Chapter 3 - THE DEBT COLLECTOR
The deafening roar of the helicopter engines slowly died down, leaving an oppressive silence inside the grand ballroom.
The sixty guests were huddled in small, terrified clusters. Nobody dared to whisper.
I couldn't stop staring at the wrinkled hospital receipt in my trembling hand. The words PAID IN FULL - V. BELLINI were stamped in red ink across the bottom.
Leo’s hospital bills were astronomical. He had a rare lung condition, and the machines keeping him breathing cost thousands of dollars a week. I had been working eighty-hour shifts just to make the minimum payments.
Why was Victor Bellini secretly paying my brother’s medical bills?
“Emily,” Luca’s voice broke through my panic. He was standing right beside me, looking down at the receipt. “What is that?”
“It’s… it’s for Leo,” I whispered, tears blurring my vision. “My little brother. Mr. Bellini paid his debt.”
Vanessa let out a sudden, jagged laugh. It sounded manic.
“Of course he did, you idiot!” she sneered, pacing nervously near the grand piano. “My father owns that hospital. Do you really think you were hired to work in this house by coincidence? You were placed here to keep an eye on Margaret!”
My blood ran cold.
I looked at Margaret. The elderly woman’s silver hair caught the light as she slowly shook her head.
“No, Emily,” Margaret said, her voice stronger now. “Victor didn't place you here. I did.”
The entire room seemed to hold its breath.
Luca stared at his mother. “Ma… what are you talking about?”
“Twenty-two years ago, Emily’s mother hid my son,” Margaret said, rising slowly from her chair. She didn't look fragile anymore. She looked like the matriarch of the most powerful family in Chicago. “When I finally tracked down what happened to Adrian, I found out the nurse had died. But she left behind two children. I couldn't save her, Luca. But I swore I would protect her daughter.”
Adrian stepped forward. “Mother has been paying Victor Bellini secretly for the last ten months to keep Leo’s hospital running. Victor thought he was extorting her. He thought she was paying for his silence regarding my existence.”
“Wait,” Luca said, his fists clenching at his sides. “Victor knew you were alive? And you knew Victor knew?”
“Victor is the one who took me, Luca,” Adrian said grimly. “But he’s not the one who betrayed our family.”
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom rattled.
Someone was trying to open them from the outside.
Marco, the head of security, pulled his weapon and aimed it at the door. “Boss, nobody gets in without your word.”
“Open it,” Luca commanded.
Marco turned the deadbolt and pulled the door open.
Victor Bellini walked in.
He was a tall, imposing man in a charcoal suit, with silver hair slicked back and a gold cane clutched in his right hand. He didn't look like a man stepping into a hostage situation. He looked like a king walking into his castle.
“Luca, my boy,” Victor said smoothly, his eyes sweeping the room until they landed on his daughter. “Vanessa, wipe your face. You look pathetic.”
“Daddy, they locked us in!” Vanessa cried, rushing to his side. “Richard—he’s claiming he’s Adrian! He’s trying to ruin everything!”
Victor didn't even look at Adrian. He looked directly at Luca.
“I received a distress signal from my daughter’s security detail,” Victor said calmly. “I suggest you let these people go, Luca. This is a private family matter.”
“You don't dictate what happens in my house, Victor,” Luca growled, taking a step toward the older man.
Victor chuckled softly. The sound sent shivers down my spine.
He reached inside his charcoal suit and pulled out a thick envelope bound in red ribbon. He tossed it onto the nearest dining table.
“You are absolutely right, Luca,” Victor said. “I don't dictate what happens in your house.”
He tapped his gold cane against the marble floor.
“But as of 6:00 PM this evening, according to the transfer of deeds authorized by the Moretti Estate… this isn't your house anymore.”
Luca froze.
Adrian moved toward the table, ripping the ribbon off the envelope. He pulled out the documents and scanned them quickly.
His face went pale.
“It’s a foreclosure and transfer,” Adrian said, looking up at his brother. “The estate was put up as collateral for a massive offshore loan ten years ago. A loan that defaulted today.”
“Impossible,” Luca said, his voice vibrating with rage. “I personally oversee the estate's finances. There is no loan.”
“Oh, there is, Luca,” Victor smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “But you didn't sign it.”
Victor pointed his cane toward the grand oil painting hanging above the fireplace—a portrait of Luca and Adrian’s late father, Donato Moretti.
“Your father signed it,” Victor said. “Before he died. He borrowed fifty million dollars from my associates to fund his little empire. And tonight, I’m collecting.”
Margaret let out a sharp gasp.
But it wasn't because of the deed.
She was pointing at Victor’s gold cane.
Specifically, the ornate handle.
“That cane…” Margaret whispered, her hands shaking violently. “Where did you get that cane?”
Victor’s smug smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “It’s an antique, Margaret. Mind your business.”
“No,” Margaret said, stepping out from behind the table. She pointed a trembling finger at the cane. “My husband had that custom-made. It went missing the night he died.”
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She turned to Luca, her eyes wide with a horrifying realization.
“Luca… your father didn't die of a heart attack.”
