Lake Forest at Midnight
Chapter 07 - Lake Forest at Midnight
The ride to Lake Forest took thirty-seven minutes.
Claire knew because she watched every minute pass on the dashboard clock while sitting in the back of Luca Moretti’s black SUV beside his thirteen-year-old son, pretending she was not terrified of where her honesty had brought her.
She had no business being there.
She knew that.
But when Matteo refused to stay behind, when Luca ordered him to remain at the mansion, and when the boy’s face went bloodless in a way that told everyone he would run the moment no one watched—Claire had said the only thing that made sense.
“I’ll sit with him.”
Luca had looked at her for a long second.
Then he said, “You’re coming with us.”
Vanessa did not come.
She remained at the Gold Coast mansion under Enzo’s quiet supervision, which seemed to frighten her more than any locked door would have.
The engagement dinner had been dismissed with the kind of controlled explanation powerful families used when disaster wore formalwear. Some guests left. Some remained to gossip in guarded corners. All of them would remember Matteo’s chair.
Snow began outside the city.
Matteo stared out the window.
“You don’t have to talk,” Claire said.
“I know.”
He continued staring.
Then, after several miles, he whispered, “I thought he knew.”
“Your father?”
“I thought maybe Vanessa only said things he wanted said but didn’t want to say himself.”
Claire looked toward Luca in the front passenger seat.
His shoulders stiffened, so she knew he had heard.
Matteo did too.
Neither of them spoke.
Truth had entered the car, but no one knew where to seat it.
At the Lake Forest property, the gates opened onto a long drive bordered by trees dark with winter. The house appeared slowly, pale stone and black windows, too beautiful to look abandoned, too quiet to feel alive.
Behind it, beyond the terrace, stood the greenhouse.
A light glowed inside.
Luca stepped out first.
“Stay in the car.”
Matteo immediately opened his door.
Luca turned. “Matteo.”
“No.”
The boy’s voice shook, but he stood.
“You left Mom’s things alone for five years. I’m not waiting in a car while Uncle Carlo takes whatever is left.”
Luca looked at him.
Claire expected anger.
Instead he nodded once.
“Behind me.”
They crossed the snow-dusted path toward the greenhouse.
The glass panes reflected their shapes as fractured shadows. Inside, dead vines hung from trellises. Old pots lined the benches. Everything smelled like soil, dust, and a memory that had not been opened carefully.
Carlo Moretti stood near a locked cabinet with a crowbar in his hand.
He looked almost amused when Luca entered.
“Brother.”
“Half brother,” Luca said.
Carlo’s smile thinned.
Matteo stepped partly from behind Luca.
Carlo sighed. “You brought the boy. Sentimental mistake.”
Luca’s voice remained calm. “Step away from the cabinet.”
Carlo rested the crowbar against one shoulder.
“You know, I used to think Isabella weakened you. Then she died and somehow did more damage as a ghost.”
Matteo’s face tightened.
Claire felt Luca’s anger move before his body did.
Not violence.
Control.
The kind that cost more than rage.
“Step away.”
Carlo glanced at Claire.
“And this is the maid who ruined dinner?”
Claire said nothing.
He smiled at Matteo. “A child, a servant, and a grieving man. Quite the board meeting.”
Luca took one step forward.
Carlo finally moved away from the cabinet.
One of Luca’s men retrieved the crowbar.
The cabinet was old green-painted wood, the kind Isabella might have chosen because beauty mattered to her more than expense. A small brass lock hung through the handles.
Matteo reached into his shirt and pulled out the locket.
“The note was inside this.”
Luca looked at the lock.
Claire saw it at the same moment he did.
The blue stone in the locket was not simply decorative.
It opened.
Inside was a tiny key.
Matteo’s breath caught.
“She wanted me to find it.”
Luca took the locket gently, removed the key, and opened the cabinet.
Inside were three things.
A stack of letters tied with blue ribbon.
A small metal cash box.
And a videotape labeled in Isabella’s handwriting:
FOR LUCA, WHEN HE IS READY TO HEAR THE TRUTH.
No one moved.
Carlo’s smile vanished.
Luca picked up the tape.
“Why were you trying to destroy this?”
Carlo laughed once.
“You think one dead woman’s little home movie changes anything?”
Matteo whispered, “What truth?”
Carlo looked at him with sudden cruelty.
“The truth that your mother knew your father’s enemies better than he did.”
Luca turned toward his brother.
But Claire was looking at the cash box.
Its lid had been forced open before they arrived.
Inside, beneath old receipts and dried lavender, was a single photograph.
Claire picked it up before anyone could stop her.
It showed Isabella in the greenhouse, visibly tired, standing beside a younger Carlo.
Carlo’s hand was gripping her arm.
On the back, in Isabella’s handwriting, were three words:
IF I DIE.
Matteo read them over Claire’s shoulder.
The sound that left him was not a cry.
It was worse.
Luca reached for the photograph.
Carlo lunged.
Luca’s men moved faster.
The greenhouse erupted in motion, then stilled again with Carlo pinned against a workbench, breathing hard, hatred naked on his face.
Luca held the photograph.
His voice was barely audible.
“What did you do to my wife?”
May you like
Carlo’s answer came as a smile.
“Ask Vanessa.”
