Chapter 3 – The Blood in the Ink

The sterile, fluorescent light of the bank’s viewing room buzzed above me, sounding louder than a siren.

I stared at the birth certificate on the metal table. Father: Enzo Moretti.

It was impossible. My father was David Mitchell, a quiet mechanic who had died in a car accident when I was two years old. My mother had kept a picture of him on her nightstand for twenty-five years. She had told me stories about his laugh, about how he loved to fix old radios.

With trembling hands, I reached into the manila envelope and pulled out the last item. It was a letter, written on pale blue stationery I recognized as my mother’s.

My dearest Grace,

If you are reading this, I am gone, and I am so deeply sorry I didn’t have the courage to tell you the truth while I was alive. David Mitchell was a good man, but he was not your father. He married me to protect us both when I discovered I was pregnant.

Enzo Moretti was a terrifying man, but for a brief time, I believed he loved me. I worked as a housekeeper in his mansion before you were born. When his wife discovered the affair, Enzo didn’t defend me. He gave me ten thousand dollars and told me if I ever claimed you were his, he would make sure we both disappeared.

I kept you a secret to keep you safe. But when I got sick, I knew the money wouldn’t last. I knew you would be left with nothing. I went to the laundry facility, Grace. But I didn’t get sick from the chemicals. I went there to meet a man who had proof of Enzo’s affair.

I didn’t blackmail Luca. I just wanted what was rightfully yours. A piece of the empire your father built, so you would never have to serve his legitimate children again.

Forgive me, my sweet girl.

Tears blurred my vision, dropping onto the pale blue paper, smudging the ink.

My entire life was a lie constructed out of fear. I had spent four years scrubbing the floors of my own father’s house. I had served dinner to my half-brother. I had bowed my head to Vanessa Bellini, a woman who had murdered my mother to protect a fortune that partially belonged to me.

The door to the viewing room suddenly opened.

Marco stepped inside, his massive frame filling the doorway. He looked at my pale, tear-streaked face.

“Grace,” Marco said gently. “Are you alright? Do you need more time?”

I looked at him. The man who had driven me to work, who had nodded to me every morning for four years. Did he know? Did Luca know?

“Marco,” I whispered, my voice raw. “Did Mr. Moretti send you with me today just for protection?”

Marco frowned slightly. “The boss sent me to make sure you got home safe. That’s all.”

I quickly gathered the photos, the birth certificate, and the letter, shoving them back into the manila envelope. I couldn’t tell Marco. I couldn’t tell Luca.

If Luca found out I was Enzo’s illegitimate heir, I wouldn’t be his maid anymore. I would be a threat to his absolute control of the syndicate. His father had threatened to kill my mother for simply existing. What would the ruthless mafia boss do if he realized a true blood rival was sleeping in his servant’s quarters?

“I’m ready,” I said, clutching the envelope tightly to my chest.

We drove back to the mansion in silence. My mind raced, trying to figure out how to escape. I needed to pack my things. I needed to run before Vanessa found a way out of her locked room and told Luca what my mother had really been demanding.

But when we pulled through the massive iron gates of the estate, the driveway was chaotic.

Three black SUVs were parked haphazardly near the front steps. Several men in sharp suits were standing around, smoking cigarettes and looking tense.

Marco cursed under his breath, stopping the car abruptly. “Stay in the vehicle, Grace.”

“Who are they?” I asked, panic rising.

“The Commission,” Marco said grimly, unholstering his weapon and checking the magazine. “The heads of the other four families. They don’t show up unannounced unless someone called a tribunal.”

Marco stepped out of the car, leaving the engine running.

I sat frozen in the back seat. A tribunal. The highest council of the syndicate.

Suddenly, the passenger side door jerked open.

I screamed, shrinking back.

But it wasn’t a mobster. It was Maria, the head housekeeper. She was sixty years old, usually terrifyingly strict, but right now, she looked frantic.

“Grace, you have to get out of here,” Maria hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the car. “Right now. Go through the gardens to the street.”

“Maria, what’s happening?” I cried, clutching the envelope.

“It’s Vanessa,” Maria said rapidly, pulling me toward the tall hedges that lined the driveway. “She managed to get a phone from one of the guards last night. She called her father, the head of the Bellini family.”

My stomach plummeted. “Why?”

“She told them Luca went insane. She told them Luca cancelled the wedding and locked her up because he was having an affair with you!” Maria said, her eyes wide with fear. “Her father brought the Commission to demand blood for the insult to his family.”

“An affair?” I gasped. “I’m his maid! I barely spoke to him before last night!”

“It doesn’t matter what the truth is, Grace,” Maria said, pushing me behind a thick row of hydrangeas. “Vanessa’s father demanded that Luca hand you over to them to face punishment for ruining the alliance. And if Luca refuses, they’re going to declare war.”

I stared at her in absolute horror. Vanessa hadn’t just killed my mother. She was going to use me as a scapegoat to save her own life, triggering a mafia war to cover up her murder.

“I have to tell Luca the truth,” I said, looking toward the mansion. “If I show him these papers, he’ll understand why my mother called!”

“Are you crazy?” Maria grabbed my shoulders. “If you walk in there, the Bellinis will shoot you on sight! Run, Grace!”

Before I could take a step, a heavy, booming voice echoed across the driveway.

“Where is she?!”

I peered through the leaves. Standing on the front steps of the mansion was a tall, silver-haired man. Carlo Bellini. Vanessa’s father. He was surrounded by heavily armed guards.

Luca stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at Carlo with absolute, unyielding coldness.

“I told you, Carlo,” Luca said, his voice carrying effortlessly. “Grace Mitchell has nothing to do with this. The engagement was broken because your daughter is a murderer.”

“Lies!” Carlo roared, his face turning purple with rage. “You insult my daughter to protect your whore! You have ten seconds to bring the maid out here, Luca, or my men will tear this house apart and find her themselves!”

Luca didn’t flinch. He didn’t look back to see if Marco had brought me home. He simply stood his ground, a lone king facing down an army.

“If any of your men cross my threshold,” Luca promised softly, “they will die on my steps.”

Carlo sneered. He raised his hand, signaling his men to draw their weapons.

I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t let Luca go to war to protect a maid he didn’t even know was his sister.

I broke away from Maria.

“Stop!” I screamed, running out from behind the hedges, holding the manila envelope high in the air.

Everyone froze. Dozens of guns immediately pointed at me.

Marco shouted my name, but he was too far away. Luca’s eyes widened in genuine terror as he saw me standing in the open.

“Grace, get back in the car!” Luca roared, abandoning his calm facade, sprinting down the steps toward me.

But Carlo Bellini smiled a cold, victorious smile. He pointed his own pistol directly at my chest.

“So this is the little rat who ruined my daughter’s future,” Carlo said smoothly.

“Your daughter ruined her own future!” I shouted, my voice shaking with adrenaline. “She murdered my mother to steal this envelope! Because she knew if Luca saw what was inside, he would never marry her!”

Carlo hesitated, his gun wavering slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“Vanessa didn’t find environmental reports,” I cried out, desperately trying to buy time as Luca closed the distance between us. “She found proof of my inheritance! She killed my mother to stop me from claiming it!”

Carlo frowned. “Your inheritance? You’re a servant.”

I looked directly at Luca, who had stopped five feet away from me. The fear in his eyes was replaced by deep, utter confusion.

“I’m not just a servant,” I said, my voice breaking as I ripped the birth certificate out of the envelope and held it out for everyone to see. “My name is Grace Moretti. And Enzo was my father too.”