Chapter 9 – THE JOURNAL IN THE DRAWER

My hands shook violently, dropping the heavy stack of folded sweaters to the floor.

I stared at the faded ink on the cracked parchment.

If you are reading this, Emily, it means Luca’s father has found me.

Luca’s father.

Don Salvatore Moretti.

The ruthless patriarch of the syndicate who had supposedly died of a stroke a decade ago in a federal penitentiary.

I turned the page, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

October 14th.

I lied to you, Emily. I never wanted to burden you with the truth. But Elena didn’t just come to me as a patient. She came to me because she was terrified. She told me Dante was stealing, yes. But she also told me something worse.

Dante wasn’t acting alone.

He was taking orders from his father. Salvatore never died in prison. He faked his death with the help of dirty federal wardens to run the syndicate from the shadows. He ordered Dante to kill Elena because she knew he was alive.

I stopped breathing.

Salvatore Moretti was alive?

If that were true, Dante and Vanessa weren’t the masterminds. They were just foot soldiers. And if Salvatore was still pulling the strings, he would never let Luca walk away from the syndicate. He would view Luca’s cooperation with the FBI as the ultimate treason.

I flipped to the last entry, dated two days before my mother’s “heart attack.”

A man came to the clinic today. He had a scarred face and a silver cane. He asked about you, Emily. He asked about the girl who pulled Sophie from the fire. He knows you survived. I am hiding this journal in the bottom of the donation box headed for your apartment. If I die, take Leo and run. Do not trust Luca. Salvatore controls him.

“Emily?”

I jumped, slamming the journal shut as Luca walked into the bedroom.

He was drying his hair with a towel, looking completely at peace. “Everything okay? You look pale.”

I shoved the journal behind my back, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Just… tired.”

Luca frowned, stepping closer. He gently touched my cheek. “You’re shaking. What’s behind your back?”

My mind raced. Do not trust Luca. Salvatore controls him.

Could Luca know his father was alive? Had he been playing me this entire time to root out the people who knew the truth?

No. I looked into his eyes—the eyes of the man who had put a gun to his own brother’s head to protect me. Luca loved me. I knew it in my bones.

“Luca,” I said softly, my voice trembling. “Did you ever see your father’s body before they buried him?”

Luca stopped wiping his hair. The warmth left his face, replaced by a confused tension. “No. It was a closed casket. Federal prison protocol for high-profile inmates. Why?”

I slowly brought the journal out from behind my back and handed it to him.

“This was my mother’s,” I whispered. “I just found it hidden in my old things.”

Luca opened the book. He read the first page. Then the second.

I watched the blood drain from his face. His hands, usually so steady, began to tremble.

“My father,” Luca breathed, staring at the pages as if they were poisonous. “He’s alive.”

“Luca, if he’s alive, he’s the one who ordered Elena’s death. And my mother’s.”

Luca closed the journal, his eyes burning with a sudden, feral intensity. “If my father is alive, he will come for Sophie. He believes the Moretti bloodline belongs to the syndicate. He won’t let her live a normal life.”

Suddenly, the lights in the master bedroom flickered and died.

The entire estate was plunged into pitch blackness.

Outside the window, the motion sensors in the garden tripped, illuminating the lawn in harsh white light.

Walking across the grass, surrounded by a dozen armed men in tactical gear, was an elderly man walking with a silver cane.

“He’s here,” Luca whispered, pulling his gun from the nightstand.

Share