Chapter 6 - A PHONE CALL FROM ROCKFORD
The call came at 2:13 the next morning.
“Claire?”
My mother’s voice was weak.
Everything inside me went cold.
“Mom?”
“I fell.”
I was out of bed before she finished the sentence.
“What happened?”
“I’m fine.”
People who are fine never begin explanations with I’m fine.
“Where are you?”
“St. Anthony.”
Rockford.
Ninety miles away.
I threw clothes into a bag with one hand while holding the phone with the other.
“What did the doctor say?”
“Nothing broken.”
“Then why are you in the hospital?”
“Observation.”
“Mom.”
“Claire.”
Same stubbornness.
Inherited directly.
“I’m coming.”
“No. You have work.”
“You’re my mother.”
“And you need that job.”
“I’ll call.”
I hung up.
My hands shook while I searched for my keys.
Then I remembered my car remained at a mechanic.
I opened a rideshare app.
Ninety-minute wait due to weather.
I called Frank.
He answered immediately.
“Claire?”
“I need help.”
Thirty-five minutes later, a black SUV stopped outside my apartment.
Frank wasn’t driving.
Luca was.
I stood beneath the awning.
“What are you doing?”
“Get in.”
“Where’s Frank?”
“Working.”
“You drive yourself?”
“Occasionally.”
“That seems irresponsible.”
“Claire.”
I got in.
He pulled into the wet Chicago streets.
For the first twenty minutes we barely spoke.
Then he asked, “What happened?”
“My mother fell.”
“She lives alone?”
“Yes.”
“After a stroke?”
“She refuses assisted living.”
“Stubborn.”
“You’ve met her spiritually.”
He glanced at me.
“How serious?”
“I don’t know.”
That was the truth.
And admitting it cracked something.
I looked out the window.
I had spent years being capable because incapability was expensive.
Suddenly I was twenty again, sitting beside a hospital bed while my mother struggled to move her right hand.
Luca said nothing.
He simply drove.
We reached Rockford before four.
Mom had bruised her hip.
No fracture.
No new stroke.
Relief made my knees weak.
I sat beside her while she slept.
At sunrise I realized Luca was still in the waiting room.
He sat alone, jacket removed, reading emails from his phone.
“You stayed?”
He looked up.
“You don’t have transportation.”
“You could have sent somebody.”
“I could have.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He stood.
“Coffee?”
Avoidance.
Classic.
“Yes.”
Hospital coffee tasted like boiled regret.
Luca drank it without complaint.
We stood near the window.
“You need to move her,” he said.
“She won’t.”
“Then modify the house.”
“With what money?”
“I’ll arrange—”
“No.”
He stopped.
“You didn’t even let me finish.”
“I know where rich people sentences go.”
“You think everything I offer comes with a debt?”
“You’re Luca Moretti.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the entire answer.”
His expression hardened.
Then softened.
“My brother refused help too.”
That surprised me.
“Marco?”
“Yes.”
He looked down at the coffee.
“He thought accepting protection meant weakness.”
“Did it?”
“No.”
“What happened to him?”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“The police called it an accident.”
“And you?”
“I never believed them.”
My heart accelerated.
“What did you believe?”
He looked at me.
“That somebody inside my father’s organization knew Marco had discovered missing money.”
“Did you know?”
“Not until afterward.”
The note in my locker flashed through my mind.
HE TRUSTED LUCA.
“Did Marco tell you anything?”
“One sentence.”
“What?”
Luca’s eyes drifted toward the window.
“He said, ‘If anything happens, don’t believe Uncle Matteo.’”
There it was.
A name.
“Your uncle.”
“Yes.”
“Then why is Matteo still around?”
“Because accusations aren’t evidence.”
“You’re Luca Moretti.”
“That doesn’t mean I execute people based on suspicion.”
I studied him.
The rumors surrounding Luca suddenly seemed too simple.
“Did you ever confront Matteo?”
“For sixteen years.”
“And?”
“He denies everything.”
“Maybe he’s telling the truth.”
“Maybe.”
I hesitated.
“Someone left me another note.”
Luca turned sharply.
“What?”
I told him.
The clipping.
The message.
His face went cold.
“You should have told me immediately.”
“My mother called.”
“You had time before that.”
“I was deciding whether to believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“That Marco trusted you.”
Something flashed behind his eyes.
Pain.
“You thought I might have been responsible?”
“I don’t know you.”
The sentence hurt him.
I saw it.
But Luca nodded.
“That’s fair.”
We returned to Mom’s room.
She woke.
Saw Luca.
Then looked at me.
“Who’s the handsome man?”
I nearly dropped my coffee.
“Mom.”
Luca extended his hand.
“Luca Moretti.”
Her eyebrows climbed.
“Oh.”
I froze.
“You know that name?”
“Everyone knows that name.”
Luca looked amused.
Mom examined him.
“Are you treating my daughter properly?”
“Mom.”
Luca answered seriously.
“I’m trying.”
“Good.”
Then she pointed at him.
“She doesn’t accept help.”
“I noticed.”
“She thinks independence means suffering alone.”
“I noticed that too.”
I stared between them.
“This feels like betrayal.”
Mom smiled.
Luca almost did.
For one brief moment, everything felt normal.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“When?”
Silence.
“Lock the office.”
Another pause.
“No one touches anything until I arrive.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?”
Luca looked at me.
“Someone broke into my office.”
My stomach dropped.
“What did they take?”
“Nothing.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“They left something.”
“What?”
His gaze became unreadable.
“A photograph of you.”
I went still.
Luca continued.
“It was taken here.”
I looked toward the hospital hallway.
“At the hospital?”
“This morning.”
Which meant whoever had been following me hadn’t remained in Chicago.
They had followed us all the way to Rockford.
May you like
And suddenly the mansion wasn’t the dangerous place anymore.
The danger had followed me home.
