Chapter 3 - THE MEMORY IN THE RAIN
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Vanessa backed away until her spine hit the carved paneling of the grand dining room doors.
She looked around the vast room, desperately searching for an ally among the guests.
Her father, Salvatore Bellini, sat near the center of the head table, but his eyes remained glued to his linen napkin.
Even Salvatore knew better than to interrupt Luca Moretti when his voice dropped to a whisper.
Oliver reached up and took my hand, his small fingers cold and trembling against my skin.
I knelt beside him, wrapping my arm around his frail shoulders, pulling him against my housekeeping uniform.
“Oliver, look at me,” Luca said gently, dropping down onto one knee beside us, completely ignoring the dust on the floor.
His expression softened as he looked into his son’s wide, hazel eyes.
“Tell me about the rain, buddy.”
Oliver swallowed, his chest rising and falling beneath the worn navy wool of his mother’s sweater.
“Mommy was crying before we left the house,” Oliver whispered, tears spilling freely over his dark eyelashes.
“She said we had to go to Grandma’s house in Michigan right away because someone had stolen her keys.”
“When we got to the garage, the tall man with the scar was waiting by the driver’s door.”
“He pushed Mommy into the passenger seat and told her that if she screamed, he would hurt Daddy.”
Luca’s breathing became completely still, a terrifying silence that felt heavier than thunder.
“Did he drive, Oliver?” Luca asked softly, his thumb gently catching a falling tear from the boy’s cheek.
“Yes,” Oliver sobbed, burying his face into the hollow of my neck.
“He drove really fast down the highway near the big water.”
“Mommy was trying to pull the emergency brake, but he hit her hand.”
“Then the headlights behind us started flashing.”
“A big black truck hit the back of our car, and the man with the scar jumped out while the car was still rolling toward the bridge.”
“He jumped into the black truck and left us.”
A horrified cry broke from several women at the table.
The official story of Julianna Moretti’s tragic, reckless accident was unraveling into an execution before their very eyes.
Luca did not blink.
He kept his arms wrapped around his weeping son, holding Oliver against his chest with heartbreaking tenderness.
“Why didn't you tell me this two years ago, Oliver?” Luca asked, his voice shaking with raw, agonizing grief.
Oliver pulled back, his little hand reaching up to touch the stitched white star near his collar.
“Because Vanessa told me you would die too,” Oliver whimpered, pointing a small, trembling finger across the room.
“She brought me ice cream in the hospital while you were talking to the detectives.”
“She leaned over my bed and whispered that if I told Daddy about the man with the scar, the black truck would come back for you.”
Luca slowly stood up from the marble floor.
He rose to his full height, turning his back on his son so Oliver wouldn't see the monstrous wrath taking over his face.
He looked at Vanessa Bellini, who was sliding down the mahogany door, clutching her throat in absolute terror.
“Two years,” Luca whispered, the words echoing off the crystal chandeliers like a death knell.
“You let me bury my wife believing she had abandoned our family in a fit of depression.”
“You slept in my home, planned our wedding, and made my son live in silence for seven hundred days.”
He turned to Marco, pointing a single tattooed finger toward the floor beneath Vanessa’s feet.
May you like
“Bring Enzo Moretti to my private study.”
“If he is breathing by the time he arrives, ensure he has enough teeth left to speak.”
