Chapter 5
The Letter
I read the last sentence three times.
Do not trust Luca either.
The man standing beside me said nothing.
That somehow made it worse.
Michael looked between us.
“Could be forged.”
I stared at the handwriting.
“No.”
“You're certain?”
“My father used to leave notes in my lunch box every day.”
I traced the capital E in my name.
“He always wrote it like this.”
Luca's face revealed nothing.
I folded the letter.
“What aren't you telling me?”
“About what?”
“My father.”
“Nothing.”
“He specifically warned me about you.”
“I noticed.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“You always know something.”
“Not this time.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Convenient.”
Luca's eyes hardened.
“If I wanted to hide this from you, Emma, we wouldn't be standing here discussing it.”
He had a point.
I hated that.
Michael examined the abandoned SUV.
“No sign of a struggle beyond the blood.”
“Whose vehicle?” Luca asked.
“Registered to Daniel Sullivan.”
My knees weakened.
He had a driver's license.
A vehicle.
A life.
My father had existed somewhere while we mourned him.
Luca caught my arm.
I pulled away.
“Don't.”
He released me immediately.
“Fine.”
I regretted the sharpness but didn't apologize.
Not yet.
Michael continued.
“There's a cabin registered to the same name fourteen miles from here.”
I looked up.
“When did he buy it?”
“Seven years ago.”
Seven years.
My father had lived an hour from Chicago for seven years.
“Take me there.”
Luca shook his head.
“We clear it first.”
“He might be hurt.”
“And whoever hurt him may be waiting.”
“My father—”
“I know.”
His voice softened.
“We're going. We're just going intelligently.”
The cabin sat beside a small lake surrounded by pine trees.
Michael's men searched it before allowing me inside.
No one was there.
The place was painfully ordinary.
Coffee mug in the sink.
Flannel jacket on a chair.
Fishing poles near the door.
A photograph of my mother hidden inside a kitchen drawer.
I picked it up.
It had been taken at their wedding.
My father had carried it for more than thirty years.
“He loved her,” I whispered.
Luca stood behind me.
“Apparently.”
“Then why?”
“I don't know.”
I opened another drawer.
Receipts.
Tools.
Old keys.
Then I found a photograph of Ethan graduating from high school.
My chest tightened.
Dad had watched us.
From a distance.
There were photos of me too.
College graduation.
My first apartment.
Mom's birthday dinner two years ago.
Someone had taken all of them from far away.
“He was following us.”
Luca examined the photographs.
“Or protecting you.”
“That's not protection.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Don't defend him.”
“I wasn't.”
“Good.”
We searched the cabin.
In the bedroom, Luca found a loose floorboard.
Beneath it sat a metal box.
Inside were newspaper clippings.
All about Moretti businesses.
Bellini businesses.
Antonio.
Victor.
And Luca.
Some photographs had dates and names written on the back.
Others were marked with red circles.
One newspaper headline caught my eye.
MORETTI PATRIARCH DIES AT 61.
Luca took it.
His father's obituary.
Under the photograph, my father had written:
HE FOUND OUT TOO LATE.
Luca went completely still.
I found another note.
A list of dates.
The final line said:
L.M. DOESN'T KNOW. KEEP IT THAT WAY.
I looked at Luca.
“You.”
“Probably.”
“What don't you know?”
He laughed without humor.
“That list could fill a book.”
Underneath the papers was a small digital recorder.
Michael found batteries.
We turned it on.
Static.
Then my father's voice filled the cabin.
“If anyone finds this, I'm probably dead for real this time.”
I covered my mouth.
Luca leaned forward.
Dad continued.
“Victor thinks I still have the ledger. Antonio thinks Victor has it. They're both wrong.”
Luca looked at Michael.
“The ledger?”
The recording continued.
“Salvatore Moretti discovered money disappearing from his companies in 2011. At first, he thought it was bookkeeping fraud. It wasn't. Antonio and Victor were using legitimate businesses to move money for people Salvatore refused to work with.”
Luca's face became stone.
“Human trafficking,” my father said.
My stomach turned.
“Salvatore wanted out the moment he found out. Antonio couldn't allow that. Neither could Victor.”
The recording crackled.
“I was only supposed to repair an elevator at the Cermak warehouse. Wrong place. Wrong night. I saw something I shouldn't have seen.”
I looked at the old photograph.
Dad outside the warehouse.
“I saw Antonio Moretti meet with Victor Bellini. I saw women brought through the freight entrance. Salvatore arrived twenty minutes later.”
Luca's hands curled into fists.
“He confronted them.”
Dad paused.
“They tried to buy my silence.”
Another pause.
“I refused.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“That was stupid.”
Luca looked at me.
I laughed shakily.
“He always did stupid things when he thought he was right.”
The recording continued.
“Salvatore offered to protect my family. I helped him gather records. Bank accounts. names. Payments. Routes.”
Michael whispered, “Jesus.”
“Then Salvatore got sick.”
Luca stopped breathing.
“At first, nobody suspected anything. Then he asked me to test medication from his home.”
The recording became softer.
“The pills contained something that wasn't prescribed.”
Luca stood abruptly.
“What?”
Dad's voice continued.
“I told Salvatore. He didn't believe Antonio could do it. Not his own brother.”
Luca stared at the recorder as if he wanted to tear it apart.
“Three days later, Salvatore made copies of everything. He hid one key with the dog because Bruno never trusted Antonio after the warehouse.”
The brass tag.
“He told me if anything happened, I should take my family and disappear.”
I whispered, “But he didn't take us.”
Dad answered as if he'd heard me.
“I made the worst decision of my life.”
My heart stopped.
“Victor threatened Margaret and the kids. Said if I disappeared alone, he'd let them believe I was dead. If I contacted them, he'd kill all three.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“I thought distance would keep them safe.”
I covered my face.
Fourteen years.
Fourteen birthdays.
Fourteen Christmases.
All because of fear.
The recording ended with one sentence.
“The ledger is where Emma learned to swim.”
I stared.
Luca turned to me.
“Where did you learn to swim?”
“Lake Michigan.”
“That narrows it down to approximately twenty-two thousand square miles.”
I almost laughed.
Then I remembered.
“No.”
“What?”
“My father used to call our bathtub Lake Michigan.”
Michael blinked.
“What?”
“When I was five, I was terrified of water. Dad taught me to float in our old apartment bathtub.”
Luca stared at me.
“Does the apartment still exist?”
“Yes.”
“Who lives there?”
I thought about it.
“My mother.”
Silence.
My phone rang.
A replacement Michael had given me.
Mom.
I answered immediately.
“Mom?”
Someone breathed.
Not my mother.
Then a man's voice said, “Hello, Emma.”
I knew that voice.
Victor Bellini.
May you like
“If you want your mother and brother alive,” he said, “bring me Luca Moretti.”
Chapters 1–10
