Chapter 11 - The Final Secret
The fireplace crackled loudly as Luca and I stared at the silver knife.
“Dad said he didn't know your family until six years ago,” Luca murmured, tracing the carved letters. “If he had this knife ten years ago... he lied.”
We spent the next two hours digging through every remaining file in the basement archives.
Finally, inside a locked filing cabinet, Luca found a sealed police report from 2016.
It detailed a hit-and-run accident on the West Side. A pedestrian had been struck by a black sedan, sustaining severe leg injuries.
The victim was David Collins. My father.
The case was closed due to a lack of evidence. The driver was never found.
Attached to the back of the report was a signed check from Frank Moretti to an anonymous shell corporation, paying off a massive sum of money.
“Oh my god,” I whispered, covering my mouth. “Your father hit him. Frank Moretti crippled my dad.”
Tears spilled down my face. My father had walked with a cane for the last four years of his life. He lost his construction job because of that accident. It was the reason we fell into poverty.
Luca looked sick. “Hannah... I didn't know.”
I backed away from him. “Your family ruined mine. And then your father paid off the cops to hide it.”
I turned and ran upstairs, locking myself in the bedroom. I couldn't breathe. The man I was about to marry was the son of the man who destroyed my father’s life.
Two hours later, a soft knock came at the door.
“Hannah,” Teresa’s voice called out softly. “Please let me in.”
I opened the door, wiping my eyes.
Teresa walked in, holding a faded yellow manila envelope.
“Luca showed me the police report,” she said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Frank didn't hit your father, sweetheart.”
I looked at her, confused. “The check...”
“Frank paid the money to buy silence,” Teresa explained. “But not to protect himself. He did it to protect a teenager who stole a car for a joyride and panicked.”
She opened the envelope and handed me a grainy photograph taken from a red-light camera on the night of the accident.
You could clearly see the driver of the black sedan right before the crash.
It was a seventeen-year-old girl.
May you like
Vanessa Bellini.
“Her father brought her to Frank begging for help,” Teresa said. “Frank covered it up to prevent a mob war. But the guilt ate at him. That’s why he kept the knife he found at the scene. It’s why he watched over you and paid your rent.”
