Chapter 3 - Bloodlines and Blackmail
The accusation hung in the opulent library like toxic gas.
Vanessa’s eyes flared with a mixture of terror and outrage. “How dare you! Lucia’s brakes failed on a rain-slicked highway! The police report confirmed it! My father paid for half of her funeral!”
“Your father paid for her silence,” Luca replied coldly.
He turned to Daniel. “Take Marcus into the cellar. Keep him alive, keep him quiet. Cut the exterior landlines, and tell the perimeter team nobody enters or leaves without my personal sign-off.”
“Yes, boss.” Daniel hauled Marcus to his feet by his collar and dragged him through the heavy oak double doors.
Luca looked back at Thomas and me.
“Lily.”
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“You have administrative access to the household payroll and external vendor accounts?”
“I do.”
“Go into the secure server. I want every invoice, every delivery manifest, and every maintenance log for this estate over the last six months cross-referenced with any business entity bearing the name ‘Bellini Holdings’ or its known shell companies.”
Vanessa stepped forward, her voice shrill. “She’s an assistant! She doesn’t have security clearance for family finances!”
“She works for me,” Luca said, not even looking at her. “And unlike the people I’ve trusted my entire life, she hasn't spent the morning trying to bury the truth.”
He looked directly at me. “Can you do it, Lily?”
I looked at Thomas, whose burned hand was resting quietly in his lap, and then at Luca. The sheer danger of this world was terrifying, but looking into Luca Moretti’s eyes, I realized something else: he was completely alone in this gilded cage. Surrounded by killers, traitors, and liars.
“I can do it,” I said firmly. “I’ll need the private terminal in your second-floor office.”
“Take it.”
“Luca, this is madness!” Vanessa grabbed his arm. “You’re ruining our wedding over a missing photograph and the ramblings of a gardener! The council meets on Friday! If my father hears you’ve put guards on me—”
Luca reached down and detached her fingers from his sleeve, one by one.
“If your father wanted this wedding to happen, he shouldn’t have sent Marco to desecrate my mother’s resting earth. You will stay in the guest suite on the third floor. Your phone will remain on my desk. If you attempt to leave, the guards will treat you as an intruder.”
Vanessa backed away, her face twisted in venomous hatred. “You think you’re invincible, Luca? You think you can rule this city without us? My father owns three judges and the entire harbor authority. If you cross us, you won't live to see next week.”
Luca didn’t blink. “Then he’d better aim for my head, Vanessa. Because if he misses, I’ll burn the Bellini empire down to the ash it was built on.”
Two guards appeared at the doorway. Luca gestured curtly, and they escorted a fuming Vanessa down the hall.
Once she was gone, Luca exhaled slowly. The predatory mask slipped for just a second, revealing the bone-deep exhaustion beneath.
“Thomas,” Luca said quietly.
“Aye, Luca.”
“The photograph. Tell me everything you remember.”
Thomas rubbed his forehead with his uninjured hand. “It was taken in an orchard. Apple trees in bloom. Lucia was sitting on a wooden bench, wearing a cream dress. She was holding the hand of a little girl with dark curly hair. The girl was wearing a silver necklace with a clover pendant.”
Luca’s posture went rigid.
“A four-leaf clover?” Luca asked, his voice strained.
“Yes. Silver, with a tiny emerald in the center.”
Luca’s hands closed into fists. He looked toward the portrait of his mother hanging above the library fireplace. Lucia Moretti looked down at us—graceful, poised, wearing that very same emerald clover necklace around her neck.
“My mother wore that pendant every day of her life,” Luca murmured. “It wasn't in the car when the wreckage was pulled from the ravine. The coroner claimed it had been lost in the crash.”
“Who was the girl, Mr. Moretti?” I couldn't stop myself from asking.
Luca looked at me, his gaze dark and haunted.
“Twenty-four years ago, my father had an enforcer named Vincent Morales. Vincent was his right hand—until he discovered that Antonio Moretti and Salvatore Bellini were trafficking weapons through legitimate charity shipments. Vincent threatened to go to the federal prosecutors. Three days later, Vincent’s house burned to the ground. His wife died. His five-year-old daughter vanished.”
The air in my lungs froze. “And your mother saved her?”
“My mother hated the bloodshed,” Luca said. “If Vincent had a child, Lucia would never have let Antonio touch her. She must have hidden the girl. Given her a new name, a new life, and buried the proof where only she could find it.”
“And the Bellinis want that girl dead,” I whispered.
“Worse,” Luca replied. “Vincent Morales left behind a ledger that could put every surviving member of the Bellini family in federal prison for life. He gave that ledger to the only person he trusted: Lucia. And Lucia locked the access codes to that ledger in a trust fund tied to that child’s DNA.”
The puzzle pieces clicked together with terrifying clarity.
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The Bellinis didn’t just want to hide a murder. They wanted to steal a fortune and destroy the only witness who could strip them of their empire.
“Come with me, Lily,” Luca said, turning toward the stairs. “Let’s see what else they’ve been hiding in my house.”
