Chapter 5 – THE VAN AND THE VOW

The van slammed into the concrete pillar next to the gunmen, sending them scattering in panic.

The side door of the van slid open.

“Get in!” a voice roared.

It was Daniel, Luca’s head of security.

Luca didn’t hesitate. He grabbed me by the waist and practically threw me into the back of the van, diving in right behind me with the briefcase.

“Go!” Luca yelled.

Daniel slammed the van into reverse, the tires smoking as he spun the heavy vehicle around. Gunfire pinged against the bulletproof glass of the back windows, sounding like violent hail.

I huddled on the metal floor, covering my ears. Luca covered my body with his own, shielding me until we tore out of the parking garage and merged into the heavy Chicago rain.

“Is anyone hit?” Daniel yelled from the driver’s seat.

“We’re clear,” Luca panted, rolling off me. He offered me a hand and helped me sit up on the bench seat. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” I gasped, though my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “Vanessa sent hitmen. She’s trying to destroy the evidence.”

“She’s panicking,” Luca said grimly. “She knows her life is over.”

“Where are we going?” I asked. “Back to the estate?”

“No,” Daniel answered, taking a sharp turn. “The estate is compromised. Vanessa knew all the security codes. She’s likely given them to Marcus’s men. I’ve already evacuated Arthur and the boy to a safe house outside the city.”

“Good,” Luca said. He looked at the briefcase. “We have the proof. We just need to get it to the federal prosecutor.”

“There’s a problem, Boss,” Daniel said, looking in the rearview mirror.

“What?”

“The prosecutor is on Marcus’s payroll,” Daniel said. “Arthur told me before we evacuated. Vanessa and Marcus have been bribing the District Attorney for years. If we hand that briefcase over to the police, it vanishes, and you get arrested for the arson.”

Luca cursed, punching the metal wall of the van.

“We need leverage,” Luca said, his mind racing. “We need something the DA can’t cover up.”

I looked at the briefcase. I reached in and pulled out a stack of glossy photographs my father had taken.

“Look at this,” I said, holding up a picture.

It was a photo of Vanessa and Marcus sitting in a diner, passing a manila envelope across the table. But they weren’t alone.

Sitting next to Vanessa, smiling and drinking coffee, was Uncle Richard. The man who was supposed to walk Vanessa down the aisle.

“Richard,” Luca growled. “My father’s brother. He’s on the board of my company.”

“He’s the inside man,” I realized. “Marcus was exiled. Vanessa was a nobody. They needed someone with the authority to sign off on the insurance claims for the burned buildings. Richard was authorizing the payouts.”

Luca’s eyes burned with betrayal. “My own blood.”

“Where is Richard right now?” I asked.

“He didn’t come to the engagement dinner,” Luca said. “He told me he was at his hunting lodge in Wisconsin.”

“Then that’s where we go,” I said firmly.

Luca looked at me, surprised by the absolute determination in my voice. I wasn’t a scared housemaid anymore. I was a daughter seeking justice.

“It’s a fortress, Hannah,” Luca warned. “He has armed guards.”

“I don’t care,” I said, holding my father’s pocket watch tightly in my palm. “He killed my father. He terrorized Arthur. He abandoned a seven-year-old boy. We are going to burn his fortress to the ground.”

Luca stared at me. A slow, deeply admiring smile touched his lips.

“Daniel,” Luca ordered. “Set a course for Wisconsin.”

Three hours later, we parked the van deep in the pine forests, a mile away from Richard Moretti’s massive log cabin estate. The rain had stopped, replaced by a thick, freezing fog.

“I’m going in alone,” Luca said, loading a tactical shotgun.

“No,” I said, stepping out of the van. “I’m coming with you.”

“Hannah, if things go south—”

“I have the briefcase,” I interrupted. “If Richard tries to deny it, I have the photos. I have the tape. Let me look him in the eye.”

Luca hesitated, then nodded. “Stay behind me.”

We hiked through the dense fog, avoiding the motion sensors Daniel had hacked into. When we reached the back of the lodge, the lights were on inside.

Luca kicked the heavy oak back door open.

We stepped into the sprawling, taxidermy-filled living room.

Richard Moretti was sitting in a leather armchair by the fire, drinking a glass of scotch. But he wasn’t alone.

Standing behind him, holding a pistol pointed directly at Richard’s head, was Vanessa Bellini.

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