Chapter 2 – Shadows of the Past
Teresa covered her mouth. “Hannah… is that your little boy?”
I couldn’t speak. I stared at the crumpled photograph of Leo, taken on his third birthday. He was wearing his favorite yellow sweater, smiling missing a front tooth.
“How did my father get this?” Luca asked. The dangerous edge had returned to his voice.
“I don’t know,” I whispered, tears blurring my vision. “I swear to you, Mr. Moretti. I’ve never seen that picture before. I didn’t even start working here until four years after your father died.”
Luca stepped closer. “But you lived on the West Side.”
“Yes.”
“Did your mother know him?”
“My mother was a waitress. She died when I was nineteen.” I wiped my eyes. “We had nothing to do with your family.”
Teresa stepped between us. “Luca, stop it. You’re terrifying the poor girl. Look at her.”
Luca exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I just… none of this makes sense.”
Duke let out a soft whine, struggling to shift his weight on the thin mat.
The tension broke. Luca immediately knelt and carefully lifted the eighty-pound dog into his arms. Duke licked Luca’s jaw.
“Let’s get him upstairs,” Luca said softly. “Hannah, bring his orthopedic bed to my mother’s room. We’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”
An hour later, Duke was fast asleep on his thick foam bed in Teresa’s suite. The old woman sat in a velvet armchair beside him, one hand resting on his golden fur.
“He’s dreaming,” Teresa whispered, watching Duke’s paws twitch. “He always dreams of running.”
I adjusted the blanket over him. “He feels safe now.”
“Because of you, Hannah.” Teresa looked up at me. “You risked your job to protect him tonight.”
“I couldn’t let her send him away, Mrs. Moretti.”
Teresa reached out and squeezed my hand. “You have a good heart. Just like Frank.” She hesitated. “Frank wouldn’t have hurt your family, Hannah. If he had that picture, it was to protect someone.”
I wanted to believe her. But I had a five-year-old son to protect.
The next morning, I arrived at the mansion early. Vanessa’s closets were empty. She was gone.
I was polishing the banister when the front doorbell rang.
I opened it to find a woman in a sharp gray suit. She wasn’t a lawyer. She wore a badge on a lanyard.
Child Protective Services.
“Hannah Collins?” the woman asked, holding a clipboard.
My blood ran cold. “Yes?”
“I’m Agent Davis. We received an anonymous report this morning regarding your son, Leo.”
I gripped the doorframe. “A report? About what?”
“Neglect. The caller stated you leave him in unlicensed, unsafe care facilities while working long hours in a known criminal household.”
Vanessa. She was making good on her threats.
“That’s a lie,” I said, my voice trembling. “My son is in a registered daycare. He is perfectly safe.”
“I need to inspect your residence and speak with the child,” Agent Davis said flatly. “If the environment is deemed unsafe, we will have to place him in temporary foster care.”
“No,” a deep voice said from the stairs.
Luca walked down, dressed in a tailored black suit. He moved with the quiet authority of a man who owned everything he looked at.
“Mr. Moretti,” the agent said, clearly recognizing him. “This is a state matter.”
“And Hannah is an employee of this estate,” Luca replied, stepping beside me. “Her son is fine.”
“I still need to see the child.”
Luca pulled a gold money clip from his pocket, but didn’t open it. “Where is Leo right now, Hannah?”
“At Miss Patty’s daycare. On Elm Street.”
Luca looked at the agent. “We will bring the boy here this afternoon. You can conduct your interview in my library.”
The agent frowned. “Here?”
“Yes. Because as of today, Hannah and her son are moving into the east wing of this house.”
I stared at him in shock.
The agent finally nodded, handing me a card. “Three o’clock, Ms. Collins. Do not be late.”
She walked away. I turned to Luca, my heart pounding.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I whispered. “I can’t live here.”
“Vanessa is punishing you for standing up to her,” Luca said. “I protect the people who protect my family.”
He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “Besides, I found something else in my father’s study last night. It was tucked inside the watch box.”
He handed it to me.
It was a medical receipt from a private clinic. Dated six years ago.
Paid in full by Frank Moretti.
The patient’s name was David Collins.
My father.
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