Chapter 3 - THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE LINEN CLOSET
The silence broke into a chaotic murmur. Several guests gasped; others shifted uncomfortably in their seats, suddenly realizing they were trapped in the middle of a very dangerous family reckoning.
Vanessa’s face went perfectly slack. The arrogant, demanding woman who had yelled at me over a dinner plate was gone, replaced by a terrified, cornered animal.
"That's a lie," Vanessa choked out, shaking her head frantically. "Luca, it’s a forgery! She made it to frame me!"
"It’s not a forgery," Luca stated, his thumb rubbing over the tiny silver letters. "I recognize the jeweler’s mark. I bought this bracelet. But I didn't engrave it." He took a slow, deliberate step toward her. "Why did Caroline give my family’s heirloom to a baby with your name, Vanessa?"
"She didn't!" Vanessa shrieked, backing away until her hip hit the edge of the dining table. "I don't have a child! I never had a child!"
"That's true," Mrs. Whitmore interjected quietly.
Luca stopped. He looked back at the elderly woman.
"Vanessa never gave birth," Mrs. Whitmore explained, her voice steadying as the truth finally poured out. "But seven years ago, she came to my son with a proposition. She said she had done something terrible. She said she had ruined a powerful man’s marriage, and she needed a husband immediately to cover her tracks."
"To cover what tracks?" Luca demanded.
Mrs. Whitmore looked directly at Vanessa. "To cover the fact that she was blackmailing Caroline Moretti."
My injured hand throbbed, the pain shooting up my forearm, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. Vanessa had blackmailed her own benefactor?
"What did she have on my wife?" Luca asked, his voice dangerously low.
"I don't know the details," Mrs. Whitmore admitted, wiping a tear from her cheek. "But Vanessa bragged to my son that Caroline was paying her ten thousand dollars a month to keep a secret. A secret about a little girl."
"Liar!" Vanessa screamed. She grabbed a heavy crystal wine glass from the table and hurled it at the old woman.
I didn't think. I just reacted.
I stepped in front of Mrs. Whitmore, raising my arms. The heavy crystal smashed against my right shoulder, shattering into a dozen pieces and sending a sharp pain down my back. I stumbled, but didn't fall.
Luca’s head snapped toward me, his dark eyes widening in shock.
Before I could recover, the heavy oak doors of the dining room burst open.
Marco, Luca’s head of security, stepped in. He was a massive man in a dark suit, and he didn't look happy. "Boss, we have a problem."
Luca didn't look away from Vanessa. "Not now, Marco."
"It can't wait," Marco insisted, stepping further into the room. "The perimeter alarms just tripped. Someone breached the west wing."
The west wing. The closed section of the house where Caroline’s belongings were kept.
Luca finally turned his head. "Who?"
"We don't know," Marco said grimly. "But they bypassed the biometric locks. Whoever it is, they have clearance."
Luca’s jaw tightened. He looked at me, noting the fresh shards of glass near my shoes and the way I was favoring my right shoulder.
"Marco, secure the guests. Nobody leaves this room," Luca ordered. He pointed a finger at Vanessa. "If she moves, shoot her."
Vanessa gasped, collapsing into her chair, sobbing into her hands.
Luca turned to me. "Anna. Come with me."
"Sir?" I asked, startled.
"You know this house better than anyone," Luca said, pulling a sleek black pistol from the holster beneath his jacket. "And clearly, you’re the only person in this room willing to take a hit for someone else. Move."
I didn't argue. I followed Luca out of the dining room, leaving the stunned guests and a weeping Vanessa under Marco’s heavy guard.
We moved quickly through the silent, dimly lit corridors of the mansion. The west wing was always cold, the heavy velvet drapes drawn tight against the Chicago skyline. As we approached the master suite that had once belonged to Caroline, I noticed the heavy oak door was slightly ajar.
Luca held up a hand, signaling me to stop. He pressed his back against the wall, leveling his weapon, and pushed the door open with his foot.
The room was dark, except for a single beam of moonlight cutting across the dust-covered furniture.
"Don't shoot, Luca."
The voice came from the corner of the room, near Caroline’s antique vanity.
Luca froze. I saw his broad shoulders tense beneath his suit jacket. Slowly, he lowered his weapon, though he didn't put it away.
"Michael," Luca said, his voice tight with a mixture of relief and anger.
A man stepped out of the shadows. He looked strikingly similar to Luca, though a few years younger, with the same dark hair and sharp jawline. Michael Moretti. Luca’s younger brother, who supposedly lived in New York managing the family’s legitimate real estate holdings.
"What are you doing here, Michael?" Luca asked. "You weren't invited to the engagement dinner."
"I wasn't invited because I told you Vanessa was a snake two years ago, and you stopped taking my calls," Michael replied, stepping fully into the moonlight. He wasn't wearing a suit. He wore a dark leather jacket and jeans, looking exhausted.
"You broke into my house," Luca stated.
"I used my old passcode," Michael corrected. "I had to, Luca. I got a phone call three hours ago. From an old friend of Caroline’s."
Luca stiffened at his wife’s name. "Who?"
"Dr. Aris," Michael said.
My breath caught in my throat. Dr. Aris was the private physician who had treated my mother last year. He was the one who diagnosed her condition.
"Aris retired five years ago," Luca frowned.
"He did," Michael agreed. "But he kept Caroline’s medical files. Luca, he called me because someone broke into his home office this afternoon and stole them."
Luca looked at me, then back at his brother. "Why would anyone steal Caroline’s medical files seven years after she died?"
Michael walked over to the vanity and picked up a silver framed photograph that was lying face down on the glass. He turned it around and handed it to Luca.
"Because of this," Michael said quietly.
Luca took the frame. I couldn't see the picture, but I watched Luca’s face. He stared at it for a long, agonizing moment. His breathing stopped. The hand holding the pistol trembled slightly.
"Where did you find this?" Luca whispered.
"It was tucked inside the lining of Caroline’s winter coat in the closet," Michael said. "I’ve been searching this room for an hour."
Luca slowly turned the frame around so I could see it.
It was a photograph of a beautiful, blonde woman—Caroline. She was sitting on a hospital bed, looking exhausted but radiant. She was holding a newborn baby wrapped in a pink blanket.
And standing right beside her, wearing a nurse's uniform and smiling warmly at the camera, was Vanessa.
"I don't understand," Luca breathed, staring at the photo. "Caroline was in a terrible accident ten years ago. The doctors told me the internal trauma was too severe. They told me she could never have children."
"She couldn't," Michael said softly.
Luca looked at his brother, confusion warring with a desperate, rising panic. "Then whose baby is she holding?"
Michael pointed at the nurse in the photograph.
"It’s Vanessa’s baby, Luca," Michael said. "Vanessa was the surrogate. She carried Caroline’s child."
The room spun. My injured hand throbbed violently. Vanessa wasn't just a blackmailer. She was the surrogate mother to the child Caroline had hidden.
But before Luca could process the revelation, a cold, sharp click echoed from the hallway behind us.
We both spun around.
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Standing in the doorway, holding a heavy, suppressed revolver pointed directly at my chest, was the head housekeeper, Mrs. Carter.
"Put the gun down, Mr. Moretti," Mrs. Carter said, her voice entirely devoid of the warm, grandmotherly tone she used with the staff. "Or the maid dies right now."
