Chapter 3 – [THE BLOOD ON THE DRAWING]
Luca lowered the gun.
He took the crumpled drawing from the little girl’s hands.
His hands were trembling.
I had never seen him tremble.
He stared at the crude crayon lines.
The house. The tree.
The mother and the boy.
“I drew this for her,” Luca whispered.
“For her thirty-fifth birthday. The day before the crash.”
He touched the rusted brown stains on the edge of the paper.
“Is this…”
“It’s hers,” Rosa sobbed from the doorway.
The old cook hurried across the room and pulled Mia behind her legs, shielding her from the armed men.
“She had it in her purse the night of the crash. When she pulled you from the car, she was bleeding. She bled on the drawing.”
Luca looked at Rosa.
“You knew where she was this whole time?”
Rosa nodded, tears pouring down her wrinkled face.
“She came to me three days after the funeral. She was hiding in a motel. She begged me to help her disappear.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Luca’s voice cracked.
“I was a kid, Rosa. I cried for her every night.”
“Because she made me swear on a Bible!” Rosa cried.
“She said if you knew she was alive, you would come looking for her. And if you came looking, Carlo would realize you didn’t cut the brakes. He would kill you for failing.”
The tragic, twisted logic of a desperate mother.
She broke her own heart, and his, to keep him breathing.
“Where is she now?” Luca asked.
“The Blue Line,” Daniel said from the piano.
The old pianist stood up. He walked over and handed Luca a faded blue train ticket.
“She buys a pass every week. She rides the train from midnight until 4 AM. Because the elevated tracks pass right behind this estate.”
My heart shattered.
For twenty-two years, a dead woman rode a midnight train just to look down at the roof of her son’s house.
Luca stared at the ticket.
He looked at the drawing.
Then, he looked at his uncle.
Carlo was standing now.
He looked nervous for the first time.
“Luca, be reasonable. This is ancient history.”
“You let me bury an empty casket,” Luca said.
“I protected the family image!”
“You let me believe I drove my mother to her death!”
Luca raised the gun again.
He pointed it straight at Carlo’s head.
“Luca, no!” Vanessa screamed.
But it wasn’t Vanessa who stopped him.
It was me.
I stepped forward.
I don’t know why I did it. I was a housekeeper. I made beds and poured champagne.
But I saw the boy in the drawing, and I saw the man holding the gun, and I knew if he pulled the trigger, he would never be able to look his mother in the eye again.
“Mr. Moretti.”
I put my hand over his on the gun.
Luca flinched.
He looked at me. His eyes were wild, completely consumed by grief and rage.
“Emma. Step back.”
“If you shoot him, you go to prison,” I said softly.
“If you go to prison, you can’t go to the train station.”
He stared at me.
His chest heaved.
“She’s waiting for you,” I whispered.
“It’s been twenty-two years. Don’t make her wait another night.”
Luca looked at my hand on his.
Slowly, the wildness in his eyes faded.
He lowered the gun.
He turned to his head of security.
“Lock my uncle in the wine cellar. Take his phone. If he speaks to anyone, shoot him.”
Two massive men grabbed Carlo.
The old man didn’t fight. He just glared at Luca.
“You’re weak. Just like your father.”
They dragged him away.
Luca turned to Vanessa.
She was shaking, her mascara running down her cheeks in dark rivers.
“The wedding is off,” Luca said.
He didn’t say it with malice. He said it like a business transaction.
“You are free from my uncle’s blackmail. Pack your things. I want you out of this house by morning.”
Vanessa looked at him.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
She slipped the massive diamond ring off her finger and placed it on the dining table.
Without a word, she turned and ran up the stairs.
Luca looked at the remaining guests.
“Dinner is over.”
Within five minutes, the dining room was empty.
Just Luca, me, Daniel, Rosa, and little Mia.
Luca put his gun in his waistband.
He looked at Daniel.
“Take me to her.”
Daniel nodded.
“We have to hurry. The last train runs in forty minutes.”
Luca turned to leave.
But before he reached the door, the landline on the dining room wall rang.
It was a shrill, piercing sound in the empty room.
Luca stopped.
He stared at the phone.
Very few people had the direct house line.
He walked over and picked up the receiver.
“Yes.”
He listened for five seconds.
I watched the blood drain from his face.
He hung up the phone.
He turned back to us.
“That was Vanessa’s father,” Luca said.
His voice was completely dead.
“Her father?” Daniel asked. “But he’s—”
“He’s alive,” Luca said.
“And he has my mother.”
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