Chapter 3 - [THE BOY WITH THE JOURNAL]
Luca stared at the boy. The resemblance was impossible to ignore. The dark curls. The sharp jawline. The slight, defiant tilt of his chin.
He looked exactly like Marco.
“Who is your mother?” Luca asked, his voice barely a whisper. He released Richard, letting the older man slump against the wall.
The boy pulled the silver locket tighter against his chest. “My name is Mateo. My mom is Sofia Romano.”
Vanessa let out a strangled cry. “He’s lying! It’s a trick! Luca, look at his clothes, he’s just a street rat!”
Luca didn't blink. He knelt down so he was at eye level with the child. “Mateo. Why did your mother tell you to find Emily?”
Mateo pointed a shaking finger at Richard. “Because that man’s thugs broke into our apartment tonight. They took my mom. She hid me in the floorboards and told me to run to the Moretti estate. She said to find the new maid. She said Emily had the necklace.”
Answer one: Sofia hadn't vanished by choice. She had been hiding from Richard Bellini for twelve years, raising Marco's son in secret.
Open two: How did Sofia know I had the emerald necklace? And what was inside Marco’s journal that made Richard kidnap her tonight?
I walked slowly toward the boy. “Mateo, it’s okay. I’m Emily.”
He looked at my torn sleeve and stained apron, then up at Luca. “Are you the bad boss or the good brother?”
Luca swallowed hard. “I’m your uncle Luca. I promise you, no one in this room will ever hurt you.”
Richard suddenly pushed off the wall, wiping blood from his lip. “You’re a fool, Luca. That kid is a bastard. Sofia slept with half of Chicago. You think Marco wrote that journal? It’s a fake.”
Luca stood up. He walked back to the table, picked up the silver key, and held out his hand to Mateo.
“Mateo. Does this key open your locket?”
The boy hesitated, then nodded. He stepped forward and handed the locket to Luca.
Luca slid the key into the tiny mechanism. It clicked open.
Inside was a faded photograph of Sofia and Marco, smiling, with a newborn baby. Written on the back in Marco’s handwriting was: For my son, Mateo. And my brother, Luca. Trust no one but family.
Luca’s eyes filled with tears. He looked at Vanessa, who was shaking uncontrollably.
“You knew,” Luca said to her, his voice dead. “You knew Marco had a son. You knew Sofia didn't betray us.”
“I was protecting our future!” Vanessa screamed, her perfect façade shattering. “She was a waitress, Luca! She was ruining your family’s reputation! My father just… he just helped them disappear!”
“Arthur,” Luca commanded. “Lock them in the wine cellar. No food, no water until I decide what to do with them.”
As Arthur dragged the screaming Bellinis away, Luca turned back to Mateo. “Where is the journal?”
Mateo handed over the worn leather book. Luca opened it carefully. The pages were filled with Marco’s messy handwriting, detailing shipping routes, money transfers, and illegal operations.
But one page was folded down.
I looked over Luca’s shoulder. It was a ledger of bribes paid to a Chicago judge. But the payments weren't made by Marco. They were made by Richard Bellini.
“This is motive,” Luca said grimly. “Marco found out Richard was stealing from the family and buying off judges to build his own empire. Richard killed Marco to cover it up.”
My heart ached for Luca, but my mind was racing.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said. “If Richard’s men took Sofia tonight… where would they take her?”
Luca closed the journal. “There’s only one place Richard owns that’s completely off the books. An old meatpacking warehouse down by the river.”
“We have to go,” I said, grabbing a dry towel to wipe the wine off my skirt.
Luca looked at me, surprised. “You’re not going anywhere, Emily. You’re staying here where it’s safe.”
“Sofia told Mateo to find me,” I insisted. “Claire trusted me. I am not hiding in a bedroom while that man hurts another woman.”
Luca studied me for a long moment. Then, he nodded.
He handed Mateo over to his most trusted guard. “Stay with him. Do not leave this room.”
We rushed to the garage and climbed into Luca’s black SUV. The rain had started to fall, slicking the Chicago streets.
As we sped toward the river district, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
It was a text from an unknown number.
I opened it, and my blood ran completely cold.
It was a photo of my mother, asleep in her hospital bed. Standing next to her, facing the camera, was a man in a black suit holding a syringe.
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Below the photo was a message: Turn the car around, Emily. Or she doesn't wake up.
TITLE: THE POISONED HOSPITAL ROOM
