🥧 The Apple Pie That Exposed the Mafia Boss’s Cruel Fiancée

Chapter 09 - The Woman Who Could Not Be Bought

For a moment, nobody moved.

Rosa was not powerful in the ordinary sense. She owned no company, commanded no men, signed no checks that could close mouths or open doors.

But every secret in the room seemed to lead back to her purse.

And now she was gone.

Luca’s voice became almost soundless. “From where?”

“The house,” Marco said. “Mrs. Carter said Rosa asked to use the powder room after you left. A staff member escorted her. When Mrs. Carter checked five minutes later, the room was empty. Back window open.”

I heard myself say, “She wouldn’t leave.”

Luca looked at me.

“She wouldn’t,” I said again. “Not after bringing the letters. Not without the pie.”

It was a foolish detail.

It mattered anyway.

Rosa would not abandon the pie she had carried across Chicago.

Luca pulled out his phone and began issuing orders in a voice so controlled it chilled the room.

My father sank into a chair. Dr. Vale immediately went to him.

“You should go to the hospital,” I told him.

He gave me the look fathers give daughters when daughters attempt leadership too late.

“I will go when Rosa is found.”

“You can barely stand.”

“Neither could Luca’s mother by the end,” he said. “She stood anyway.”

The words silenced me.

Marco’s phone rang. He answered, listened, then held it out to Luca.

“Unknown number. They asked for you.”

Luca took the phone.

“Speak.”

A woman’s voice came through, faint but clear enough for all of us to hear.

Vanessa.

“My mother says you should stop digging.”

Luca’s expression did not change. “Where is Rosa?”

“She’s safe.”

“That was not my question.”

Vanessa inhaled shakily. “You humiliated me.”

“You humiliated yourself.”

“I loved you.”

For the first time, Luca looked tired.

“No,” he said. “You loved winning.”

Silence.

Then Vanessa’s voice changed.

“Maybe. But I did not take Rosa.”

Luca’s eyes narrowed.

“My mother did.”

Marco looked up.

Vanessa continued quickly, words spilling now. “She took her because Rosa knows where the nursery wall is. She thinks if she gets Rosa to talk, she can destroy whatever your mother left before you find it.”

“Why are you telling me?” Luca asked.

“Because she’s going to kill her.”

My hand went to my mouth.

On the phone, Vanessa’s breath hitched.

“And because my mother kept something from me too.”

“What?”

A pause.

“When she searched the envelope, she wasn’t looking for your mother’s letter. She was looking for a name.”

“What name?”

“Emma Reed.”

I went cold.

Luca’s eyes moved to mine.

Vanessa whispered, “Your mother wrote Emma’s name before Emma was born.”

My father made a sound as if the air had left him.

Luca stepped closer to the phone. “Where is Rosa?”

“Saint Agnes,” Vanessa said. “Old chapel basement. My mother owns the building through a charity trust.”

“Vanessa.” His voice cut through her panic. “If this is a trap—”

“It is,” she said. “But Rosa is there.”

The line went dead.

For two seconds, we stood in the kind of silence that follows an answer too frightening to ignore.

Then Luca looked at Marco.

“Move.”

I grabbed my coat.

Luca turned toward me. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Emma.”

“She asked for me by name.”

His jaw tightened. “That is exactly why you stay here.”

“And do what? Wait for another man to decide which parts of my life I’m allowed to know?”

That stopped him.

I did not shout. I was too scared for that. But the words came from somewhere old and cracked and finally unwilling.

“My father hid things to protect me. Your mother hid things to protect you. Rosa hid things because she was told to wait. Look where waiting got us.”

Luca stared at me.

Then he looked at my father.

Thomas Reed nodded once.

“She is her mother’s daughter,” he said.

Luca did not like it.

But he opened the SUV door for me.

Saint Agnes Chapel sat between a closed pharmacy and an abandoned school, its brick face blackened by weather and neglect. The cross over the door leaned slightly left.

Carla Bellini owned it through charity.

Of course she did.

People like Carla collected virtue the way other people collected art.

We entered through the side.

The chapel smelled of wax, dust, and old rain.

Marco’s men spread quietly through the nave.

Luca kept me behind him, which would have annoyed me if my knees had not been shaking.

From below came a voice.

Rosa’s.

Faint.

Praying in Spanish.

Luca moved toward the basement stairs.