Chapter 2 - JULIAN VALE
Vanessa was still holding a champagne glass when Luca returned to the drawing room.
Twenty-seven guests were laughing.
One had already left.
Peter Moretti’s chair had remained empty all night.
Luca walked directly toward his fiancée.
Vanessa smiled.
“Is Sophie all right?”
The concern sounded convincing.
That made my stomach turn.
I stood in the hallway with Mrs. Carter, listening.
Luca answered:
“She’ll recover.”
“Good.”
Vanessa touched his arm.
“I hated embarrassing her, but staff have to understand—”
“Where is Julian Vale?”
The glass stopped halfway to her lips.
Silence moved through the room.
Most guests did not recognize the name.
A few older men did.
One visibly looked toward the exit.
Vanessa recovered quickly.
“I have no idea who that is.”
Luca watched her.
“Then why did you tell Robert to prepare dinner for him?”
“I told Robert dinner was for Peter.”
“Peter is in Naples.”
That was apparently news even to Vanessa.
Her face changed.
Luca continued.
“My uncle left the United States six days ago.”
“Perhaps plans changed.”
“They didn’t.”
Vanessa lowered her voice.
“Luca, can we discuss this privately?”
“Yes.”
That one word sounded almost gentle.
He turned toward the guests.
“Thank you all for coming.”
Vanessa’s eyes widened.
“Luca.”
“The evening is over.”
The room went silent.
Nobody argued with Luca Moretti twice.
Within ten minutes, coats were collected.
Cars arrived.
Guests disappeared.
I watched Vanessa become increasingly pale as every witness left.
When only staff remained, Luca did something I didn’t expect.
He called Naomi Feldman.
An outside attorney.
Not a family consigliere.
Not one of the men who handled Moretti disputes quietly.
A lawyer.
“Come to the house.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“You’re bringing counsel into this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Robert is in a hospital.”
“He became ill.”
“You prevented Sophie from calling an ambulance.”
“I panicked.”
“You locked the kitchen.”
“To keep the guests from seeing what was happening.”
“You threatened Sophie’s job.”
Vanessa looked at me.
Something ugly flashed across her face.
Then disappeared.
“She misunderstood.”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Every eye turned toward me.
Vanessa said:
“Excuse me?”
My entire body shook.
But I had already survived standing before twenty-eight guests with blood on my apron.
Something had changed.
“You told me no one would believe me.”
Vanessa’s jaw tightened.
“You were hysterical.”
“You took my phone.”
“Sophie,” Luca said quietly.
I stopped.
Not because he was silencing me.
Because his voice said I did not need to fight alone.
Naomi arrived forty minutes later.
By then, Luca had moved the conversation into his study.
The door stayed open.
My choice.
Mrs. Carter sat beside me.
Victor Shaw—Luca’s financial counsel—joined by video.
Daniel brought security logs.
That was how we learned Vanessa had requested an additional service entrance credential at 3:08 that afternoon.
Name listed:
P. MORETTI – PRIVATE FAMILY ACCESS
No photograph.
No security screening.
Luca stared at the record.
“You used my uncle’s name to create access.”
Vanessa’s voice became sharp.
“I was planning a surprise.”
“A surprise?”
“For the wedding.”
“Julian Vale is not a wedding surprise.”
No answer.
Naomi asked:
“Who authorized the credential?”
Vanessa looked offended.
“I’m Luca’s fiancée.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Finally:
“I did.”
“Did Mr. Moretti know?”
“No.”
“Was Julian Vale expected to enter the property?”
Vanessa’s silence answered.
Luca stood near the fireplace.
I watched his face.
Not rage.
Memory.
Later I would learn why.
Twelve years earlier, Luca’s father, Salvatore Moretti, died after a stroke.
The funeral drew half of Chicago’s political and business elite.
Near the end of the service, a twenty-four-year-old man appeared.
Julian Vale.
He carried a birth certificate.
Photographs.
Letters written by Salvatore to Julian’s mother.
And a DNA test allegedly proving Salvatore Moretti was his father.
Luca was twenty-eight then.
His mother had died years earlier.
He had just inherited responsibility for the family.
The last thing he wanted was another son of Salvatore Moretti appearing beside the coffin.
Uncle Peter handled it.
He took Julian aside.
Three days later Julian signed an agreement, received five hundred thousand dollars, and left Chicago.
The family announced publicly that his paternity claim had been disproved.
Luca never saw the test.
He trusted Peter.
That was his first mistake.
“Why did he come to the funeral?” I asked later.
“To be acknowledged.”
Luca’s voice sounded tired.
“Did your father know about him?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Did you ever ask?”
A long silence.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it was easier not to.”
That answer stayed with me.
Around midnight, Daniel received a call from Robert’s doctor.
Stable.
Alert.
Luca went to the hospital.
I expected to be dismissed for the night.
Instead he asked:
“Do you want to come?”
I looked at my bandaged arm.
“Why?”
“Robert asked for you.”
So I went.
Robert looked terrible.
Gray.
Exhausted.
Alive.
I hugged him carefully.
“You idiot,” he whispered.
“I’m the idiot?”
“You climbed through a window.”
“You were on the floor.”
“Still.”
He looked toward Luca.
“Boss.”
“Robert.”
Luca sat beside him.
“Tell me about Julian.”
Robert closed his eyes.
“I remember him from your father’s funeral.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He came into the kitchen afterward.”
Luca frowned.
“Why?”
“He was hungry.”
That detail startled everyone.
Robert smiled faintly.
“Whole family upstairs arguing about bloodlines. Kid came downstairs asking whether there was any soup.”
Julian had been twenty-four.
Not a kid exactly.
But apparently everyone under thirty remained a child to Robert.
“I fed him.”
“What did he tell you?”
Robert looked at Luca.
“He said he didn’t want money.”
Luca became still.
“He said he wanted the letter.”
“What letter?”
“Your father’s.”
Luca stared.
Robert continued.
“Julian said Salvatore had written something for him. Your uncle Peter promised to give it to him after the funeral.”
“Did he?”
“No idea.”
“But Julian took the money.”
Robert looked sad.
“Maybe money was the only thing they actually gave him.”
Silence.
Then Robert said:
“There’s more.”
Of course.
“I saw Peter after the funeral.”
“Where?”
“In your father’s office.”
Robert’s breathing became heavier.
He paused.
Luca leaned forward.
“Take your time.”
“Peter was burning documents.”
Every muscle in Luca’s face tightened.
“What documents?”
“I don’t know.”
“But?”
Robert looked at him.
“One envelope survived.”
“How?”
“I pulled it from the fireplace after Peter left.”
Luca stared.
“What did it say?”
Robert swallowed.
“Your father’s handwriting.”
Then:
FOR LUCA AND JULIAN.
Nobody spoke.
“Where is it?” Luca asked.
Robert looked ashamed.
“I hid it.”
“For twelve years?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Peter caught me leaving the office.”
Luca’s expression darkened.
“He told me if I ever mentioned what I saw, my wife and children would lose everything.”
Robert’s wife had been alive then.
His children were young.
He had remained silent.
Fear had done what money could not.
“Where is the envelope?”
Robert whispered:
“In my safe-deposit box.”
Luca looked away.
For the first time, I saw something worse than anger in him.
Shame.
He had spent twelve years believing Julian was an opportunist.
Maybe because that version asked nothing difficult of him.
Now a seventy-two-year-old dead man’s envelope threatened to rewrite the family.
May you like
And somewhere in Chicago, Vanessa Bellini already knew enough to risk a man’s life getting Julian back into the house.
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