Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
“Lock the gates,” Luca Moretti repeated. “And nobody touches my mother.”
His voice was calm.
That frightened me more than shouting would have.
Across the dining room, Vanessa Bellini stood beside her father, Richard, whose face had turned an unpleasant shade of gray.
Forty-six guests had arrived expecting champagne, expensive food, and an announcement about the wedding.
Instead, they were watching a family fall apart.
“Luca, you're making a terrible mistake,” Richard said.
Luca didn't look at him.
“Daniel, have the staff escort our guests into the drawing room. Tell them the police are coming, and nobody is being accused merely because they attended dinner.”
Then he turned toward his fiancée.
“You stay here.”
Vanessa's eyes filled with tears.
“You're humiliating me in front of everyone.”
Luca glanced at his mother.
“You called her senile in front of everyone.”
Vanessa looked away.
I was still kneeling beside Margaret's wheelchair.
Her fingers were wrapped so tightly around mine that I could feel her pulse.
“Mrs. Moretti,” I whispered, “you're safe.”
She shook her head.
Then she reached for my wrist.
Two claps.
A turn of her wedding ring.
One finger pointed upward.
“She's already told us about the music room,” Vanessa snapped. “Stop encouraging this nonsense.”
But Margaret wasn't looking at Vanessa.
She was looking at Antonio Ricci.
The elderly pianist slowly approached.
“Mrs. Moretti,” he said gently, “do you remember the Christmas concert in 1986?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
A tear escaped.
Antonio reached inside his jacket and withdrew a worn silver pocket watch.
“I still have it.”
Luca frowned.
“My father's watch?”
Antonio nodded.
“He gave it to me the night your family nearly lost everything.”
The watch was scratched, its chain repaired with a small brass link.
Antonio opened it.
Inside was a faded photograph of a much younger Margaret holding a little boy.
Luca.
On the opposite side, someone had engraved three words.
LISTEN. REMEMBER. LOOK.
Luca touched the photograph.
“I thought this was buried with Dad.”
“Your father gave it to me six months before he died,” Antonio answered. “He told me to keep it until Margaret needed my help.”
Richard suddenly pushed back his chair.
“This is ridiculous. Are we seriously letting an elderly pianist turn an engagement dinner into a circus?”
Margaret struck her wheelchair armrest.
Once.
Hard.
Richard fell silent.
Antonio looked at him.
“You remember this watch, don't you?”
Richard's jaw tightened.
“Of course. Giovanni Moretti showed it to everyone.”
Antonio shook his head.
“No. He never showed the engraving to outsiders.”
For the first time, Richard seemed unsure of himself.
Luca noticed.
“Daniel, preserve the recorder and its files. I want copies delivered directly to the police.”
Daniel nodded.
Vanessa stepped forward.
“Luca, please. My father has spent twenty years building his company. Those recordings don't mean what you think.”
“Then explain them.”
She hesitated.
“It's complicated.”
“Try.”
Vanessa looked toward Richard.
He gave the smallest shake of his head.
I saw it.
So did Luca.
“Don't look at him,” Luca said. “Look at me.”
Vanessa began crying.
“My father's business is in trouble.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“Vanessa.”
“No, Dad. I'm not going to keep doing this.”
She wiped her face.
“Bellini Development owes nearly eighteen million dollars. A major investor withdrew from our waterfront project. If we don't secure new financing before January, hundreds of employees could lose their jobs.”
Luca stared at her.
“And what does that have to do with recording my private meetings?”
Vanessa swallowed.
“Your father's music collection.”
Margaret made a strangled sound.
Richard immediately spoke.
“The collection is collateral for a cultural development proposal. Perfectly legitimate.”
Luca turned toward him.
“It's not yours.”
“It will become part of the marital estate under the arrangement our advisers discussed.”
“I never agreed to that.”
Vanessa whispered, “You were supposed to sign after the wedding.”
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Luca looked directly at me.
“Emily, when did my mother start making that signal?”
I thought back.
“About three weeks ago. At first, I thought she wanted music.”
“What happened three weeks ago?”
I hesitated.
Vanessa watched me with an expression that made my stomach tighten.
“Mrs. Bellini had workers move the old piano bench from the upstairs music room. Mrs. Moretti became upset when they took it away.”
Antonio frowned.
“Which bench?”
“The walnut one. With the embroidered seat.”
He turned sharply toward Luca.
“Your father built that bench himself.”
Margaret squeezed my hand.
Luca crouched before her.
“Mom, did somebody hide something inside it?”
She nodded.
“Was it the recording device?”
She shook her head.
Then she touched her wedding ring.
Again.
And again.
Antonio's eyes widened.
“The compartment.”
“What compartment?” Luca asked.
“Giovanni made a hidden drawer beneath the seat. Margaret kept her wedding photographs there.”
Vanessa moved toward the door.
Daniel quietly stepped into her path.
“I'm getting some water,” she said.
“I'll bring you some,” he answered.
Luca looked at Antonio.
“Come upstairs.”
“I should go with Mrs. Moretti,” I said.
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
“Of course you should. You've spent months filling her head with nonsense.”
I stood.
Something inside me finally snapped.
“I've spent eleven months helping her eat when her hands shake. I've helped her practice saying your name when she couldn't make the words come out. I've sat beside her when you told everyone she wasn't worth listening to.”
Vanessa's expression hardened.
“You were paid to do that.”
“Yes,” I answered. “And I would have listened even if nobody paid me.”
Margaret began crying.
Luca watched me for a long moment.
Then he said, “Emily stays with my mother.”
We went upstairs together.
The music room occupied the western corner of the mansion.
Dark wood shelves lined the walls. Violins rested inside glass cabinets. Framed photographs showed Giovanni Moretti with musicians, politicians, and relatives long gone.
The old grand piano stood beneath a tall window.
Daniel had already removed the recording device from beneath its bench.
Antonio lifted the embroidered cushion.
His hands trembled.
“There should be a brass latch.”
He found it beneath the wooden frame.
A narrow compartment opened.
Inside lay a folded handkerchief, a child's blue ribbon, and a sealed envelope.
Luca reached for the envelope.
Margaret suddenly cried out.
“No!”
It was the clearest word I'd ever heard her speak.
Everyone froze.
She pointed at the envelope.
Then at me.
“Emily.”
I looked at Luca.
He nodded.
I carefully lifted the envelope.
Written across its yellowed surface were four words.
FOR THE GIRL WHO LISTENS.
My heart began pounding.
“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, “I don't understand.”
Antonio stared at the handwriting.
Then his eyes moved toward my face.
“Emily,” he said slowly, “what was your grandmother's name?”
“Rose Carter.”
The pianist stumbled backward against the piano.
Luca caught his arm.
“Antonio?”
The elderly man's voice broke.
“Rose Carter wasn't simply a dance teacher.”
May you like
He looked at the envelope in my hands.
“SHE WAS THE LAST PERSON YOUR FATHER TRUSTED BEFORE HE DIED.”
