Chapter 3 - The Envelope Under the Champagne
Vanessa entered the cellar four minutes later.
No smile.
No red silk confidence.
She saw Emma first.
Then the auction stickers.
Then Luca.
Her face went still.
“You called Keller.”
“Yes.”
She looked at Emma.
“You.”
Luca stepped between them.
“No.”
Vanessa turned.
“What?”
“You speak to me.”
She stared at him.
Luca held up the inventory.
“You were selling the entire collection.”
“I was going to replace it.”
“With what?”
Silence.
“Money?”
“Yes.”
“Whose money?”
Vanessa looked away.
Luca continued.
“You needed one hundred and fifty thousand by Friday.”
Her face changed.
Emma saw it too.
Luca lowered the paper.
“Who do you owe?”
Vanessa whispered:
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters because you tried to steal from me to pay him.”
“I wasn’t stealing.”
“You arranged a private sale without telling me.”
“I was going to pay it back.”
“When?”
No answer.
Luca moved closer.
“Who?”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
Then:
“Marco DeLuca.”
Luca stopped.
Emma had never heard the name.
But Luca had.
Everyone in Chicago had.
Marco DeLuca did not run clubs.
He did not run casinos.
He did not sell anything with his name attached.
He loaned money.
To desperate people.
To proud people.
To people who believed they only needed one week.
Luca’s voice went quiet.
“How much did you borrow from DeLuca?”
Vanessa answered:
“Originally?”
His eyes narrowed.
“How much now?”
“One hundred and forty-eight thousand.”
“And originally?”
“Forty.”
Luca stared.
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Why?”
Vanessa began crying.
“I needed it.”
“For what?”
She shook her head.
Luca did not raise his voice.
That was worse.
“For what?”
Vanessa looked toward Emma.
“Send her away.”
“No.”
“Luca.”
“No.”
She laughed bitterly.
“You’d rather humiliate me in front of the staff?”
Luca looked at Emma’s lip.
“You gave up the right to complain about humiliation when you put your hands on her.”
Vanessa’s face collapsed.
Silence.
Then she reached inside her evening bag.
Removed an envelope.
Placed it on the tasting table.
Luca opened it.
Photographs.
Not of Vanessa.
Of her younger brother.
Nicholas Bellini.
Twenty-three.
Outside a nightclub.
Inside a car.
Meeting a man Luca recognized.
Marco DeLuca.
Luca stared.
“Your brother.”
Vanessa nodded.
“He borrowed first.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
“For what?”
“Gambling.”
Luca closed his eyes.
Of course.
“What happened?”
“He lost it.”
“And DeLuca came to you.”
“Yes.”
“Why not your father?”
Vanessa’s voice broke.
“Because Nicholas stole the money from my father’s political accounts before he gambled it.”
Luca looked at her.
“So if your father found out…”
“He’d destroy him.”
“Politically?”
Vanessa laughed through tears.
“No.”
Luca understood.
She had borrowed money to cover the theft.
Then interest turned forty thousand into nearly one hundred fifty.
“You should have told me.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you would have gone after DeLuca.”
“Yes.”
“And he has something worse.”
Luca stared.
“What?”
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