Chapter 3 - Why Emma Came to Moretti House

Luca read the repair invoice three times.

The words did not change.

Front bumper.

Right headlamp.

Emergency replacement.

Vehicle returned before noon.

Authorization:

B. Russo.

He looked at Emma.

“Where did you get this?”

“My mother.”

“What?”

“She received it anonymously six months after Elias died.”

Belini’s head lifted.

Emma continued.

“No return address. No note. Just this.”

“Why didn’t you take it to police?”

“We did.”

“And?”

“They said it proved a Moretti vehicle had been repaired. It did not prove which vehicle hit Elias, who drove it, or why the damage happened.”

Luca looked at the date again.

The morning after.

“What did the police do?”

“Requested fleet records.”

He knew the answer before she said it.

“They were told the sedan had hit a stone barrier on the estate.”

Luca turned toward Belini.

“Did you tell them that?”

“No.”

“Who did?”

“I don’t know.”

Emma laughed once.

There was no humor in it.

“That was the answer to everything for three years.”

She took another paper from her pocket.

Not a copy this time.

A photograph.

A black sedan parked behind a mechanic’s bay.

The image was grainy, taken from a distance, but the right headlamp was broken.

The bumper was bent.

A dark stain marked one side.

Luca stared.

“Who took this?”

“My mother.”

Belini went pale.

Emma looked at her.

“She followed the invoice.”

“When?”

“Two weeks after we received it. The garage had already repaired the car, but an employee had taken pictures for the file. My mother paid him for a copy.”

Luca’s jaw tightened.

“That employee?”

“Dead.”

Belini looked up sharply.

Emma noticed.

“So did I.”

Luca held up a hand.

“No assumptions.”

Emma nodded.

The restraint surprised him.

She had more reason than anyone in the room to want a villain immediately.

Yet she was still separating what she knew from what she feared.

He had not done that often enough in his own life.

“What else do you have?”

Emma looked at Sophia.

“Nothing that connected Elias to this house.”

“Until now.”

“Yes.”

Belini stood.

“I want my attorney.”

Luca looked at her.

“Call one.”

Her surprise was visible.

“You’re letting me?”

“You are not under arrest.”

“And you are not the police.”

“No.”

He stepped closer.

“But I am the man you were going to marry, and my sister just told me you kept her from calling for help while a sixteen-year-old boy lay dying on the road.”

Belini’s face hardened.

“You have one traumatized memory and one repair invoice.”

“And your reaction.”

“That is not evidence.”

“No.”

Luca looked at Sophia.

“It is enough for me to stop pretending this is a misunderstanding.”

Belini picked up her phone.

Luca did not stop her.

Instead, he called Marco.

The security chief arrived seven minutes later.

Broad shoulders.

Gray at the temples.

The same careful expression he wore when bringing Luca information he knew would be unpleasant.

Marco looked at Emma.

Then Sophia.

Then Belini.

“What happened?”

Luca handed him the invoice.

“Find the fleet archive from three years ago.”

Marco read the page.

His expression barely changed.

That bothered Luca.

“You recognize it.”

Marco did not answer.

“Marco.”

“I recognize the vehicle code.”

“Which car?”

Marco looked at Belini.

Then at Luca.

“Your mother’s old S-Class.”

The room went still.

Lucia Moretti had died years earlier.

Luca had kept the car because Sophia loved it.

When she was small, their mother drove her to school in it.

After Lucia died, the sedan stayed in the estate fleet.

Sophia’s hands moved.

Emma translated.

“She says that was the car.”

Luca closed his eyes.

Of course Sophia would remember it.

Not by license plate.

By memory.

By the cream leather interior.

By the small silver saint medal their mother had hung from the mirror.

He looked at Marco.

“Where is it now?”

“Storage facility in Queens.”

“Secure it.”

Marco did not move.

Luca noticed.

“What?”

“The archive may not be complete.”

“Why?”

Marco looked at Belini again.

Belini whispered:

“Don’t.”

Marco’s face changed.

Luca heard the old familiarity in the word.

“You knew too.”

“I knew there was an incident.”

“What incident?”

Marco exhaled slowly.

“Three years ago, while you were in Montreal, I received a call from Ms. Russo shortly after midnight.”

Emma’s hands tightened.

Luca said nothing.

Marco continued.

“She said Sophia had witnessed a cyclist crash near the east gate.”

“A cyclist crash.”

“That is what she told me.”

“What did you do?”

“I sent two men to the road.”

“And?”

“They found the boy.”

Emma’s face collapsed.

Marco looked at her.

For the first time his professionalism failed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Was he alive?”

Marco hesitated.

That was enough.

Emma stepped toward him.

“Was he alive?”

“Yes.”

Her breath broke.

Luca caught the edge of the desk.

Belini looked away.

“Who called the ambulance?” Luca asked.

“Security.”

“When?”

“Twelve twenty-eight.”

Sophia reacted.

Her hands moved sharply.

Emma translated.

“She says the impact happened before twelve ten.”

Luca looked at Marco.

“At least eighteen minutes.”

Marco nodded once.

“Why?”

“I didn’t know there had been an impact.”

“What did you think happened?”

“That Sophia saw the cyclist lose control.”

“And the damaged car?”

“I learned about it the next morning.”

“From who?”

Marco looked at Belini.

“She asked me to arrange the repair privately.”

Emma made a sound like she had been hit.

Luca’s voice dropped.

“And you did.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“She said Sophia had panicked inside the car and grabbed the wheel. She said the vehicle struck the stone barrier after they stopped.”

Sophia began signing immediately.

Emma translated.

“She says that is a lie.”

Belini turned.

“Sophia—”

Luca’s expression stopped her.

Marco looked at Sophia.

“Were you in the front seat?”

She shook her head.

“Did you touch the wheel?”

No.

“Did the car hit a wall?”

No.

Marco closed his eyes.

Luca had never seen him do that in a briefing.

“What happened to the camera footage?” Luca asked.

Marco opened them.

“East gate camera failed that night.”

“Failed?”

“For forty-three minutes.”

Emma looked toward him.

“Convenient.”

Marco accepted it.

“Yes.”

“Who had access?”

“Me. My deputy. Luca. And the administrator account.”

“Who used the administrator account?”

Marco looked at Luca.

“We never established it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I was told not to.”

The sentence changed the temperature of the room.

“By Belini?”

“No.”

Luca frowned.

“Who?”

Marco took a slow breath.

“Your uncle Antonio.”

Luca stared.

Antonio Moretti had been his father’s younger brother.

Family counsel.

Fixer.

The man who taught Luca as a teenager that every problem had two prices:

the cost of solving it,

and the cost of leaving it visible.

Antonio had died eighteen months earlier.

Luca felt the past rearrange itself.

“Why was Antonio involved?”

“I assumed you had asked him to handle it.”

“I was in Montreal.”

“I know that now.”

“Did he tell you I knew?”

“Yes.”

Luca looked at Belini.

She was crying quietly.

Not denying anything.

Emma’s voice cut through.

“My brother died because everyone in this house assumed someone more powerful had already made the decision.”

No one answered.

She looked at Luca.

“And you fired me because you needed to know what was happening in your house.”

The shame landed cleanly.

“You’re not fired.”

Emma’s eyes flashed.

“That is not the important part.”

“No.”

He looked at Sophia.

Then at the papers.

“No, it isn’t.”

Marco’s phone buzzed.

He read the message.

His expression changed.

“What?”

“The stored sedan still exists.”

Luca waited.

Marco continued.

“Original body panels too.”

Emma looked at him.

“Why?”

“Moretti vehicles are never destroyed without inventory clearance.”

Luca understood.

If the mechanic replaced the headlamp and bumper, the damaged parts might have been tagged and stored.

Three years ago, Antonio had controlled the cover-up.

But family bureaucracy sometimes preserved what family loyalty tried to erase.

“Get the car,” Luca said.

“And the panels.”

Marco nodded.

Then paused.

“There is one more thing.”

Luca looked at him.

“The vehicle key log.”

“What about it?”

“The sedan was checked out that night.”

“By who?”

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Marco’s eyes moved to Belini.

“Belini Russo.”