Chapter 6 – THE WEDDING PHOTOGRAPH
I stared at the photograph until the edges of my vision went dark.
Vincent. And Caterina.
Married.
“I don’t understand,” I stammered, dropping the picture onto the table. “This was taken before I met him. He told me he was single. He told me I was his first love.”
Frank picked up the photo, his jaw clenched tight. “Mom was investigating Antonio’s syndicate. She must have dug into Vincent’s past before you married him and found this.”
“But Caterina said she was Marco’s widow,” I said, pacing the small, claustrophobic vault room. “She said Serena was Marco’s child. If Caterina was married to Vincent…”
The horrifying realization hit me like a physical blow.
“Serena isn’t Marco’s daughter,” I whispered, the air leaving my lungs.
Frank looked at me.
“She’s Vincent’s daughter,” I said, my voice cracking.
Frank nodded slowly. “He didn’t sleep with his niece, Evelyn. He’s been sleeping with his own daughter.”
I grabbed the metal edge of the table and threw up into the nearby wastebasket.
The disgust, the betrayal, the sheer, unimaginable sickness of it all overwhelmed me. Vincent had lied to Caterina to get the child. He hid the girl, raised her in secret, and then, years later, initiated a romantic relationship with her, knowing exactly who she was.
“He is a monster,” I sobbed, wiping my mouth. “He is an absolute monster.”
Frank put a steadying hand on my back. “Evelyn, we have to focus. Look at the back of the photograph.”
I picked the picture up again with trembling fingers. I flipped it over.
There was a date written in my mother’s handwriting.
August 14, 1993.
And below that, a single sentence:
Antonio holds the annulment papers. It is his leverage over Vincent.
“Leverage,” Frank muttered, rubbing his chin. “If Antonio knew Vincent had a secret wife and child, he used it to blackmail Vincent into joining the syndicate. Vincent has been Antonio’s puppet for thirty years.”
“That doesn’t matter right now,” I said, grabbing the ledgers and shoving them into my tote bag. “None of this matters until I get Anna back. Can we use these ledgers to negotiate with Antonio?”
“Antonio doesn’t negotiate,” Frank said grimly. “If we show up with these books, he’ll kill us, take them, and keep Anna.”
“Then what do we do?”
Frank pulled his leather jacket tight. “We go to the one man Antonio is afraid of.”
“Who is that?”
“The District Attorney.”
We left the bank and drove straight to the federal courthouse. Frank used his old journalism credentials to bypass security and barge directly into the office of DA Robert Vance.
Vance was a stern, gray-haired man who had built his career trying to take down the Chicago mob. He looked up in annoyance as we barged in, but his expression changed when Frank dumped the heavy ledgers onto his desk.
“What is this?” Vance asked.
“Thirty years of Antonio’s blood money,” Frank said. “Account numbers, payoffs, names of dirty judges. Everything.”
Vance opened the first ledger. His eyes widened. He flipped through the pages, his breath catching. “My God. This is the holy grail. Where did you get this?”
“My mother,” I said, stepping forward. “I am Evelyn Moretti.”
Vance looked at me, stunned. “Vincent Moretti’s wife? Why are you giving this to me?”
“Because David, Antonio’s son, kidnapped my daughter. He’s forcing her to marry him, and he has her infant son hostage.”
Vance closed the ledger slowly. “Mrs. Moretti. I can arrest Antonio with this. I can arrest David. But if I move on them now, they will kill your daughter and the child before my men ever reach the door.”
“Then don’t arrest them yet,” I said. “Raid the wedding.”
Vance frowned. “What wedding?”
“David was forcing her to the altar. They took her last night. If you raid the ceremony, you can secure her before they know what’s happening.”
Vance picked up his desk phone. “I’ll get my tactical team ready. Do you know where the wedding is taking place?”
I realized with a sinking heart that I had no idea.
“I don’t,” I admitted.
Before Vance could tell us we were out of luck, my cell phone rang in my pocket.
It was an unknown number.
I answered it. “Hello?”
“Evelyn.”
It was Caterina. She sounded breathless, panicked.
“Caterina, where are you?” I asked.
“I am at the Holy Name Cathedral,” Caterina whispered into the phone. “Evelyn, they are forcing the ceremony now. The church is empty except for Antonio’s men. David has Anna at the altar.”
“Where is the baby?” I demanded.
“Antonio has him in the front pew,” Caterina said. “Evelyn, please hurry. They are going to kill me.”
The line went dead.
I looked at the DA. “Holy Name Cathedral. Right now.”
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