Chapter 4 - THE GHOST IN THE WOOD
The silence that followed Vincent’s scream was heavier than the steel shutters trapping us inside the room.
I looked down at the small wooden pendant resting against my collarbone. For twenty-three years, I had thought it was just a cheap carving of a sparrow. I had traced its jagged edges when I was lonely, imagining my father’s hands whittling the wood to give his little girl a toy.
“Key?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “It’s a necklace. My mother gave it to me before she died.”
Vanessa lowered her silver derringer by a fraction of an inch, her eyes wide with greedy realization.
“The Geneva vault,” she breathed, looking at her father. “Dad… is she wearing the master key to the hidden accounts? The money Thomas stole before the fire?”
“I didn’t steal anything!”
The shout didn’t come from Arthur, the scarred imposter.
It came from the dark hallway.
Everyone—including Vincent’s armed guards—spun toward the arched doorway.
A man stepped out of the shadows.
He didn’t need a cane. He walked with a quiet, lethal grace. He wore a simple black suit, his shoulders broad and straight. His hair was peppered with gray, neatly trimmed. There were no burn scars on his face. But the bone structure, the jawline, and those deep, intelligent hazel eyes were unmistakable.
He was the face in my mother’s Polaroid.
He was the face that Arthur Bellini had tried to mimic.
My real father, Thomas Carter, was alive. And he was standing in the Moretti dining room.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. The silver tray slipped from my hands again, clattering to the floor.
“Thomas,” Teresa Moretti gasped, tears springing to her eyes. She pressed her hand to her heart. “I knew it. In my soul, I knew you didn’t burn in that warehouse.”
Vincent Bellini took a frantic step backward, stumbling over the hem of a guest’s coat. The arrogant mafia boss looked as though he had just seen the devil himself rise from the floorboards.
“Shoot him!” Vincent screamed at his guards. “Kill him right now!”
The two massive men raised their handguns.
Before they could pull the triggers, two silenced thwips echoed through the room.
Both of Vincent’s guards dropped their weapons, grabbing their right shoulders as blood bloomed across their dark suits. They crumpled to the floor, groaning in agony.
I whipped my head around.
Standing in the corners of the dining room, stepping out from behind the heavy velvet curtains, were Luca’s men. They wore black tactical gear, and their weapons were equipped with suppressors.
Luca had known. He had prepared for this.
Luca calmly straightened his cuffs, stepping over the spilled champagne on the rug.
“You really think you bought my security, Vincent?” Luca asked, a dark, mocking smile playing on his lips. “You bought the men I wanted you to buy. The ones I planted specifically to feed you false information. You’ve been dancing to my tune for six months.”
Vanessa let out a ragged shriek and swung her silver pistol toward Luca.
Before she could aim, my father crossed the room with terrifying speed. He grabbed Vanessa’s wrist, twisting it sharply. The gun clattered to the floor. He kicked it away and shoved Vanessa backward into a chair, where she collapsed in a heap of red silk and humiliation.
“Dad?” I whimpered, the word feeling foreign and strange on my tongue.
Thomas Carter turned to me. The hard, violent edge in his eyes melted away instantly. He looked at me, and I saw twenty-seven years of agony, longing, and suppressed love break across his face.
“Emily,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “My beautiful, beautiful girl. You look exactly like your mother.”
He reached out, his hand hovering inches from my cheek, as if he were afraid I was an illusion that would shatter if he touched me.
I closed the distance. I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face in his chest. He smelled like cedarwood and rain. He wrapped his strong arms around me, holding me so tightly my ribs ached.
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed into my hair. “I’m so sorry I had to leave you. I had to keep you safe. He would have killed you, Emily. He would have killed you just like he killed your mother.”
I froze, pulling back to look into his eyes. “What? Mom died in a car crash. The roads were icy…”
“There was no ice, Emily,” my father said, his voice hardening with rage. He turned his head to glare at Vincent, who was currently surrounded by Luca’s tactical team. “Vincent cut her brake lines. Because she knew the truth about the fire.”
Vincent sneered, though his face was pale with fear. “You have no proof of that, Carter! You’re a ghost. You don’t exist! I’ll tell the police you’re a hired actor!”
“I don’t need the police, Vincent,” Luca said smoothly.
Luca walked over to where Vanessa was hyperventilating in her chair. He looked down at his fiancée with utter disgust.
“You wanted to know why I proposed to you, Vanessa?” Luca asked quietly. “It wasn’t a hostile takeover. It was an extraction. I needed to get you into this house so I could get to the one thing you never take off.”
Luca reached down and violently yanked the heavy diamond necklace from Vanessa’s throat.
The clasp snapped. Vanessa screamed, clutching her neck.
“Give that back! That’s a Bellini family heirloom!” she shrieked.
Luca held the glittering necklace up to the chandelier light. He expertly twisted the large center diamond, and with a soft click, the back of the pendant popped open.
He tipped it over his palm.
A tiny, rolled-up piece of microfiche fell out.
“This isn’t a Bellini heirloom,” Luca said, his voice dripping with venom. “This is the Moretti Rosary. The one stolen from my father’s private safe the night he was murdered eleven years ago. You’ve been wearing a stolen, altered artifact around your neck for a decade, Vanessa. And inside it, my father hid the true ledgers.”
Teresa gasped, covering her mouth as she stared at the microfiche.
“He knew,” Teresa whispered. “My husband knew Vincent was stealing from us.”
“He knew everything, Mom,” Luca said gently. He turned his cold gaze back to Vincent. “He knew you were trafficking illegal weapons through our waterfront. He knew you used the warehouse fire to cover up your theft. And he knew you framed Thomas to protect your pathetic brother.”
Vincent was breathing heavily like a cornered animal. He looked wildly around the room, realizing every exit was blocked by Luca’s heavily armed men.
Then, Vincent’s eyes locked onto me. Specifically, the wooden bird pendant hanging around my neck.
A sickening, desperate smile spread across Vincent’s face.
“You think you’ve won, Luca?” Vincent laughed, spitting blood onto the pristine rug. “You think a piece of microfiche is going to bring down the Bellini empire? We have friends in the cartel. Friends who don’t care about ledgers. They only care about money. And all the stolen money—thirty million dollars—is sitting in a Swiss account that can only be accessed by the physical key.”
Vincent pointed a shaking finger at my chest.
“And that little maid is wearing it!”
Before anyone could react, Arthur Bellini—the scarred imposter who had been cowering near the doors—suddenly lunged forward.
May you like
He didn’t go for Luca. He didn’t go for my father.
Arthur grabbed a steak knife off a guest’s plate, wrapped his arm around Teresa’s neck, and pressed the serrated blade directly against the 78-year-old woman’s throat.
