Chapter 8 - THE LEDGER IN THE GARDEN SAFE
The morning sun washed over the sprawling lawns of the Moretti estate, turning the lingering raindrops on the autumn leaves into scattered diamonds.
Inside the mansion, federal investigators had finally packed up their mobile units, leaving behind a perimeter of quiet calm and a mountain of legal paperwork. In the East Garden, right where the old stone fountain trickled into a koi pond, I sat on a wrought-iron bench with a steaming mug of black coffee between my hands.
Little Mia was sitting a few feet away on the grass, completely absorbed in feeding stale breadcrumbs to three very patient ducks while Vanessa watched her from the terrace above, wrapped in a cashmere shawl.
The heavy tin box Luca had given me was resting on the grass beside my shoes.
I reached down, flipped the rusted metal latches, and lifted the lid.
Inside wasn't gold, or jewelry, or offshore bank codes.
It was a stack of handwritten journals bound in cracked black leather—forty years of daily entries written in Michael Moretti’s meticulous, elegant cursive.
I picked up the top journal, flipped it open to the flyleaf, and saw a name written in bold ink:
PROPERTY OF MICHAEL MORETTI. IF FOUND, RETURN TO DANIEL BELLINI.
Footsteps crunched softly on the gravel path behind the bench.
I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The faint scent of cedar and clean laundry always preceded him.
Luca sat down on the bench beside me, resting his forearms on his knees as he watched Mia laugh at a duck splash in the pond. He looked like he hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours, yet there was a deep, tranquil relaxation in his posture that had been entirely absent the night before.
“Have you read them?” Luca asked quietly, gesturing toward the open journals in my lap.
“Just the first page,” I said, closing the cover gently. “Your father and Daniel Bellini weren’t enemies at all, were they? They were trying to build something clean together.”
Luca nodded slowly. “They grew up together on the south side before the families dragged them into the syndicate wars. When my father took over the Moretti line, he tried to pull out of the drug and extortion rackets entirely. That’s why Vincent targeted him. And that’s why Daniel risked his life to save us twelve years ago.”
He turned his head, looking directly at me with soft, steady eyes.
“You saved us too, Emma,” he said.
I shook my head, looking down at the coffee mug in my hands. “I just didn't want to throw away an old jacket.”
“You refused to let a legacy be erased just because someone wealthy and powerful told you it was worthless,” Luca corrected gently. “That takes a kind of courage money can’t buy.”
Before I could find the right words to answer, my cell phone buzzed loudly inside my coat pocket.
I pulled it out, seeing the caller ID flash on the screen:
St. Jude Rehabilitation Center — Dr. Evans.
My stomach plummeted into my shoes. My dad’s physical therapy facility.
I answered on the first ring, my voice shaking. “Hello? Dr. Evans?”
“Emma, thank goodness I reached you,” the doctor’s calm, professional voice came through the speaker. “Your father’s morning vitals are completely stable, and his occupational therapist says he’s ready for discharge ahead of schedule. But there’s a gentleman waiting in the lobby with a private medical transport team who claims he’s authorized by the Moretti estate to move your father to a private recovery suite in our new downtown medical pavilion.”
My blood ran cold.
Moretti estate.
With Vincent and Arthur behind bars, who on earth was trying to move my father?
“Don’t let them touch him,” I gasped, standing up so fast my coffee spilled onto the grass. “Dr. Evans, do not let anyone take my dad out of that building until I get there!”
Luca was on his feet instantly, his hand catching my elbow to steady me. “What is it?”
“Someone is at St. Jude’s trying to transfer my dad,” I said, panic choking my throat. “A private transport team using your family’s name.”
May you like
Luca’s expression hardened into cold, absolute steel.
“Nobody touches your father,” Luca said, pulling his car keys from his pocket. “Get in the car, Emma. We’re going to the hospital.”
