marble fireplace where a fire crackled quietly. But the atmosphere was that of an interrogation cell.
Vanessa Bellini sat on the chesterfield sofa, still clad in her scarlet silk gown. Her hair, once immaculately pinned, was disheveled, strands falling across her pale face. Her mascara was smudged from silent, terrified tears. Two stone-faced guards stood by the heavy mahogany doors, their hands crossed over their tactical vests.
The doors swung open with a resounding thud.
Luca Moretti walked in.
He didn't look wounded, but there was an unmistakable aura of iron and soot about him. He removed his black overcoat and tossed it onto a side chair. Beneath it, his white dress shirt had sleeves rolled to the forearms, revealing the dark ink of old Sicilian tattoos.
Vanessa flinched as he entered, pulling her knees up onto the sofa. "Luca... thank God. You're alive."
Luca did not answer. He walked over to the mahogany liquor cabinet, poured two fingers of scotch into a tumbler, and drank it in a single, smooth motion. Only then did he turn to look at her.
"Salvi is dead," Luca said, his voice flat and devoid of inflection.
Vanessa choked on a sob, pressing her hands over her mouth.
"He brought eight men to Maple Street," Luca continued, stepping toward the center of the room. "They brought gasoline, crowbars, and automatic weapons. They intended to burn my late wife's home to ash and execute anyone inside. They didn't know I was waiting in the dark."
Vanessa began to tremble violently. "Luca, I didn't tell them to hurt anyone! I swear to you! My father told me—"
"Your father told you to marry me, gain control of my estate, and locate Sofia's ledger before the Department of Justice unsealed his indictments," Luca stated, pulling a manila folder from his leather satchel and tossing it onto the coffee table in front of her.
The folder flopped open, spilling photographs, banking receipts, and phone transcripts across the polished wood.
"We cracked your cloud backups an hour ago," Luca said, towering over her. "You weren't an innocent daughter following orders, Vanessa. You negotiated a twelve-percent finder's fee with your father for securing the ledger. You promised him that once we were married, you would convince me to sign over the Maple Street property to a holding company under your name. When Emily showed up pregnant, you panicked."
"She was going to ruin everything!" Vanessa suddenly screamed, her mask of delicate elegance shattering completely. She stood up, her eyes wide, wild, and bloodshot. "Do you know what my life has been like? My father lost everything at the tables! The Bellini family was drowning in debt! He told me if I didn't secure your alliance, he would sell me off to some degenerate capo in New Jersey!"
She took a ragged breath, pointing an accusatory, manicured finger toward the ceiling. "I did what I had to do to survive! And then that pathetic, dowdy girl comes waddling in here, six months pregnant by some penniless history teacher, expecting to be the center of your universe! You were supposed to marry *me*! Your empire was supposed to be *mine* to manage! Why should she get everything just because she crawled out of Sofia’s womb?!"
The slap was not loud, but it was absolute.
Luca had not struck her with an open hand; he had merely stepped forward, his cold, iron gaze stopping her mid-breath like a physical blow. He didn't even raise his hand. His presence alone forced her back onto the cushions.
"Emily carries the blood of a woman who built this empire with me," Luca whispered, leaning down until his shadow consumed her. "You are the daughter of a thief who hid behind his daughter's skirts. You tried to starve my child of her father's love. You tried to make her believe her unborn baby was a shame to this family."
Luca straightened up. "Claire."
I stepped forward from the shadows of the bookshelf. "Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
Vanessa’s eyes darted to me, burning with humiliation and hatred.
"What did Mrs. Bellini say to you at the service entrance tonight?" Luca asked.
"She told me that if I interfered, I was finished," I replied steadily, holding Vanessa’s glare without flinching. "She said you had spent your whole life cleaning up family mistakes, and that Emily shouldn't make you start again with hers."
Luca looked down at Vanessa. A cold, terrible smile touched his lips.
"She was right about one thing," Luca said. "I have spent my whole life cleaning up mistakes. And tonight, I am cleaning up my final one."
He turned to the guards. "Take her down to the holding cells in the boat house. Call Gianni Bellini. Tell him that if he wants to see his daughter alive again, he will come to the Chicago harbor warehouse at dawn, alone, with his resignation from the commission."
"Luca, please!" Vanessa shrieked as the guards hauled her from the sofa, her heels dragging against the Persian rug. "Luca! You loved me! You told me you loved me!"
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"I loved the ghost of my wife that you pretended to be," Luca said without looking back. "Take her out."
***
