Chapter 10 - THE WALLET IN THE MAIL
The morning sun over the Hamptons was blindingly bright, reflecting off the Atlantic Ocean and spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Luca Moretti’s private beach estate.
For the first time in six years, I woke up without the crushing weight of panic in my chest.
There was no maid’s uniform waiting for me. There was no Vanessa demanding impossible tasks, no fear of my landlord, and no terrified glances over my shoulder.
I stood in the massive, state-of-the-art kitchen, wearing one of Luca’s oversized grey sweaters, flipping blueberry pancakes.
Sitting at the granite island was Leo. He was happily swinging his legs, eating a plate of eggs, and wearing his new, bright red superhero pajamas. The dark circles under his eyes from the night of the engagement party were entirely gone. He looked like a normal, carefree six-year-old boy.
And sitting beside him, sipping black coffee and reading the morning paper, was the most dangerous man in Chicago.
Only Luca didn’t look dangerous this morning. He was wearing soft linen pants and a white t-shirt. Every time Leo babbled about his favorite cartoon, Luca would lower the newspaper, listen with absolute, undivided attention, and answer seriously.
"Pancakes are ready," I smiled, sliding a plate in front of Luca.
"Thank you," Luca said softly, his dark eyes meeting mine. The look he gave me made my stomach flutter. The heavy diamond ring—his mother’s ring—felt solid and warm in the pocket of my sweater.
For three days, we had been hiding in this sanctuary. The Chicago police were processing Vanessa and Daniel. Eleanor was at the hospital with David, helping her son recover from his six-year coma. It felt like the book was finally closed.
Then, the heavy brass knocker on the front door echoed through the house.
Luca’s relaxed posture vanished instantly. He didn’t reach for his coffee. He reached toward the small of his back, where I knew he kept his weapon.
"Stay here," Luca ordered, his voice dropping into the terrifying, authoritative rumble of a syndicate boss.
He walked down the long hallway. I instinctively moved closer to Leo, pulling the boy against my hip. I watched from the kitchen as Luca opened the heavy oak door.
Standing on the porch was one of Luca’s most trusted perimeter guards. The guard looked nervous.
"Boss," the guard said. "A courier just arrived at the main gate. He had a package specifically addressed to you. Marked urgent."
Luca frowned, taking the small, brown bubble mailer. "Who sent it?"
"The return address is the Cook County Correctional Facility, sir. It’s from Vanessa."
My blood ran cold.
Luca closed the door, locked the deadbolt, and walked back into the kitchen. He placed the package on the granite island, well away from Leo’s breakfast.
"Why is she sending you mail from jail?" I whispered, my hands trembling.
Answer one: Vanessa wasn't just sitting quietly in her cell. She was sending a final message.
Open two: How did she get a package out of a maximum-security holding cell in three days? And what could she possibly have left to threaten us with?
Luca grabbed a steak knife from the block and sliced the mailer open.
He tipped the envelope upside down.
A heavy, worn leather object fell onto the granite countertop.
I gasped.
It was a man's wallet. The edges were frayed, the leather cracked from age and exposure. But stamped into the bottom right corner were two gold initials: M. M.
"Marco's wallet," Luca breathed, the color draining from his face. "The police searched Vanessa's suite. They didn't find this. She must have had her lawyer mail it to me to use as leverage."
Luca opened the wallet.
The cash was gone. The credit cards were missing. But tucked into the plastic sleeve behind the driver's license was a folded piece of official, watermarked paper.
Luca pulled it out with shaking hands. He unfolded it.
I watched his dark eyes scan the document. The absolute shock on his face terrified me.
"Luca?" I asked, my voice cracking. "What is it?"
Reversal: The document wasn't a confession. It wasn't a blackmail note about the stolen money.
Luca slowly laid the paper flat on the granite island.
It was a State of Illinois Certificate of Live Birth.
I leaned over and read the faded ink.
Date of Birth: October 14th. (Leo's exact birthday).
Mother: Vanessa Bellini.
Father: Marco Moretti.
The kitchen went dead silent, save for the sound of the ocean crashing outside.
"Leo isn't David's son," Luca whispered, his voice thick with an emotion I had never heard before. He looked up at the little boy eating pancakes. "He's Marco's son. My brother was his father. He's my nephew. My blood."
My heart stopped.
If Leo was Marco's son, Vanessa hadn't just abandoned her husband's baby. She had abandoned the sole heir to the Moretti crime syndicate.
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Before I could even process the magnitude of the revelation, the security radio on the kitchen counter crackled to life with a burst of frantic static.
Cliffhanger: "Boss!" a guard yelled over the radio, the sound of screeching tires echoing in the background. "We have a breach at the front gate! Three black SUVs just rammed the barricade! It's Silas!"
