Chapter 3 - The Letter Luca Left Behind
Vincent tore the blanket from Isabelle’s bed and pressed it against the ventilation grate.
“Dominic, shut down the airflow.”
“I cannot access the system.”
“Break the door.”
Dominic fired twice into the electronic lock. The reinforced mechanism sparked but remained sealed.
Isabelle coughed.
The medication and the stress of the attack had already weakened her. She tried to stand, but pain forced her back against the mattress.
Vincent lifted her without hesitation.
“Put me down,” she protested.
“No.”
Carlo seized a metal oxygen stand and struck the narrow observation window. The first blow did nothing. On the third, the glass cracked.
Dominic joined him.
The chemical odor grew stronger.
Vincent pulled his jacket over Isabelle’s face.
“Breathe through the fabric.”
“What about the baby?”
“The child needs you conscious.”
Her fingers closed around his shirt.
The red emergency lights illuminated the tattoos across his neck and hand. For the first time, Isabelle saw fear in Vincent Moretti’s eyes.
Not fear for himself.
Fear that history was repeating.
Dominic finally drove the metal stand through the damaged glass. Fresh air entered from the corridor.
“Move back,” he ordered.
He struck the opening until it was wide enough for a person.
Vincent carried Isabelle toward it.
“Take her,” he told Dominic.
Dominic reached through the broken glass and carefully pulled her into the corridor. Carlo climbed after her.
Vincent remained inside long enough to remove the ultrasound printout and the small bag containing Isabelle’s belongings.
“Boss!” Dominic shouted.
Vincent forced himself through the opening just as the room filled with thicker vapor.
Security guards rushed down the corridor.
“Seal this section,” Vincent commanded. “No one leaves the estate.”
“We have already lost internal cameras,” one guard said.
“Then restore them.”
Vincent looked toward Dominic. “Take Isabelle to the east guest suite. Harrison examines her there.”
“I am not going anywhere until someone explains why your hospital tried to poison me,” Isabelle said.
“The hospital did not. A person did.”
“That is not comforting.”
Despite the danger, Dominic almost smiled.
Vincent did not.
“Whoever attacked the ventilation system had internal access,” he said. “They know what we discovered.”
Carlo brushed glass from his jacket.
“Vale may still have people inside.”
“Then every employee is confined until cleared.”
Isabelle’s face tightened with another wave of pain.
Harrison appeared at the end of the corridor carrying an emergency medical kit.
“She needs to lie down.”
Vincent carried her upstairs.
The east guest suite looked more like an expensive hotel apartment than part of a fortified estate. Tall windows overlooked dark woodland. A fire burned beneath a stone mantel, and cream-colored furniture surrounded a low table.
Armed guards positioned themselves outside both entrances.
Harrison examined Isabelle again and administered medication to calm the contractions.
“You were fortunate,” he told her. “The stress has irritated the uterus, but labor has not begun.”
“How long until I can leave?”
“When the contractions stop.”
Vincent stood near the windows, speaking quietly into his phone. His orders moved through the estate with ruthless efficiency. Gates were sealed. Vehicles were searched. Every staff member surrendered electronic devices.
Carlo sat in an armchair, looking suddenly older.
Isabelle watched both men.
Luke had spent years hiding from them, yet one had protected him while the other had mourned him. Neither relationship was simple enough to fit the story she had believed about her husband.
When Harrison finished, Isabelle reached for her belongings.
Her fingers found Luke’s wedding ring.
She closed her hand around it.
“Where is the envelope?” Vincent asked without turning.
She stared at his back.
“You still expect me to trust you?”
“No. I expect you to understand that someone has attempted to kill you twice tonight.”
“They attacked the diner because you were there.”
“The gas was directed into your medical room after Harrison discovered the child’s condition.”
Carlo nodded reluctantly.
“He is right.”
Isabelle looked toward him.
“You do not get to advise me. You lied to my face at my wedding.”
“I was trying to protect Luca’s identity.”
“Then you failed.”
Carlo accepted the accusation without protest.
Vincent ended his phone call and approached.
“Vale’s house is empty,” he said. “His accounts were cleared yesterday.”
“He knew the attack was coming,” Carlo replied.
“Or arranged it.”
Isabelle looked down at her stomach.
Luke had once told her that secrets did not disappear. They only waited for the right person to suffer.
She had believed he was speaking about grief.
Now she understood he had been warning her.
“The envelope is inside the diner,” she said.
Vincent’s attention sharpened.
“Where?”
“There is an old jukebox near the kitchen. The back panel is loose. Luke repaired it before we married. He built a compartment inside.”
“The diner is a crime scene.”
“Then the police may find it.”
“Or the people who attacked us will return first.”
Isabelle pushed the blanket away.
“I am coming.”
“No.”
“It belongs to me.”
“It may contain evidence that can identify Luca’s killer.”
“That is why I am coming.”
Vincent’s tone hardened.
“You are seven months pregnant, injured, and experiencing contractions.”
“And every person who knows where the letter is may already be dead.”
The image of the sleeping truck driver flashed through her mind. She swallowed against sudden nausea.
Vincent noticed.
His expression softened for only a second.
“I will retrieve it.”
“How do I know you will not destroy whatever Luke wrote about you?”
Carlo looked between them.
“She has a point.”
Vincent gave his uncle a lethal stare.
Isabelle swung her legs carefully over the side of the bed.
“If you want the letter, you take me with you.”
Vincent stared at her.
Most people lowered their eyes when he became silent. Isabelle did not. Her face was pale, and one hand remained beneath her stomach, but she refused to retreat.
Luca would have loved that stubbornness.
Perhaps he had.
“Dominic will drive,” Vincent said at last. “Harrison comes with us. You remain inside the vehicle unless I decide otherwise.”
“I decide whether I remain inside.”
“You are making cooperation difficult.”
“You kidnapped the wrong waitress.”
For the first time that night, Vincent’s mouth almost curved.
Carlo stood.
“I am coming too.”
“No,” Vincent said. “You remain here.”
“You still think I am involved.”
“I think your judgment has cost my family enough.”
Carlo’s regret became anger.
“I gave Luca five years of freedom.”
“And brought death to his wedding.”
The older man fell silent.
Twenty minutes later, an armored vehicle left the estate through a secondary gate.
Chicago remained wet and dark beneath the summer storm. Harrison sat opposite Isabelle in the rear cabin, monitoring her pulse. Vincent sat beside her, while Dominic drove.
No one spoke until they reached the West Side.
Police vehicles surrounded the Starlight Diner. Yellow tape moved in the wind. The destroyed windows had been covered with temporary plastic.
Vincent’s people had already created a distraction two blocks away. Officers began leaving the scene.
Dominic parked in the alley.
“You have four minutes,” Harrison warned.
Vincent stepped out.
Isabelle followed.
“I told you to remain inside.”
“You also told me the diner was unsafe before bringing me back.”
He removed his overcoat and placed it around her shoulders.
“Stay behind me.”
The kitchen smelled of smoke, wet plaster, and burned food. Broken dishes covered the floor. Isabelle avoided looking toward the dining room where the truck driver had been sitting.
She led them to the jukebox near the kitchen entrance.
Its colorful lights were dark.
Vincent pulled the machine away from the wall. Isabelle knelt carefully and pressed a hidden latch beneath the rear panel.
A narrow wooden compartment opened.
Inside rested a sealed envelope and a small flash drive.
Her name was written across the envelope in Luke’s handwriting.
ISABELLE—IF THE MORETTIS FIND YOU.
Her hands began to shake.
Vincent looked at the words but did not touch the envelope.
“It is yours,” he said.
She tore it open.
The letter contained six handwritten pages.
Isabelle read the first lines silently.
My love,
If you are reading this, then I failed to keep the past away from you. My name is not Luke Stanton. I was born Luca Anthony Moretti, and I have spent every day since meeting you wishing I could become the man you believed I was.
Tears blurred the page.
Vincent looked away, granting her a privacy he rarely granted anyone.
She continued.
Luca explained his family, his escape, and the arrangement Carlo had made. He wrote that Vincent was dangerous but not cruel, and that his brother carried responsibilities Luca had been too afraid to share.
Then the letter changed.
I discovered who ordered the bomb that killed Elena.
Vincent’s head turned.
Isabelle read the line aloud.
The air around him seemed to disappear.
She continued.
It was not Vincent’s enemy. The order came from inside the family. Elena had discovered that Sebastian Vale and several captains were stealing from the organization. She planned to tell Vincent. They killed her before she could.
Vincent reached for the counter to steady himself.
Luca had included financial account numbers and dates. He wrote that Vale had used Carlo’s security credentials to hide the transactions.
The final page was shorter.
If our child is born, keep him away from the empire. Do not let anyone turn him into an answer to their ambitions. If Vincent learns the truth, tell him I never hated him. I only hated what our family demanded he become.
Isabelle’s voice broke.
At the bottom, Luca had written one final sentence.
Tell my brother that north still points home.
Vincent closed his eyes.
For several seconds, the feared leader of the Moretti organization stood in the ruined diner and grieved like a boy who had lost his brother twice.
Dominic quietly checked the alley.
“We need to go.”
Isabelle removed the flash drive from the compartment.
A faint sound came from the dining room.
The scrape of a shoe across broken glass.
Vincent immediately drew his weapon and moved Isabelle behind him.
A man stepped through the damaged kitchen doors.
He wore a police jacket, but Vincent recognized him as one of Sebastian Vale’s private security contractors.
The man raised a pistol.
Dominic fired first.
The attacker dropped behind the counter.
“Back exit,” Vincent ordered.
They moved into the alley.
A black sedan blocked the far end.
Two more men emerged.
Vincent pushed Isabelle behind a concrete pillar as gunfire struck the brick wall.
Dominic returned fire while Harrison crouched beside her.
Then Isabelle felt warmth beneath her gown.
She looked down.
Water spread across the fabric.
“Harrison,” she whispered.
The doctor turned.
May you like
Her frightened eyes met his.
“My water just broke.”
