Chapter 3 - THE MAN ON THE STAIRS
I froze. I knew that voice.
I had spent the last three years playing old voicemails just to hear it again.
A figure stepped out of the shadows at the top of the staircase. He was older, his hair completely gray, his face lined with exhaustion, but it was him.
My father.
He walked slowly down the steps, keeping his hands visible.
"Dad?" I choked out, tears instantly blinding me. I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't support me.
Luca immediately stepped between us, drawing his weapon and aiming it directly at my father's chest.
"Stop right there," Luca ordered, his voice echoing like ice in the small hallway. "Who are you protecting in this house?"
My father didn't look at the gun. He looked only at me. "I'm so sorry, Gracie. I never wanted to leave you and your mother. But if I hadn't faked the crash, Michael would have killed all three of us."
"Put the gun away, Luca," a woman's voice commanded.
From the kitchen doorway behind the stairs, a woman stepped into the dim light. She was in her late thirties, with the exact same dark eyes and sharp jawline as Luca. It was the woman from the photograph.
Catherine Moretti.
Luca slowly lowered the weapon, his hand trembling slightly. "Catherine?"
"Hello, little brother," she said softly. "It's been a long time."
Luca stared at her, the ruthless mafia boss suddenly looking like a lost child. "I thought you were a ghost. I didn't even know you existed until an hour ago. Why did our father hide you?"
Catherine walked toward him, stopping just out of arm's reach. "Because our father found out something about Michael twenty years ago. Something so unforgivable that he knew Michael could never be allowed to inherit the family."
"What?" Luca asked.
Catherine looked at my father. "Tell him, Thomas."
My father took a deep breath. "Twenty years ago, I was your father's private accountant. I found a discrepancy in the off-the-books ledgers. Michael wasn't just stealing money from the family, Luca. He was selling information to the feds to eliminate your father's loyal capos, positioning himself to take over."
Luca's jaw tightened. "Michael was a rat?"
"Worse," my father said. "When your father confronted him, Michael threatened to expose Catherine. She was born out of wedlock, a secret your father kept to protect his reputation. Michael said if he was cut out of the succession, he would feed Catherine to your father's worst enemies."
I finally managed to stand up, gripping the edge of the console table. "So you hid them here?"
"Your father built this safe house," Catherine said gently, looking at me. "He was the only man my father trusted. Three years ago, when our father was dying in the hospital, he tried to change his will to leave everything to Luca and cut Michael out completely."
"Teresa said Dad died here," Luca interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. "At West Addison."
Catherine shook her head, tears filling her eyes. "He didn't come here to die, Luca. He came here to give Thomas the updated will. But Michael followed him."
The room went dead silent.
"Michael killed our father?" Luca whispered.
"He pushed him down those stairs," Catherine said, pointing to the steps my father had just descended. "Thomas and I were hiding in the basement. We heard everything. Michael staged it to look like a heart attack, took him to the hospital, and claimed he found him in his office."
I looked at my father. "Is that why you faked the car accident? Because Michael knew you were the accountant?"
"Michael knew I had the real will," my father said. "I faked my death to protect you and your mom, and I've stayed in this house guarding Catherine ever since, waiting for the day Teresa could finally get the key to Luca."
Luca looked down at his father's brass key in his hand. Then he looked back at Catherine.
"Where is the will?" Luca asked.
Catherine turned toward the living room. "It's in the floor safe. But there's something else you need to know, Luca. Something about Vanessa."
Before she could explain, the heavy sound of a vehicle engine roaring down the quiet street shattered the silence.
Headlights swept violently across the front windows, followed by the screech of tires.
Luca moved instantly, pushing me and my father back toward the kitchen as the front door was kicked open so hard the wood splintered around the frame.
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Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the streetlights, was Victor Bellini—Vanessa's father. And he wasn't alone.
"I'm afraid there won't be a wedding, Luca," Victor said, racking the slide of a shotgun. "And there won't be a reading of the will, either."
