Chapter 6 - THE HOUSE THAT WAS NEVER THEIRS TO GIVE AWAY
“Your grandmother owned the Lake Shore Drive house?”
I stared at my mother.
She nodded.
“Rose Carter inherited it from her aunt. She was supposed to keep it for her children.”
Luca sat perfectly still.
“My family has lived there for decades.”
“I know.”
“Then how did my father acquire it?”
My mother looked down at the silver compass.
“He didn't. Not the way people believed.”
She explained that Rose had inherited the property in the late eighties.
At the time, it was an aging but valuable residence requiring expensive repairs.
Victor Bellini approached her with an offer to manage renovations and refinance the property.
Rose trusted him.
She signed papers she believed would pay contractors.
Instead, Victor used the documents to claim control of the house.
When Rose challenged him, the dispute consumed her savings.
She died before it was resolved.
My mother was seventeen.
Daniel was sixteen.
And the family had almost nothing left.
“Anthony discovered the fraud afterward,” she said.
Luca looked stunned.
“And did nothing?”
“No. He did something.”
She looked at him.
“He bought out Victor's claimed interest and placed the house into a trust. He intended to return it to our family when the ownership dispute could be resolved.”
Charles had been right.
Anthony hadn't been keeping the property for himself.
He'd been protecting it.
But one question bothered me.
“Why didn't you claim it?”
My mother looked toward her medical receipts.
“Because Daniel asked me not to.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Victor still had powerful friends. Daniel believed claiming the house would expose where we were living.”
Luca leaned forward.
“But that was thirty years ago.”
“Threats don't always feel old to the people who received them.”
Her words silenced him.
Then she added something unexpected.
“Anthony offered me money more than once. I refused.”
I stared.
“Mom, we could barely afford your surgery.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
She swallowed.
“Because I didn't want you growing up believing our lives depended on another family correcting its mistakes.”
I felt anger and heartbreak mixing together.
“You worked overtime until your hands hurt.”
“I did.”
“You skipped appointments.”
“I know.”
“And you never told me?”
She reached for my hand.
“I wanted you to have an ordinary childhood.”
I pulled away.
“Mom, ordinary children don't have to watch their mothers choose between medicine and rent.”
She looked wounded.
I immediately regretted my tone.
But I couldn't take back the truth.
Luca stood quietly.
“Mrs. Carter, may I ask something?”
She nodded.
“Did my father know about Emily?”
“Yes.”
His expression changed.
“Did he know she needed help?”
“Not after he died. Before that, he made sure we were safe.”
She looked toward the biscuit tin.
“Margaret continued sending flowers. I knew they were from her.”
I remembered the white roses.
The cards.
You are not forgotten.
“Why didn't you answer?” I whispered.
My mother closed her eyes.
“Because every time I thought about that house, I remembered Daniel walking into the burning building.”
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Luca gently placed the unopened envelope on the table.
“My father wanted you to have this.”
My mother stared at it.
Finally, she broke the seal.
Inside were two pages written in Anthony's handwriting.
She read them silently.
Her expression changed from confusion to disbelief.
Then she covered her mouth.
I leaned forward.
“Mom?”
She handed me the second page.
Anthony had written that the property trust was meant to preserve Rose Carter's ownership interest.
But he had also confessed something.
He had delayed reporting Victor Bellini's fraudulent transactions because Victor threatened to expose Anthony's own involvement in unrelated criminal business.
My fear cost your family years of justice, he wrote.
I cannot change what happened, but I have preserved the records necessary to correct it.
Luca read the letter over my shoulder.
His face tightened.
“My father knew.”
My mother nodded.
“He eventually told me.”
“Then why did you forgive him?”
She looked at him.
“Because he stopped making excuses.”
That answer seemed to affect Luca more than anything else.
He sat down again.
For the first time that night, he looked less like Chicago's feared Luca Moretti and more like a son discovering his father's failures.
Then my mother turned to the first page.
“There was another instruction.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“Anthony asked Margaret to keep a separate record of every person who had interfered with the trust.”
Luca frowned.
“Where?”
My mother pointed toward the silver compass.
“The word Rose wasn't just a reminder.”
She turned the necklace over.
A tiny number had been scratched into the back.
Fourteen.
“Rose kept a collection of recipe cards,” she explained. “She wrote important things on the backs because nobody ever looked at them.”
I stared.
“Recipe cards?”
“She loved baking. Anthony kept her cards in the Lake Shore kitchen after the trust was established.”
Luca stood.
“Then we need to find them.”
My mother shook her head.
“Margaret moved them years ago.”
“Where?”
She hesitated.
“I don't know.”
Then she looked at me.
“But your uncle would.”
The words made my chest tighten.
“You think he's alive?”
Her eyes filled.
“I've never stopped hoping.”
Luca checked the time.
Nearly midnight.
He looked at my bandaged hand.
“Before anything else, Emily needs medical attention.”
My mother immediately stood.
“What happened?”
I explained about Vanessa and the scissors.
The more I spoke, the quieter my mother became.
When I finished, she looked directly at Luca.
“Your fiancée hurt my daughter?”
Luca didn't defend Vanessa.
“Yes.”
“And my daughter kept working?”
I looked down.
“I was worried about losing my job.”
My mother closed her eyes.
Then Luca said something that surprised us both.
“She will never have to choose between protecting Isabella and keeping her livelihood again.”
He paused.
“And I will make sure she's compensated for what happened.”
My mother studied him.
“Your father once promised to protect us too.”
Luca accepted the criticism.
“I know.”
Then he added, “You'll judge me by what I do.”
An hour later, after an urgent-care doctor cleaned and closed my cut, we returned to the mansion.
My mother came with us.
She wanted to see Margaret the following morning.
But when we entered Luca's study, Charles was standing beside the open cabinet.
And Vanessa was gone.
A security recording showed her leaving the property with a small leather bag.
Luca watched the screen.
Then asked Daniel, “What was in the bag?”
Daniel shook his head.
“I couldn't see.”
Charles approached.
“I think I know what she took.”
He pointed toward the cabinet.
The photograph album was still there.
So were Anthony's notebooks.
But the metal box had been opened again.
And beneath its false bottom was another empty compartment.
Charles held up a thin strip of torn red fabric.
It had been caught beneath the lining.
My mother stared at it.
Then whispered, “That's from Rose's recipe book.”
Luca frowned.
“What recipe book?”
She looked at him.
May you like
“The one your fiancée just stole.”
Then she added, “If Victor gets that book, he may finally learn where Daniel is.”
