Chapter 4 - THE PRICE OF A CHILD
Luca stared at the receipt.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then he turned toward Antonio.
“Tell me she's lying.”
Antonio looked older than he had an hour earlier.
“Sir, I knew your father made a payment to the hospital.”
Luca's face hardened.
“You knew?”
“I didn't know what it was for.”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Antonio.”
“I know.”
“You served my family for thirty-two years.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you stood in this house watching Sophie grow up while her brother was somewhere else?”
Antonio's eyes filled.
“I failed them.”
Luca slammed the receipt onto the dressing table.
I stepped forward.
“Mr. Moretti, please.”
He turned sharply.
I stopped.
But I didn't look away.
“Ethan is downstairs,” I said. “He may hear you.”
The anger in Luca's face faltered.
He looked toward the doorway.
Then he sat heavily in Elena's chair.
For the first time since I'd met him, he seemed completely lost.
Vanessa remained near the door.
“Now you understand why I couldn't tell you.”
Luca looked up.
“Don't confuse your silence with protection.”
“My father told me your family arranged everything.”
“Did you believe him?”
She hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Then why bring Ethan here?”
Vanessa pressed her lips together.
“Because my father is dying.”
Antonio looked startled.
“Dr. Bellini is ill?”
“Cancer,” Vanessa answered. “He has very little time.”
Luca said nothing.
Vanessa continued.
“He started talking about the baby. He said the boy had been asking questions. He was afraid Ruth Whitaker would take him to the authorities.”
“Where is Ruth?”
“In Wisconsin.”
“Is she safe?”
Vanessa looked away.
“I don't know.”
Luca studied her.
“You know more than you're saying.”
She gave a bitter laugh.
“You have no idea what it's like growing up with a father who decides what's best for everyone.”
Luca's expression remained cold.
“Right now, I know what it's like to discover someone may have stolen my child.”
Vanessa wiped her cheeks.
“I didn't know Ethan was your son when I first met him.”
“When was that?”
“Three years ago.”
Luca's eyes narrowed.
“You've known that boy for three years?”
“Yes.”
“And you've been engaged to me for eighteen months.”
She lowered her head.
“I recognized him after I saw Sophie's baby pictures.”
“Then you should have told me.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of your father?”
“Of what you'd do.”
Luca stood.
“What did you think I'd do?”
Vanessa's voice rose.
“Exactly what you're doing now! You'd tear apart everything to find someone to blame.”
“Someone took my son.”
“And you think your father had clean hands?”
He picked up the receipt.
“We're going to find out.”
Vanessa moved toward him.
“Luca, don't.”
He stepped aside.
She looked wounded.
But there was something else in her eyes.
Fear.
Not just of losing Luca.
Fear of something still hidden.
I looked toward the cedar box.
The lining had been lifted.
Beneath the bank receipt, a small piece of paper remained caught in the corner.
I pulled it free.
It was a hotel receipt.
Milwaukee.
The date matched Elena's unused train ticket.
The guest name was handwritten.
Ruth Whitaker.
But another name appeared beneath it.
Salvatore Moretti.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Luca turned.
I handed him the receipt.
He read it.
“That's impossible.”
Antonio leaned closer.
“What is it?”
“My father died two years before this date.”
The room became silent.
Vanessa stared at the paper.
“That can't be right.”
Luca examined the handwriting.
“The hotel receipt is genuine. Someone used my father's name after his death.”
Antonio looked toward Vanessa.
“Who had access to his identification?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
I remembered something from my first month at the mansion.
A photograph in the upstairs hallway showed Salvatore Moretti wearing a distinctive gold watch.
It had a square face and a dark leather strap.
After his death, the watch had been placed in the family safe.
At least, that's what the household staff believed.
But I'd seen the same watch recently.
On another man's wrist.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said carefully, “does Dr. Bellini wear a gold watch?”
Luca looked confused.
“Why?”
“A square one. With a brown leather strap.”
Vanessa went very still.
Luca noticed immediately.
“Emily?”
“I saw it during Sophie's birthday preparations last week. Vanessa's father visited the house.”
Luca turned.
“You told me your father was too ill to travel.”
Vanessa opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Antonio whispered:
“Mr. Moretti, that watch belonged to your father.”
Luca looked at Vanessa.
“How did Bellini get it?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
But I could tell she did.
Luca reached for his phone, then stopped.
Instead, he turned toward Marco, who had appeared in the hallway.
“Bring me the family safe inventory and the visitor records from last week. Preserve everything. No one alters a thing.”
Marco nodded.
“And the children?”
“Emily will stay with them.”
I returned downstairs.
Sophie and Ethan were sitting on the library floor.
They had arranged the two napkins beside the drawing.
Ethan looked up.
“Is he mad?”
I sat beside him.
“He's upset about things adults did a long time ago.”
“Is he mad at me?”
“No, sweetheart.”
He looked toward the door.
“Vanessa said people get angry when they find out things about me.”
My heart tightened.
I reached for his hand, but waited until he nodded before taking it.
“You haven't done anything wrong.”
Sophie leaned against him.
“Daddy gets mad at bad drivers,” she said. “But not at kids.”
Ethan almost smiled.
I looked at the drawing again.
Two babies.
A woman.
A little blue ribbon.
At the bottom, Ethan had drawn a small house with a red roof.
“Is that where you live?” I asked.
He nodded.
“With Mrs. Whitaker.”
“Do you like it there?”
He hesitated.
“She makes pancakes on Sundays.”
“That sounds nice.”
“She doesn't let me call her Grandma.”
“Why not?”
“She says she's waiting for someone.”
“Who?”
He shrugged.
“Someone who promised to come back.”
I felt a chill.
“Did she tell you a name?”
Ethan shook his head.
Then he pointed toward the drawing.
“I saw that house in Mommy's picture.”
I looked closer.
There was no house in Elena's hospital photograph.
“Which picture, sweetheart?”
“The one Mrs. Whitaker keeps in her coat.”
He stood and crossed to his jacket.
From a hidden pocket, he removed a small photograph.
It showed Elena standing on a porch beside an older woman.
Behind them was a red-roofed cottage.
Elena held a toddler in her arms.
Not a newborn.
A little boy.
Ethan.
The date printed on the back was six years earlier.
Two years after the twins' birth.
My pulse quickened.
Elena had seen her son again.
She had held him.
I hurried toward the hallway.
“Mr. Moretti!”
Luca appeared at the staircase.
I held out the photograph.
“Your wife found Ethan.”
He took it.
His face changed.
“Where did you get this?”
“Ethan had it.”
Luca stared at Elena's smile.
Then he looked at the date.
“Six years ago.”
Antonio approached behind him.
His face drained of color.
“I remember that coat.”
“What?” Luca asked.
“Elena wore it the last time she visited Milwaukee.”
Luca looked up.
“You knew she went?”
Antonio nodded.
“She said she was visiting a friend.”
Luca turned the photograph over.
Someone had written a sentence beneath the date.
I promised Ruth I would return when it was safe.
Luca read it aloud.
Then Ethan spoke from behind me.
“Mrs. Whitaker said Mommy didn't break her promise.”
We all turned.
He stood in the library doorway.
“She said somebody made sure she couldn't come back.”
Luca crouched.
“Ethan, did Ruth tell you who?”
The boy looked uncertain.
Then he reached into his jacket pocket.
He removed a small brass button.
“Mrs. Whitaker said if I ever met you, I should give you this.”
Luca took it.
Antonio gasped.
It was a uniform button engraved with the Moretti family crest.
Luca recognized it.
His father's private security detail had worn those buttons.
May you like
Ethan whispered:
“MRS. WHITAKER SAID THE MAN WHO TOOK ME FROM MOMMY WAS WEARING THIS WHEN HE CAME BACK SIX YEARS AGO.”
