Chapter 2 - The Man Waiting at the Farmhouse

The road to Vermont was nearly empty.

Luca Bellini drove.

Gregory Shaw sat beside him.

Amelia Stone sat in the back seat.

Luca had told me to stay at the estate.

I ignored him.

Not because I was brave.

Because I had seen Isabella try to burn the tape.

And because Gregory had looked at me before we left.

“Come with us.”

Luca had frowned.

“Why?”

Gregory answered quietly.

“Because Amelia was in the library when Isabella panicked.”

Luca stared at him.

“That matters?”

“Yes.”

Gregory looked at me through the mirror.

“People reveal the truth differently around staff.”

No one spoke for the next forty miles.

At 2:17 a.m., we reached the farmhouse.

White siding.

Dark roof.

One porch light.

Luca stopped the car.

His hands remained on the steering wheel.

“That’s it?”

Gregory nodded.

“That’s the house.”

Luca swallowed.

Twenty years.

His father had been alive for twenty years.

Three months earlier, Isabella had stood on this same property.

And said nothing.

Luca stepped out.

The front door opened before we reached the porch.

A man stood there.

Late sixties.

Gray hair.

Broad shoulders.

A cane in his right hand.

Luca stopped.

The man looked at him.

Not at Gregory.

Not at me.

Only Luca.

“Son.”

Luca’s face became unreadable.

“You don’t get to call me that yet.”

The man nodded.

“That’s fair.”

His name was Matteo Bellini.

Luca’s father.

Alive.

Matteo opened the door wider.

“Come inside.”

Luca didn’t move.

“Where is my mother?”

Matteo’s eyes changed.

“Inside.”

Luca froze.

Gregory looked down.

I felt my breath catch.

Luca whispered:

“She’s alive?”

Matteo nodded.

“For now.”

Two words.

For now.

Luca pushed past him.

We followed.

The farmhouse was warm.

Quiet.

A lamp burned beside an old sofa.

On the table were photographs.

Luca as a child.

Birthday photographs.

School pictures.

Newspaper clippings.

Magazine covers.

Business articles.

Twenty years of Luca’s life.

Collected by parents who had supposedly abandoned him.

Luca picked up a photograph of himself at sixteen.

“How did you get this?”

Matteo closed the door.

“Gregory.”

Luca turned.

Gregory didn’t deny it.

“You were giving them photographs?”

“Yes.”

“For twenty years?”

“Yes.”

Luca stared at him.

“You knew they were alive.”

Gregory’s face tightened.

“I knew your father was alive.”

“And my mother?”

“Not always.”

Luca stepped closer.

“You looked me in the eyes tonight and said you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t know her condition.”

Luca’s jaw tightened.

“Condition?”

A voice came from the hallway.

“Luca?”

Everything stopped.

A woman stood there.

Thin.

Silver in her dark hair.

One hand against the wall.

Sofia Bellini.

Luca’s mother.

He looked like someone had struck him.

She looked at the black phoenix tattoo on his forearm.

Then at his face.

“You have your father’s eyes.”

Luca didn’t move.

Sofia took one step.

Then another.

“I’m sorry.”

Luca laughed once.

Broken.

“You’re sorry?”

Tears filled her eyes.

“Yes.”

“You were alive.”

“Yes.”

“You were alive every birthday.”

“Yes.”

“Every funeral anniversary.”

“Yes.”

“Every time I stood beside that grave.”

She covered her mouth.

Luca’s voice hardened.

“Why didn’t you come back?”

Matteo answered.

“Because your uncle controlled the house.”

Luca turned.

“My uncle controlled me.”

“Yes.”

“And you let him.”

“No.”

Matteo walked toward the table.

He opened a drawer.

Inside were envelopes.

Dozens.

Each addressed to Luca.

None opened.

None mailed.

“We tried.”

Luca stared.

“What are those?”

“Letters.”

Sofia’s voice shook.

“We wrote every year.”

Luca lifted one.

His twelfth birthday.

Another.

His thirteenth.

Another.

His eighteenth.

Another.

The day he became head of the family business.

Luca looked at Gregory.

“Why didn’t I get these?”

Gregory’s face became pale.

“Because I never saw them.”

Matteo frowned.

“You were supposed to.”

Gregory stared.

“What?”

Matteo opened a metal box.

Inside were postal receipts.

Courier logs.

Signatures.

One name appeared repeatedly.

Vittorio Bellini.

Luca’s uncle.

Luca looked at the signatures.

“He intercepted them.”

Matteo nodded.

“Every one we sent through anyone we trusted.”

Luca dropped the letters onto the table.

“So he didn’t just take me that night.”

“No.”

Matteo looked at his son.

“He spent twenty years making sure you believed we chose to leave you.”

Silence.

Luca looked toward Sofia.

She was crying now.

Quietly.

He asked:

“Why are you sick?”

Sofia hesitated.

Matteo answered.

“Someone found us four months ago.”

Luca turned.

“Who?”

“A private investigator.”

“Sent by Isabella?”

“No.”

Matteo looked at Gregory.

“Sent by your uncle.”

Gregory’s face changed.

Matteo continued.

“Three weeks later, Sofia was poisoned.”

Luca’s voice dropped.

“What?”

“Slow doses.”

Sofia sat down.

“We didn’t know at first.”

“What poison?”

Matteo looked toward a row of medicine bottles.

“Something meant to look like heart failure.”

Luca’s fists tightened.

“Who had access?”

Matteo didn’t answer immediately.

Then:

“One person visited before she became ill.”

Luca stared.

“Who?”

Sofia looked at him.

“Isabella.”

The room went silent.

Luca shook his head once.

“She came here three months ago.”

“Yes.”

“What did she do?”

“She cried.”

Sofia’s voice was tired.

“She said she loved you.”

Luca’s expression did not change.

“She said she wanted to help bring us home.”

Matteo stepped closer.

“But she asked one question before she left.”

“What?”

Matteo looked at Luca.

“She asked where we kept the evidence against Vittorio.”

Luca stared.

“What evidence?”

Matteo walked to the fireplace.

He reached behind a loose brick.

Nothing was there.

His face changed.

“That’s impossible.”

Gregory stood.

“What?”

Matteo reached deeper.

Then pulled his hand out.

Empty.

“The ledger.”

Luca frowned.

“What ledger?”

“The record your mother was supposed to testify about twenty-three years ago.”

Sofia whispered:

“Payments.”

“Bribes.”

“Police.”

“Judges.”

“Businesses.”

“Every person Vittorio bought.”

Luca looked at the empty space.

“Where is it?”

Matteo stared at the fireplace.

“It was here yesterday.”

Gregory went still.

Luca’s eyes moved to the table.

The modern photograph.

His father holding today’s newspaper.

Someone had been close enough to take it.

Luca turned toward Gregory.

“Who took the photograph?”

Gregory answered slowly.

“I did.”

“When?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“Was anyone else here?”

Gregory shook his head.

Then stopped.

Sofia looked toward the back door.

“There was.”

Everyone turned.

She whispered:

“A car came after Gregory left.”

Matteo’s face hardened.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I thought it was him returning.”

“Who got out?”

Sofia looked directly at Luca.

“A woman.”

Luca didn’t blink.

“Isabella?”

Sofia shook her head.

“No.”

“Then who?”

Sofia’s voice dropped.

“A woman wearing an engagement-ball staff badge.”

I felt cold.

Luca looked at me.

I was still wearing mine.

Black ribbon.

Silver crest.

Every employee had one.

Every temporary server had one.

Every florist.

Every musician.

Every contracted worker.

Luca’s phone rang.

Estate security.

He answered.

“Speak.”

His face changed.

“When?”

He looked at Gregory.

Then at me.

“Lock the property down.”

He ended the call.

“What happened?” I asked.

Luca stared at the phone.

“Someone entered the library after we left.”

Gregory went pale.

“The tape?”

“Gone.”

Luca looked toward the empty hiding place behind the brick.

“The ledger is gone.”

May you like

[COMPLETED] “GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY DRESS! YOU’RE NOTHING BUT AN OLD SEAM...

[COMPLETED] At the Mafia Boss's Engagement Party, I Served His Hungry So...

[COMPLETED] The Mafia Boss’s Fiancée Tried to Dismiss His Father’s Loyal...

Then his eyes hardened.

“And the only person at my estate who knew we were driving here was Isabella.”