Chapter 4 - THE HOSPITAL DISCHARGE SLIPThe library door creaked softly as I tried to back away into the hallway, but the sound of my shoe shifting on the hardwood caught Luca's attention instantly.
"Hannah."
His voice wasn't angry. It was worse—it sounded hollow, like a man standing over an open grave.
I stopped, my hand resting against the cool marble of the pillar. "I'm sorry, Mr. Moretti. I didn't mean to intrude. I just... I was checking on Sophie, and I heard..."
"Come in," he interrupted, not turning around. He was still standing by the open wall safe, staring down at the single sheet of paper in his hand.
I swallowed hard and stepped across the threshold. The room smelled of old paper, pipe tobacco, and leather. The wedding album lay open on the desk, showing the smiling faces of people who had apparently been lying to each other from the very first toast.
I walked over to the desk, keeping my distance. "Is everything alright, sir?"
Luca slowly turned around. He looked ten years older than he had an hour ago. The hard, untouchable aura of the Chicago syndicate boss had completely fractured, leaving behind a man who looked like he had just discovered his entire life was built on sand.
"Look at this, Hannah," he said quietly, holding out the paper.
I hesitated, then took it.
It was a hospital discharge summary from Mercy General Hospital, dated three years ago—the exact week Isabella had supposedly died in a tragic car accident on the expressway.
I scanned the typed medical jargon, my eyes locking onto the patient name:
ISABELLA MORETTI.
Below it, under the section marked Condition on Discharge, was a handwritten note from the attending physician:
Patient stable following emergency C-section and subsequent treatment for systemic toxicity. Discharged into the care of husband, Luca Moretti.
My eyes shot up to meet his. "Mr. Moretti... this says she survived the accident. It says she was discharged."
"She never had a car accident, Hannah," Luca said, his voice cracking slightly. "That was the story Nicholas gave me. He called me from the scene of a burning vehicle on I-94, told me Isabella's car had gone off the overpass, and that the rescue crews couldn't pull her out before the fuel tank exploded."
"But... why would Nicholas lie about that?"
"Because," Luca said, stepping toward the desk and picking up the silver locket Sophie had found, "Isabella didn't die in a crash. She tried to leave him. She tried to take my money, my child, and run back to her family in Boston. But Nicholas and Vanessa caught her first."
The room seemed to spin. The crystal chandelier overhead cast dancing prisms across the wall, but everything felt cold and dark.
"They kept her here?" I whispered.
"Not in the house," Luca replied, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. "In the old carriage house behind the north gardens. The one we haven't used since my grandfather's time. Nicholas told me it was full of old furniture and mold. I never went inside."
My breath caught in my throat. The north gardens were just past the greenhouse where I used to pick fresh herbs for Sophie's dinner. I had walked past that old brick building a hundred times.
"Is she... is she still there?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
May you like
Luca didn't answer with words. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a heavy, brass skeleton key that looked older than the house itself, and tossed his phone onto the desk.
"Marcus is securing the perimeter," Luca said, his eyes hardening into chips of dark obsidian. "Get your coat, Hannah. We're going for a walk."
Related Stories
