Chapter 6 – BENEATH THE ANGELS

The rain had stopped by the time we reached Oak Woods Cemetery, leaving a thick, clinging fog rolling over the sprawling lawns.

It was past 2:00 AM.

The heavy iron gates were padlocked, but Luca made a single phone call, and within five minutes, a nervous groundskeeper was rushing out of the caretaker’s cottage to let us in.

We drove slowly down the winding gravel paths, the SUV’s headlights cutting through the mist, illuminating rows of silent, weathered headstones.

I clutched the hand-drawn map in my lap. My hands were trembling.

For years, this cemetery had been a place of profound grief. Now, it felt like the center of a massive, dangerous conspiracy.

“Take a deep breath,” Luca said softly, keeping his eyes on the narrow path. “We’re almost there.”

I looked over at him in the dim dashboard light.

“Why are you doing this yourself?” I asked. “You have security teams. You have lawyers. You could have sent someone else to dig around a graveyard in the middle of the night.”

Luca slowed the car to a stop near the eastern edge of the cemetery.

He put the SUV in park and turned to face me.

“Because my father trusted your parents,” Luca said earnestly. “He put a target on their backs to protect my future. I owe them the respect of finding what they died to protect. And…”

He hesitated, his dark eyes searching mine.

“And I wanted to make sure you didn’t have to face this alone.”

A strange, warm feeling fluttered in my chest. For the first time in nine years, I didn’t feel like I was carrying the weight of the world by myself.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

We grabbed two heavy flashlights from the trunk and walked into the damp grass.

The fog swirled around our ankles as we navigated the rows of granite angels and crosses.

Finally, the beams of our flashlights caught the two matching gray headstones.

David Collins. Mary Collins. Beloved Parents.

Between them sat the old stone bench, supported by two carved cherubs.

I walked over to my parents’ graves and gently brushed a wet leaf off my mother’s name. A fresh wave of sorrow washed over me, but it was mixed with a burning desire for justice.

“Look beneath the angels,” Luca quoted the map, kneeling down beside the bench.

He aimed his flashlight under the heavy stone seat, illuminating the carved cherubs holding it up.

“Hannah, look at this,” he called out.

I knelt down in the wet grass beside him.

At the base of the right cherub, near the ground, the stone looked slightly different. There was a thin, almost invisible seam cut into the granite.

“It’s a hollow compartment,” Luca said, pressing his fingers against the seam.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, folding pocket knife. He wedged the blade into the seam and pried gently.

With a soft grinding noise, a small square of granite popped loose, falling into Luca’s hand.

Inside the dark cavity was a long, tarnished metal lockbox.

Luca pulled it out and set it on top of the bench.

It was heavy, secured by a small brass padlock.

“Stand back,” Luca instructed.

He found a heavy, loose piece of gravel nearby and brought it down hard against the brass lock. Once. Twice. On the third strike, the old padlock shattered.

Luca pulled the lock away and opened the lid.

I held my breath.

Inside the box were two things.

A thick stack of old, embossed stock certificates.

And a small, velvet jewelry box.

Luca picked up the stock certificates, fanning them out in the flashlight beam.

“Fifteen percent of the Moretti Hotel Group,” Luca said, awe in his voice. “Worth nearly fifty million dollars today.”

He handed the papers to me.

My hands shook as I took them. Fifty million dollars. It was an unfathomable amount of money. It was freedom. It was Leo’s college fund, a new house, a life without fear.

But my eyes were drawn to the velvet box still resting inside the metal container.

“What’s that?” I asked.

Luca reached in and opened the velvet box.

Inside rested a beautiful, delicate silver necklace. The pendant was shaped like a small dove.

“My mother’s necklace,” I gasped, covering my mouth. “She wore it every day. I thought it was lost in the car crash.”

Luca gently lifted the necklace from the velvet.

But as he pulled it out, a small, folded piece of stationary fluttered from beneath the jewelry cushion, landing on the bench.

Luca picked it up and unfolded it.

It was a letter, written on the official letterhead of the Moretti Hotel Group.

But it wasn’t written by Franco Moretti.

“Hannah,” Luca whispered, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting. “This wasn’t written by my father.”

He turned the letter so I could see the signature at the bottom.

It was signed by Eleanor Moretti.

Luca’s mother.

“Read it,” I urged, my pulse hammering in my ears.

Luca cleared his throat, reading the words his mother had written twenty-two years ago.

“David, Mary. If you are reading this, it means Catherine has found out about the shares. I am leaving the city tonight. But I cannot leave without apologizing to you.”

Luca stopped. His brow furrowed in deep confusion.

“Apologizing for what?” I asked.

Luca looked back down at the letter and continued reading.

“I cannot leave without apologizing for the terrible secret I have forced you to keep. Catherine believes the shares are the only threat to her power. But she doesn’t know the truth about Hannah.”

My heart stopped.

“Me?” I whispered.

Luca’s eyes widened as he read the final sentence of the letter.

“She doesn’t know that Hannah isn’t your biological daughter. She doesn’t know that Hannah is Franco’s eldest child. She is the true heir to the Moretti empire.”

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