Chapter 4 – THE GUN IN THE NURSERY DOORWAY
“Put it down, Vanessa.”
Luca’s voice didn’t rise, but the temperature in the room plummeted. He casually stepped in front of Noah, shielding the boy completely.
Vanessa’s hands were shaking, the heavy pistol dipping slightly before she forced it back up.
“I spent five years,” Vanessa hissed, tears ruining her mascara. “Five years playing the perfect fiancée. Putting up with this house, with that brat, waiting for the trust to transfer. And you ruin it for a maid?”
“You ruined it the second you tried to send my son away,” Luca said. He took one slow step forward. “You’re holding the gun wrong, Vanessa. The safety is still on.”
Vanessa panicked, her thumb fumbling to find the switch on the side of the weapon.
In that split second, Luca moved.
He didn’t strike her. He simply closed the distance, clamped his hand over the barrel, and wrenched the gun from her grip with a sharp twist. Vanessa shrieked as she stumbled backward into the hallway.
Luca swiftly ejected the magazine and cleared the chamber, letting the single bullet hit the hardwood floor with a chilling clink.
“Daniel!” Luca roared.
Within seconds, heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. Daniel, the head of security, appeared, breathing heavily. He saw Vanessa on the floor and the disassembled gun in Luca’s hands.
“Sir?”
“Escort Miss Whitmore off the property,” Luca ordered, his eyes never leaving hers. “If she resists, break her legs.”
Daniel grabbed Vanessa by the arm, hauling her up. She thrashed, screaming hysterically.
“You think this is over, Luca?! My father will destroy you! He owns the judges! He owns the trust!”
Her screams faded down the grand staircase, followed by the heavy slam of the front doors.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Noah peeked out from behind his father’s legs. “Is she gone?”
“She’s gone, buddy,” Luca said, crouching down to ruffle Noah’s hair. “Forever.”
My mind was still spinning, tethered to the faded blue lockbox on the floor. I dropped to my knees, picking up the letter again.
“Luca,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “My mother… she never told me she was married. She never told me she had another family. Am I… am I your sister?”
Luca sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He walked over and sat on the edge of Noah’s bed.
“No, Grace. You’re not my sister.”
He reached into the box and pulled out a small, velvet pouch. He untied it and emptied the contents into his palm.
It was a hospital wristband. An infant’s hospital wristband.
“My mother fled to Ohio because she was pregnant,” Luca explained softly. “Vanessa’s father didn’t just want my mother gone; he wanted the second Moretti heir erased to secure Vanessa’s future inheritance.”
I stared at the tiny plastic band.
“My mother gave birth in secret,” Luca continued. “But she died from complications during the delivery. The woman who raised you, Eleanor… she wasn’t my mother.”
“Then who is she?” I cried.
“Eleanor was the nurse on duty that night,” Luca said. “She knew the men looking for the baby would kill it. So she forged the death certificate. She took the baby home. She raised her as her own.”
Luca looked up, his dark eyes locking onto mine.
“Eleanor isn’t your biological mother, Grace. You are the baby she saved.”
I couldn’t breathe. My entire life, my identity, my struggle—it was all built on the bravest, most beautiful lie.
“Which means,” Luca said, looking down at Noah, “you are my little sister.”
Noah’s eyes went wide. He looked at me, then at Luca. “Miss Grace is my aunt?”
Before I could even reach out to touch the wristband, my cell phone vibrated violently in my apron pocket.
It was a call from the Ohio Presbyterian Hospital.
I answered it, my hands shaking. “H-Hello?”
“Grace Miller?” a nurse asked. Her voice was panicked. “I’m so sorry, but there’s been an incident. Your mother’s VIP transfer was approved, but the ambulance never arrived at the new facility.”
“What do you mean?” I demanded.
“The transport team wasn’t from the hospital, Grace. A private medical team picked her up ten minutes ago. They left a note for you.”
“Read it,” I choked out.
I heard paper unfolding over the line.
“It says: Check your father’s pocket watch.”
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