Chapter 7 - THE MANILA FOLDER
The Manila folder hit the steel desk with a dull, heavy thud.
Luca stepped forward, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the table.
“What is this, Marco?”
“Everything your mother tried to hide from you before she was poisoned,” Marco rasped, pulling out a wooden chair and sitting down heavily.
“Maria knew the Bellinis were laundering cartel money through the community kitchen foundation.”
My breath hitched.
I stepped closer, unable to stop myself.
“Cartel money?” I whispered.
Marco glanced up at me, his eyes sharp as broken glass.
“Not just cartel money, sweetheart. Human trafficking proceeds.”
Luca stumbled backward, his hand catching the edge of the monitor.
“No. That’s impossible. My mother ran charities to save people.”
“She did,” Marco nodded grimly.
“And she found out Vincenzo was using her charity books as a front for his underground operations. She threatened to go to the federal prosecutor.”
Marco pulled out a stack of financial ledger pages.
“That’s why she died. And that’s why they needed her forged signature on the property transfer three weeks after her funeral—to legally seize the foundation before the feds audited the accounts.”
Luca’s chest rose and fell in violent, ragged breaths.
“And Vanessa?” Luca’s voice cracked.
“Vanessa isn't just a spoiled fiancée,” Marco spat.
“She’s the chief accountant running the offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands.”
The betrayal hung in the air like poison gas.
For three months, Luca had trusted Vanessa with his home, his life, and his family name.
And she had been laundering blood money right beneath his nose.
“What do we do?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Both men turned to look at me.
Marco raised an eyebrow.
“Listen to the housemaid, nephew. She’s got more spine than your entire board of directors.”
Luca looked straight into my eyes.
“We hit them where it hurts,” Luca growled, his voice dropping an octave into absolute darkness.
“At the noon shipment at the South Chicago docks.”
“That’s suicide,” Marco warned.
“Vincenzo will have fifty armed mercenaries waiting for us.”
“Let them wait,” Luca said, pulling his Beretta from its holster and racking a round into the chamber with a sharp, metallic *clack*.
“It’s time to clean house.”
He turned to me.
“Emma. You stay here.”
“No,” I said firmly, stepping away from the wall.
My voice surprised even myself.
“They broke into my mother’s apartment. They fired me for showing basic human decency. I’m not hiding in a hole while you go to war.”
Luca stared at me for a long, tense moment.
A slow, dangerous smile touched the corner of his mouth.
May you like
“God help me,” Luca muttered.
“Get dressed in tactical gear from locker three. We leave in ten minutes.”
