Chapter 2 - THE CRAYON DRAWING

“That’s impossible,” I said, stepping back from Luca, the paper shaking in my hand. “I was at the funeral. I saw the casket go into the ground.”

“Are you sure?” Luca asked gently. “Think about it, Emma. My father’s casket was empty. The Bellini family used your father to manipulate graves before. Who is to say Vincenzo didn’t do the same thing?”

I felt physically sick. I looked over at the solarium. My father was laughing at something Julian had said. He looked so happy. So at peace.

“Why would my father lie to me about my mother dying?” I asked, tears springing to my eyes.

“Because he was protecting you,” Luca said softly. “Vincenzo needed leverage over your father to force him to hide Julian. Your father loved you and your mother more than anything. What if Vincenzo took her?”

I stared at the signature again. Clara Reed. It was undeniably her handwriting. The loops on the C and the R were perfect.

“If she’s alive,” I whispered, “where is she?”

Luca pulled a second document from his pocket. It was a property deed.

“Vincenzo owned a private estate in upstate New York. A secure compound. He never visited it, but he funded it heavily for the last twelve years. My men secured the perimeter this morning.”

Luca looked at me, his eyes full of fierce determination.

“We’re going to get her back.”

Three hours later, we were in a private helicopter flying over the dense forests of upstate New York.

The compound was a massive stone house surrounded by high walls and electrified fences. It didn’t look like a home. It looked like a gilded prison.

Luca’s security team had already neutralized the few remaining guards left behind after Vincenzo’s death.

When the helicopter landed on the lawn, I ran toward the front doors, my heart pounding so hard it hurt my ribs. Luca was right beside me.

We entered the main foyer. The house was immaculately decorated, but eerily silent.

“Mom?” I called out, my voice breaking.

No answer.

We searched the ground floor. Nothing.

We moved to the second floor. At the end of a long hallway, there was a heavy oak door. It was unlocked.

I pushed it open.

It was a sunlit painting studio. Canvases covered the walls. Beautiful, vibrant landscapes of Chicago. The lake. The skyline.

Standing by the window, holding a paintbrush, was a woman with graying hair pulled back into a messy bun.

She turned around.

The paintbrush clattered to the hardwood floor.

She looked older, her face lined with grief and time, but her bright, kind eyes were exactly the same.

“Emma?” she whispered, her hands flying to her mouth.

“Mom,” I sobbed, collapsing to my knees.

She ran across the room and fell to the floor with me, throwing her arms around my neck. We held onto each other, crying so hard we couldn’t breathe.

“You’re alive,” I kept repeating. “You’re alive.”

“I’m so sorry, my baby,” she wept into my hair. “Vincenzo told me if I ever tried to contact you or your father, he would kill you both. He kept me here to make sure Thomas did exactly what he was told. He told me you thought I was dead.”

She pulled back, framing my face with her shaking hands. She looked at me with such profound love. “Look how beautiful you are. Look how much you’ve grown.”

She looked up and saw Luca standing in the doorway.

“You’re Luca Moretti,” she said softly, wiping her tears.

“Yes, ma’am,” Luca said, bowing his head respectfully.

“Thomas hid your son,” she said. “He told me Vincenzo wanted the boy dead. Thomas couldn’t do it. He sacrificed our family to save yours.”

“I know,” Luca said, his voice thick with emotion. “And now, I’m giving your family back.”