Chapter 3 - THE TICKET TO NOWHERE
The flickering fluorescent light in the trashed office hummed, casting long, jagged shadows across the room. I hugged my arms tightly across my chest.
"Her father?" I repeated, staring at the bloody wool coat in Luca's hand. "But you said he was dead."
"He suffered a massive heart attack three years ago," Luca said, his voice flat and mechanical, masking a dangerous fury. "I paid for the funeral myself. I watched them lower his casket into the ground at Mount Carmel Cemetery."
Daniel stepped forward, lowering his weapon. "Boss, if Arthur Bellini is alive, and he booked a flight for tonight, then who was the guy in the surveillance footage? Mercer or Bellini?"
Luca looked at me. "Olivia, the man you saw with Vanessa today. Describe him."
I closed my eyes, picturing the horrible moment in the guest room. "He was tall. Maybe in his late fifties. Gray hair, thinning at the top. He had a slight limp when he walked, and there was a dark birthmark on the side of his neck."
Luca and Daniel exchanged a chilling glance.
"That's Arthur," Daniel confirmed quietly. "Mercer is just an alias. The old man faked his own death."
My mind raced. The man who had grabbed my arm, the man who had caused me to smash my face into the doorframe, was the father of the bride. A man who was supposed to be dead.
"Why would he fake his death?" I asked. "And why hide it from you?"
"Because three years ago, Arthur Bellini owed the Chicago syndicate three million dollars in gambling debts," Luca explained, his dark eyes scanning the ruined office. "Debts I forgave when he supposedly died, as a favor to Vanessa. They played me."
Luca walked to the window, staring down at the wet street below. "Vanessa knew her father was alive this whole time. She brought him into my house today. She orchestrated this entire lawsuit scheme to steal my clean assets so they could finally cash out and disappear."
"But what about the rosary?" I asked, pointing to the silver beads still wrapped around his hand. "How did Arthur get your sister's rosary?"
Luca didn't answer right away. He looked down at the silver cross, his thumb tracing the jagged scratch on the back. The silence stretched until the tension in the room felt suffocating.
"There is only one way he could have gotten it," Luca finally said, his voice dropping into a lethal, terrifying register. "He dug up her grave."
I gasped, pressing my hand over my mouth.
Daniel swore under his breath. "Boss, if they touched Elena's grave..."
"We aren't calling the commission yet," Luca interrupted. He turned away from the window, his posture radiating a cold, absolute authority. "We handle this in-house. First, we find Arthur before he gets on that plane."
He handed the bloody coat to Daniel. "Call the boys. Lock down every terminal at O'Hare. Have them looking for a gray-haired man with a limp. He's bleeding, so he won't be moving fast."
Daniel nodded and pulled out his phone, already barking orders as he walked out into the hallway.
Luca turned back to me. "We're going back to the house."
"What are you going to do to Vanessa?" I asked, my heart pounding at the thought of returning to that mansion.
"I am going to do nothing," Luca said smoothly as we walked down the stairs to the SUV. "I am going to get into bed, hold her, and let her believe her plan is working perfectly. Because right now, she thinks you are just a terrified maid who will keep her mouth shut. Let her believe that."
I climbed into the passenger seat this time, shivering as the heater blasted hot air against my legs. My swollen cheek throbbed, a dull, relentless pain that served as a constant reminder of what Vanessa was capable of.
"You said earlier that you were afraid of losing your job," Luca said suddenly, breaking the silence as we drove back toward the wealthy northern suburbs.
I looked at him. His profile was illuminated by the passing streetlights, hard and uncompromising.
"Yes," I admitted quietly. "I take care of my younger brother. He has special needs. The medical bills... it's all on me. If I don't get paid on Friday, we lose our apartment."
Luca didn't look at me. He just kept his eyes on the road.
"You will never worry about a medical bill or a rent payment for the rest of your life, Olivia," he said. It wasn't a promise. It was a stated fact. "You showed loyalty to this family today when you had every reason to walk away. I do not forget loyalty."
I swallowed hard, tears prickling the corners of my eyes. For the first time in my life, I felt like someone was actually standing between me and the crushing weight of the world.
We pulled through the heavy iron gates of the Moretti estate just after 2:00 a.m. The house was dark, completely silent.
"Go to your quarters in the staff wing," Luca told me as we walked into the grand foyer. "Lock the door. Do not speak to Vanessa tomorrow morning. If she asks about your face, tell her you took some painkillers and rested. Let me handle the rest."
"Yes, Mr. Moretti."
He stopped at the base of the grand staircase and looked back at me. "And Olivia?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
I nodded, hurrying down the service corridor to my small room near the kitchen. I locked the door, stripped off my uniform, and collapsed onto my narrow bed. I was exhausted, but my mind was spinning too fast to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up at 6:00 a.m. out of sheer habit.
I put on a fresh uniform, carefully applied concealer over my bruised eye—though it did little to hide the swelling—and walked into the massive, marble-lined kitchen.
The private chef was already preparing breakfast. I poured a cup of coffee and began preparing a silver serving tray, keeping my head down.
At 7:30 a.m., Vanessa walked into the kitchen.
She wore a silk robe, her hair perfectly tousled. She looked completely relaxed, pouring herself a glass of orange juice.
Then she saw me.
Her smile vanished instantly. She walked over to the kitchen island, leaning across the marble to look at my bruised face.
"You're still here," Vanessa whispered, her voice dripping with venom. "I thought you would have packed your cheap bags and ran back to whatever slum you came from."
"I need the money, Miss Bellini," I said softly, keeping my eyes on the coffee cups.
"Luca might have bought your little 'I bumped my head' routine last night," she hissed, grabbing my wrist so hard her manicured nails dug into my skin. "But I know what you saw. And if you ever breathe a word of it to him, I will make sure you and that pathetic crippled brother of yours end up on the street. Do you understand me?"
I stared at her, my heart hammering. But I remembered Luca's words. Let her believe her plan is working.
"I understand," I whispered.
She let go of my wrist, a triumphant smile returning to her face. "Good. Now bring my breakfast to the sunroom."
She turned and walked away.
I took a deep, shaking breath, picked up the silver tray, and followed her.
But when I pushed open the double glass doors to the sunroom, Vanessa wasn't sitting at the table waiting for her coffee.
She was standing frozen in the center of the room, staring at the glass coffee table in absolute horror.
Sitting perfectly in the center of the glass table was a small, black velvet box.
It was open. The silver rosary rested inside.
And tucked beneath the silver cross was a single, folded piece of paper—the flight itinerary for Arthur Bellini.
"What is this?" Vanessa breathed, her hands shaking violently as she reached for the paper.
Before she could touch it, the doors behind us opened.
May you like
Luca walked in, impeccably dressed in a dark gray suit. He looked at Vanessa, his eyes colder than I had ever seen them.
"It seems your father missed his flight, darling," Luca said smoothly.
