Chapter 7 - THE STOLEN PHOTOGRAPH
“I don’t have a sister,” I repeated, my voice shaking so badly I could barely form the words.
Luca tightened his grip on my arm, steadying me in the freezing rain. “Who was in the photograph, Hannah? Think.”
My mind raced back to the small framed picture on my mother’s nightstand. “It’s a picture of me when I was six. I’m standing next to a little girl with dark hair. We lived in the same foster home before my mom adopted me. Her name was… her name was Clara.”
Arthur limped closer, his scarred face pale. “Clara? Did she have bright green eyes?”
“Yes,” I breathed. “We were best friends for a year. Then she was transferred to a group home in New York.”
Arthur swore violently under his breath. He grabbed the manila envelope from Luca’s hands and pulled out the photos of Eliana.
He shoved one in my face. “Is this her? Is this the girl in the picture?”
I stared at the little girl playing in the schoolyard. The dark hair. The green eyes. It was the exact same face as the girl in my mother’s photograph.
“Yes,” I whispered. “That’s Clara.”
Luca’s eyes widened in realization. “Eliana isn’t at St. Jude’s Academy. Vanessa didn’t hide her under a John Doe name.”
He turned slowly toward the front doors of the mansion, where the guests were still huddled inside, watching the chaos unfold.
“She hid her right under my nose,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper.
“What do you mean?” I asked, completely lost.
“St. Jude’s Academy is a feeder school for the children of our staff,” Luca said. “It’s where we send the orphans and the kids of employees who can’t afford tuition. It’s funded by the Moretti Foundation.”
He looked back at me.
“Hannah. How did you get the job here?”
My stomach plummeted. “Vanessa hired me. She interviewed me personally. She said she liked my background.”
“Because she knew you grew up with Eliana,” Arthur realized. “She knew you were the only connection the girl had to her past. By keeping you close, she could monitor you. Ensure you never remembered anything dangerous.”
“But why steal the photograph tonight?” I asked, panic rising.
Luca looked toward the basement doors, where his guards had dragged Vanessa and Marcus.
“Because they aren’t working alone,” Luca said coldly. “Marcus was the muscle. Vanessa was the face. But someone else is cleaning up their loose ends. Someone who knew the police would eventually trace Eliana back to that photo.”
Arthur leaned on his cane. “If they know we have Vanessa, they’ll panic. They’ll try to move the girl.”
“Not if we get there first,” Luca said.
He turned to his lead security guard, a massive, silent man named Dante.
“Dante. Warm up the jet. We leave for New York in twenty minutes.”
“I’m coming with you,” I said immediately.
Luca shook his head. “It’s too dangerous, Hannah. You’ve done enough. Go inside, get dry. Stay with my mother and Julian.”
“No,” I insisted, stepping into his path. “Vanessa used me. She used my sick mother to keep me quiet. I know Clara—Eliana. If she’s terrified, she won’t trust a group of men with guns. She’ll trust me. Let me help bring her home.”
Luca stared down at me. The rain continued to pour, washing away the blood and the shattered glass on the driveway. For a long moment, the ruthless mafia boss looked at the twenty-five-year-old maid, and I saw real respect in his eyes.
“Twenty minutes,” Luca agreed.
I ran inside, my heart pounding. I found Teresa in the sitting room, holding Julian tightly on her lap. The little boy was fast asleep again, exhausted by the trauma of the night.
“Hannah?” Teresa asked, her voice trembling. “Is it over?”
“Not yet, Mrs. Moretti,” I said, kneeling beside her chair and taking her frail hands. “We know where she is. We’re going to bring Eliana home.”
Teresa closed her eyes, tears spilling over her wrinkled cheeks. “Tell her… tell her I kept her blanket warm.”
I smiled, squeezing her hands. “I will.”
I rushed to my small room in the servant’s quarters, quickly changing out of my soaked uniform into a dry sweater and jeans. I grabbed my coat and sprinted back to the driveway.
Luca was waiting by a sleek black SUV. Arthur was already sitting in the back seat.
We drove to the private airfield in silence. The tension in the car was suffocating. Every passing minute felt like an hour.
When we boarded the private jet, Luca poured two glasses of whiskey, handing one to Arthur. They sat across from each other, two men who had been enemies for four years, united by a single purpose.
“Who else is involved, Arthur?” Luca asked quietly. “Who would Vanessa trust enough to clean up her mess?”
Arthur stared at his glass. “Vanessa doesn’t trust anyone, Luca. She uses people. But there is one person she feared. The person who originally taught her how to play these games.”
“Who?” I asked, leaning forward.
Arthur looked at me, his scarred face grave.
“Her father.”
I frowned. “Vanessa told me her father died in a car accident when she was a teenager.”
Luca slammed his glass down on the table, the amber liquid sloshing over the sides.
“He didn’t die,” Luca growled, his eyes burning with sudden, violent realization. “He went to federal prison. For embezzlement. I pulled the strings to get him released early two years ago as a favor to Vanessa.”
“Victor Bellini,” Arthur confirmed softly. “He’s out. And he’s the one running St. Jude’s Academy.”
The jet engines roared to life, pushing us back into our seats as we hurtled down the runway and up into the stormy night sky.
Two hours later, we landed at a small, private airstrip in upstate New York.
The rain had turned into a freezing, heavy snow.
Dante and a team of heavily armed guards were waiting for us in two black Suburbans. We drove through the winding, snow-covered mountain roads until we reached the massive wrought-iron gates of St. Jude’s Academy.
It looked like a fortress. High stone walls, darkened windows, completely isolated from the outside world.
The gates were locked, secured by a heavy steel chain.
Luca didn’t hesitate. “Ram it.”
Dante floored the accelerator. The heavy Suburban smashed through the iron gates, tearing the chain apart with a deafening screech of metal. We skidded into the snowy courtyard and slammed it into park.
We piled out of the vehicles. The guards fanned out, weapons raised.
The front doors of the academy were wide open.
Luca drew his gun and walked inside, with me close behind.
The main hall was dark, silent, and completely empty. Papers were scattered across the floor, filing cabinets thrown open. It looked like someone had left in a massive hurry.
“Search every room!” Luca yelled.
I ran down the hallway toward the dormitories. I checked room after room. Empty beds. Bare walls.
I reached the very last door at the end of the hall. It was locked from the outside with a heavy padlock.
“Luca! Over here!” I yelled.
Luca ran down the hall, took one look at the lock, and shot it clean off. He kicked the door open.
Inside the small, dark room, huddled in the corner beneath a thin blanket, was a little girl.
She looked up at us, her bright green eyes wide with terror.
“Clara?” I whispered, taking a slow step forward.
The little girl clutched the blanket tighter. “Hannah?”
Tears stung my eyes. I dropped to my knees and opened my arms.
She ran to me, burying her face in my shoulder, sobbing violently. I held her tight, feeling the small, fragile weight of Luca’s stolen daughter.
Luca dropped his gun. He fell to his knees beside us, his hands shaking as he reached out to touch her dark hair.
“Eliana,” he wept, the hardened boss completely breaking down.
For a moment, it was beautiful.
Then, a cold voice echoed from the doorway.
“A touching family reunion. It’s a shame it has to end so quickly.”
I looked up.
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Standing in the doorway, holding a shotgun leveled directly at Luca’s head, was Victor Bellini. And beside him, holding a small silver lighter, stood a man I thought was securely locked in a Chicago basement.
Marcus.
