Chapter 5 - THE LEATHER JOURNAL IN THE LIBRARY
The heavy oak doors of the downstairs library were cracked open just an inch, spilling a warm wedge of golden light across the dark marble floor of the hallway.
Inside, Sofia was sitting in a plush leather armchair, holding both of her children tightly against her chest. Leo and Mia were quiet now, their tears dried, munching softly on shortbread cookies that Marco had thoughtfully provided. Across from them, Luca stood by the fireplace, his broad shoulders tense as he stared down into the dying embers.
I paused by the doorway, unsure whether I should enter or slip away to the servants' quarters to change out of my wine-soaked blouse.
Before I could turn around, Marco appeared beside me, carrying a heavy, worn leather-bound journal that looked decades old.
“Mr. Moretti asked for this to be brought up from the ground-floor archives,” Marco murmured quietly, his eyes glancing toward the library. “He said you should hand it to him, Emily. You’ve earned the right to see how this chapter ends.”
I took the heavy book in my hands. The leather cover was cracked and worn at the edges, smelling faintly of old paper and pipe tobacco. Embossed in faded gold leaf on the front cover were the initials: V. M.
“Whose initials are these?” I whispered.
“Their father’s,” Marco replied simply before stepping back into the shadows. “Vittorio Moretti. The man Vanessa thought had taken all his secrets to the grave when he passed away five years ago.”
I swallowed hard, clutched the heavy journal against my chest, and pushed the library door open.
As I stepped inside, all three pairs of eyes turned toward me. Sofia gave me a small, exhausted smile of profound gratitude, while Luca nodded, gesturing for me to approach the fireplace.
“You found it,” Luca said, his voice steady.
“Yes, sir. Marco gave it to me outside,” I answered, walking forward and handing the worn leather book to the head of the Moretti family.
Luca took the journal, his calloused fingers tracing the faded gold initials on the cover. A complex shadow crossed his face—regret, anger, and a sudden, sharp realization.
“My father kept records of everything,” Luca said, opening the heavy cover to the yellowed pages inside. “Not just business ledgers. Personal notes. Warnings.”
He flipped through a few pages covered in dense, cursive handwriting until he stopped at a bookmark made of a faded black ribbon.
“Read this, Sofia,” Luca said gently, turning the book around and handing it to his sister.
Sofia shifted her children slightly, resting the book on her knee as she scanned the handwritten lines. Within seconds, her breath hitched, and her hands began to shake again—not with fear this time, but with a sudden, overwhelming shock.
“What... what is this?” Sofia whispered, staring up at her brother. “Father knew?”
“He knew,” Luca replied grimly. “Vittorio Moretti spent the last two years of his life investigating the Bellini family before he passed away. He discovered that Vanessa wasn't the legitimate daughter of a Chicago shipping tycoon, as her family claimed. Her father was a disgraced accountant who embezzled from our logistics syndicate thirty years ago and fled to Europe.”
I stood quietly by the edge of the fireplace, my heart pounding as the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place.
“Then why did you propose to her, Luca?” Sofia asked, her voice trembling. “Why bring her into this house?”
Luca let out a heavy, bitter sigh, running a hand through his dark hair. “Because I was arrogant. I thought I could control her background. I thought marrying her would solidify our alliance with the East Coast merchant council. I didn't listen to our father's warnings. I locked this journal in the archives and never looked back.”
He turned his gaze back to the open pages, his eyes narrowing. “And Vanessa knew it was down there. That’s why she spent the last six months trying to convince me to demolish the west wing and clear out the old archive room. She wasn't remodeling—she was trying to destroy the evidence of her family's true identity.”
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the library banged open.
Everyone flinched.
Standing in the doorway was Daniel, flanked by two of Luca’s armed guards who had twisted his arms behind his back. But Daniel wasn't looking at the guards. He was staring straight at Luca, his face bruised on one cheek where Marco had clearly taught him some manners in the hallway.
“Luca! You have to listen to me!” Daniel cried out, struggling against the guards. “Vanessa has a second safe! Not the one upstairs in the master suite—a safety deposit box at the downtown branch of the First Chicago Trust! She’s booked a private flight out of O'Hare tonight at midnight! She’s taking three million dollars in bearer bonds from your personal corporate reserve!”
The room went dead silent.
Sofia gasped, pulling her children closer.
Luca didn't blink. He slowly closed his father’s leather journal and handed it back to me.
Then he looked at Daniel.
“When did she plan the transfer?” Luca asked, his voice so quiet it sounded like a death sentence.
“Tonight! Right after the dinner party!” Daniel sobbed. “She told me if I helped her frame Sofia and get the kids out of the house, she’d split the bearer bonds with me and we’d catch a flight to Zurich together!”
Luca turned slowly toward the tall arched windows of the library, looking out past the manicured gardens toward the wrought-iron gates of the estate where the red tail-lights of Vanessa’s private Mercedes were just beginning to move down the private drive.
“Marco,” Luca said softly.
“Boss?”
“Close the gates. Don't let her leave the property.”
“Consider it done, Mr. Moretti,” Marco said with a cold smile, reaching for his radio.
“And Emily?” Luca added, turning his dark eyes back toward me.
May you like
“Yes, sir?”
“Go upstairs, wash the wine out of your hair, and put on one of Sofia’s spare coats. You’re coming with us. It’s time we taught Chicago's favorite socialite how a Moretti collects a debt.”
