Chapter 10
The wind howled outside the tall Victorian windows of the Moretti mansion. Inside, the house was eerily quiet. The forty guests from the engagement party felt like a distant, chaotic nightmare. Vanessa was locked away in a federal holding facility awaiting trial. Marcus was in solitary confinement at the federal penitentiary. And Luca was downtown finalizing the total dissolution of the syndicate’s assets. I stood in the upstairs hallway, holding a small silver tray of medicine for Teresa.Knock. Knock. Knock. The sound echoed loudly through the cavernous foyer downstairs. I froze. The security guards were stationed outside the gates. Nobody was supposed to visit without Luca’s direct authorization. I set the silver tray down on a mahogany side table and walked slowly toward the grand staircase. I descended the steps, my footsteps silent against the plush runner.Knock. Knock. Louder this time. More urgent. I reached the massive oak front doors. I peered through the brass peephole. Nobody was standing on the porch. Just the empty stone steps dusted with fresh white snow. I frowned. Was it a trick? Another trap left by Thomas’s associates? I reached out and unlocked the heavy deadbolt with a trembling hand. I pulled the door open a few inches, scanning the perimeter of the dark porch. Still nothing. Just the howling wind and falling snowflakes. I looked down at the welcome mat. Resting right in the center of the mat was a heavy, square envelope made of thick black parchment. Sealed with a blob of crimson wax stamped with the Moretti family crest—a crowned wolf. I bent down, my heart pounding in my throat, and picked it up. The wax was still slightly warm. I flipped it over. Written across the front in elegant, sweeping cursive were three words:To Hannah Collins. My breath caught. The handwriting was unmistakably feminine. Graceful. Complex. And hauntingly familiar. I stepped back inside and slammed the heavy door shut, throwing all three deadbolts into place. I hurried into the grand study, switched on the antique brass desk lamp, and laid the black envelope down on the mahogany surface. My fingers shook as I cracked the crimson wax seal. I slid out a single sheet of heavy cream-colored paper. I unfolded it and began to read:“Dear Hannah,If you are reading this, it means Marcus and Vanessa have finally fallen, and the truth of what happened to me three years ago has finally seen the light of day.You don’t know me, but I knew you would be the one to save Teresa.I watched you from the shadows during your first week here. I saw how you treated her with kindness when everyone else treated her like a burden.They told Luca I died in a car accident.They lied.I faked my death the night I discovered the syndicate’s true operations, escaping into Canada with the help of a loyal priest.I couldn’t take my daughter. I couldn't tell Luca, because Marcus had threatened to kill them both if I spoke a word.So I left clues.I left the pocket watch in the crypt. I left the yellow glove for Teresa.And I waited for someone brave enough to pick up the pieces.Thank you for bringing my family back from the dark.Tell Luca I am safe.Tell him I am sorry I had to run.— Catherine Moretti.” The paper slipped from my numb fingers. It fluttered down onto the desk. Catherine was alive. She hadn’t died in that fiery crash three years ago at all. She had orchestrated her own disappearance to protect the people she loved. And now, her letter sat right in front of me, changing everything I thought I knew. Before I could process the shock, the study door swung open. Luca stood in the doorway. His coat was wet from the snow. His dark eyes were tired, yet sharp. He looked at the open black envelope on the desk. Then he looked at me. “What is that?” Luca asked, his voice dangerously low. I swallowed hard, my throat completely dry. “Mr. Moretti,” I whispered. “You need to read this.” I pushed the letter across the mahogany desk toward him. Luca stepped forward, his eyes scanning the elegant cursive handwriting line by line. As he read the final signature—Catherine Moretti—the color drained completely from his face. He gripped the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white. “No,” Luca breathed. “That’s… that’s impossible. I buried her.” “You buried an empty casket, Luca,” a voice spoke softly from the doorway behind him. We both spun around. Standing in the doorway, leaning on a wooden cane, was Teresa. The 78-year-old matriarch smiled through her tears. “I told you she’d come back, my boy,” Teresa whispered. “I told you she never really left.” CLIFFHANGER: Before Luca could speak, the study window shattered inward as a red laser dot landed directly on his chest, followed by a silenced gunshot that struck the wall right beside his head.
