Chapter 9 - THE BLUEPRINT IN THE FLOORBOARDS
Ten minutes later, a sleek, black SUV pulled up to my curb.
Luca Moretti didn’t send a driver. He came himself. He had changed into a dark tactical jacket, his face washed of blood, but his eyes were sharper than ever.
I climbed into the passenger seat, dripping rain onto the expensive leather.
“Tell me everything,” Luca said, slamming the SUV into drive.
I explained Vincenzo’s threat, the ledger, and my father. Luca listened in silence, his jaw tight. When I finished, he didn't offer empty condolences. He offered strategy.
“My mother never mentioned a physical ledger,” Luca said, navigating the dark streets back toward the estate. “If she hid a book that large in the house, she did it well. But we don’t have time to tear down the walls.”
“We don’t have to,” I said, pulling out a damp, crumpled piece of paper from my pocket. It was the drawing Leo had made—the one of Vanessa and the car.
“What is that?” Luca asked, glancing at it.
“When I was in the East Wing with Leo, I noticed he wasn't just drawing people,” I explained. “Look at the background.”
I pointed to the scribbled lines behind the figures. “Leo drew a grid. A map. He’s a smart kid. He mapped out the East Wing while he was hiding there. And look right here...”
I pointed to a dark square shaded heavily in black crayon, located near the old library fireplace.
“Leo told me his grandmother hid a secret,” I said. “I thought he meant the watch. But what if he saw her hide the book before Vanessa locked him away?”
Luca pressed his foot on the gas.
We arrived at the mansion. The police had left, a few of Luca’s loyal guards remaining to secure the shattered front doors. Mrs. Moretti and Leo were asleep in the master suite upstairs, heavily guarded.
Luca and I rushed to the burned remains of the library.
The fire had gutted the room, but the stone fireplace stood intact.
I dropped to my knees, shining a flashlight over the charred floorboards where Leo’s map indicated.
“Here,” I said, tapping a loose board. “It sounds hollow.”
Luca grabbed a crowbar from a pile of debris and pried the board up.
Beneath it lay a fireproof steel lockbox.
Luca pulled it out and smashed the padlock with the crowbar.
Inside was a thick, leather-bound book. The Rossi family ledger.
“We have it,” I breathed, a wave of relief washing over me. “We can trade it for my dad.”
“No,” Luca said, standing up, his face grim. “Vincenzo will never let your father live. The moment you hand this over, he kills you both to tie up loose ends.”
My heart stopped. “Then what do we do?”
“We don’t trade,” Luca said, his eyes locking onto mine with fierce determination. “We take.”
An hour later, I was walking alone down the deserted docks of the Chicago riverfront. The rain had stopped, leaving a heavy fog over the water.
Vincenzo Rossi stood at the end of the pier, surrounded by six armed guards. My father was kneeling on the wet wood, his hands tied, a gun pressed to the back of his neck.
“Claire,” Vincenzo smiled as I approached. “You’re early. Do you have it?”
I held up a thick manila envelope. “Let my father go first.”
“Not how this works, sweetheart,” Vincenzo said, stepping forward. He snatched the envelope from my hands and ripped it open.
His smile vanished.
Inside was not the ledger. It was a single, printed photograph of Vincenzo’s secret offshore bank accounts, completely drained.
“What is this?” Vincenzo snarled, dropping the paper.
“That’s the beauty of having the master ledger,” a deep voice echoed from the fog.
Luca Moretti stepped out of the shadows, flanked by twenty of his best men, their weapons raised.
Answer: Luca didn't just find the ledger; he used it to dismantle Vincenzo’s empire in an hour.
“I gave the ledger to the FBI ten minutes ago, Vincenzo,” Luca said smoothly. “Your accounts are frozen. Your lieutenants are being arrested as we speak. Your empire is gone.”
Vincenzo’s face twisted in rage. He grabbed his gun and aimed it directly at my father’s head.
“I’ll kill him!” Vincenzo screamed.
“Dad, duck!” I signed frantically, throwing my hands in the air.
My father didn't hesitate. He threw himself flat on the pier.
At that exact second, Luca fired a single shot.
Vincenzo’s gun dropped from his hand as he collapsed onto the wooden planks, clutching his shoulder in agony. His guards, realizing they were outgunned and suddenly out of a job, immediately dropped their weapons and surrendered.
I ran forward and threw my arms around my father. He held me tight, burying his face in my shoulder, sobbing quietly.
Luca walked over to Vincenzo, staring down at the broken man.
“You’re finished, Rossi,” Luca said coldly. “The police will be here in two minutes.”
He turned away, walking toward me. For the first time since I met him, Luca Moretti smiled—a genuine, warm smile.
He reached out and gently squeezed my shoulder. “It’s over, Claire. Your family is safe.”
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