THE SEVENTH KEY HID A DARKER TRUTH

The warmth of the morning sun vanished from the room.

“Our father?” Isabella whispered, stepping forward.

Luca and Isabella’s father, Vincenzo Moretti, had died in a car accident when Luca was twelve. It was a tragedy that had forced a young Luca to eventually take the reins of the family empire.

“What does she mean, the truth?” Isabella asked, her voice trembling.

Luca didn’t answer. He turned to the old grand piano.

He opened the heavy lid, propping it up with the wooden stick.

He leaned over the golden cast-iron plate and the intricate web of steel strings.

“Mom,” I said quickly. “Do you know anything about this? Did you hide something else?”

My mother shook her head, her eyes wide. “No, Emma. I only hid the ledger in the bench. I never touched the soundboard.”

Luca reached deep into the belly of the piano, near the back edge where dust had gathered undisturbed for decades.

His hand brushed against something taped to the underside of the wooden rim.

He peeled it free.

It was a thick, brown envelope. Old and brittle.

He pulled it out and set it on the closed lid of the piano.

Everyone in the room held their breath.

Luca opened the flap.

He pulled out a stack of documents. Police reports. Bank transfers.

And a single, clear photograph.

Luca stared at the photo for a long time. His jaw tightened so hard I thought his teeth might crack.

He handed the photograph to Isabella.

Isabella covered her mouth, stifling a gasp.

“What is it?” I asked gently, stepping closer.

Isabella turned the photo toward me.

It was a picture of a wrecked car. Vincenzo Moretti’s car.

But standing next to the wreckage, holding a tire iron, wasn’t a random drunk driver.

It was Marco.

Luca’s most trusted right-hand man. The man whose life I had just saved.

“Marco killed him,” Luca whispered, the betrayal hollowing out his voice. “Marco ran my father off the road. He made it look like an accident.”

“But... why?” Isabella cried. “Marco was dad’s protégé!”

Luca looked at the bank transfers from the envelope.

“Because someone paid him to do it,” Luca said grimly.

He pointed to the name on the wire transfers.

It wasn’t Bellini.

It was a name I recognized from the society pages.

Donovan Hayes.

The head of the Irish syndicate on the South Side. The man who had seemingly kept a peaceful truce with the Moretti family for fifteen years.

A truce built on the blood of Luca’s father.

“Marco has been working for Hayes this whole time,” Luca realized, the pieces snapping violently into place. “The Bellini engagement... Marco didn’t just betray us to Marcus for money. He was trying to weaken our family so Hayes could take over.”

My stomach churned.

I had shot a man to save a traitor.

“Where is Marco right now?” I asked.

Luca’s eyes snapped to the doorway.

“He’s upstairs. In the guest wing. Recovering from his shoulder wound.”

Luca drew his weapon.

“Stay here. Lock the doors.”

Luca sprinted out of the room.

I didn’t listen. I wasn’t going to let him face a traitor alone.

“Lock it behind me,” I told Isabella, grabbing the silver revolver from the side table.

I ran after Luca.

I reached the top of the grand staircase just as Luca kicked open the door to the guest bedroom.

The room was empty.

The bed was made. The window was open, curtains blowing in the morning breeze.

Marco was gone.

“Damn it!” Luca roared, kicking the heavy wooden door frame.

I walked into the room.

On the bedside table, anchored beneath a water glass, was a folded piece of paper.

I picked it up.

It was a handwritten note from Marco.

Luca. If you’re reading this, you found the envelope. I’m sorry about your dad. It was just business. But you and your new maid have become a problem for Hayes.

I read the last line. My blood ran cold.

Look out the window, boss.

Luca and I rushed to the open window.

We looked down at the front driveway.

My mother’s old, beat-up sedan was parked near the gate.

Standing next to it was Marco. His arm was in a sling, but his good hand was holding a small, black detonator.

He looked up at us. He smiled.