Chapter 5 - The Traitor Inside the Moretti House
For the first time since I had met Giovanni Moretti, I saw him lose control.
Not loudly.
Giovanni did not shout.
He simply looked at the message on my mirror and became terrifyingly still.
“Everyone out.”
Franco hesitated.
“Giovanni—”
“Seal the building. Check every camera, every vehicle, every exit.”
His voice dropped.
“Now.”
Men moved.
I remained beside the broken jewelry box.
“This is my fault.”
Giovanni turned.
“No.”
“I mentioned the key.”
“In my house.”
“Exactly.”
His expression sharpened.
Meaning struck both of us simultaneously.
Someone had been listening.
The townhouse was compromised worse than we believed.
Franco later confirmed it.
A microscopic listening device had been hidden beneath the edge of Giovanni's desk.
Placed recently.
Probably Maria.
Every conversation we had held in the study had gone directly to Bellini.
Including the conversation about the key.
I felt sick.
“He heard everything.”
“Not anymore.”
Franco crushed the device beneath his shoe.
But the damage was done.
The key had opened a safe-deposit box registered under my mother's maiden name.
Records showed it had not been accessed in twenty-seven years.
Location: a private bank in Manhattan.
Bellini now had the key.
But the bank required something else.
Biometric confirmation from an authorized heir.
Me.
“That's why he didn't kill me,” I whispered.
Giovanni looked at Franco.
“He needs Lauren alive.”
“Until the box opens.”
The unspoken remainder hung in the room.
After that?
No guarantees.
The bank agreed to lock the account temporarily.
That bought time.
Not much.
Bellini responded before sunset.
A package arrived.
Inside was Maria's phone.
And a video.
Maria sat tied to a chair.
Terrified.
Alive.
Marco Bellini stood behind her.
He was older now than the surveillance photograph.
Silver hair.
Expensive suit.
Calm voice.
“Miss Mercer.”
I hated hearing my name from him.
“Your mother took something from me twenty-seven years ago.”
Giovanni's hand tightened beside the laptop.
Bellini continued.
“Your brother knows part of the story. Not all of it.”
He smiled.
“Vittorio made sure of that.”
Then he showed Maria.
“She betrayed you. Yes. But she did not understand what she was helping us do.”
Maria sobbed.
“I'm sorry, Lauren.”
Bellini looked toward the camera.
“Tomorrow. Noon. Bring yourself to the Saint Aurelia Bank. No police. No Moretti soldiers inside.”
He smiled.
“Open the box.”
Video ended.
“No,” Giovanni said immediately.
“He'll kill Maria.”
“He may kill her anyway.”
“I have to go.”
“No.”
“You don't control me.”
“In this matter, I am willing to test that theory.”
I stood.
“She's there because of me.”
“She sold you to Bellini.”
“She didn't know I'd be attacked.”
“You believe that?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because I know what fear looks like.”
Giovanni stared at me.
I touched my bruised face.
“I've seen enough of it lately.”
The plan we ultimately created satisfied neither of us.
Which probably meant it was reasonable.
I would enter the bank.
Giovanni's men would remain outside.
Franco would control building systems remotely.
A tracking device would be hidden in my shoe.
Another beneath my necklace.
Giovanni objected to every detail.
Still, noon came.
And I walked inside.
Bellini waited near the private vault.
Maria was nowhere visible.
Two armed men stood behind him.
“You look like Evelyn.”
His first words almost stopped me.
“You knew my mother.”
“I knew exactly what she was.”
“What was she?”
“The bravest fool I ever met.”
I didn't expect affection in his voice.
That frightened me.
He gestured toward the vault clerk.
“Open it.”
The brass key entered the lock.
My thumbprint confirmed authorization.
Box 317 slid outward.
Bellini's breathing changed.
Inside was not money.
Not jewelry.
Only three things.
A ledger.
A cassette tape.
And a sealed letter bearing my name.
Bellini reached for the ledger.
I grabbed the letter.
“That's mine.”
He smiled.
“So like your mother.”
He opened the ledger.
His satisfaction vanished.
Pages of names.
Transactions.
Dates.
Judges.
Police officers.
Politicians.
Businesses.
Evidence stretching across decades.
Not only against Bellini.
Against dozens of men.
Including Vittorio Moretti.
I looked at him.
“My mother kept everything.”
“She kept insurance.”
Bellini turned toward me.
“Your mother was never innocent, Lauren.”
The sentence struck harder than expected.
“She helped your father build his empire before she decided she wanted redemption.”
“No.”
“She stole records. Money. Identities.”
“Why?”
“To keep you alive.”
He leaned closer.
“Because when Evelyn learned she was pregnant, she wanted out.”
I opened my mother's letter.
The handwriting trembled slightly.
Lauren, if you are reading this, then the past found you despite everything we did to bury it.
My eyes burned.
Your father loved you before he ever held you. He stayed away because his name would have painted a target on your back. I told you he abandoned us because anger heals more easily than grief. Forgive me.
I kept reading.
Then found the secret Bellini wanted most.
The ledger is not merely evidence. Page 214 contains the account where the missing eight million was placed. I never kept the money. It belongs to the families harmed by Bellini's organization.
Bellini ripped the letter from my hand.
Read.
Then laughed.
“Your mother always needed the last word.”
He turned toward his men.
“Take her.”
Every planned contingency failed at once.
One guard seized my arm.
Another blocked the bank exit.
“Where is Maria?”
“Alive.”
“Show me.”
Bellini smiled.
“Soon.”
He pushed me toward the service elevator.
My heart pounded.
Giovanni would know something was wrong.
The tracker.
Franco.
They were outside.
Bellini's man removed my necklace.
Dropped it.
Then forced off my shoe.
The tracker hit the floor.
Bellini looked impressed.
“Your brother is careful.”
He crushed both devices.
“But I've known Morettis longer than you have.”
The elevator doors closed.
For the first time, I was completely alone with the man who had been hunting my family for twenty-seven years.
And just before the doors shut, Bellini leaned close and whispered one final secret.
“Your mother didn't die from cancer alone, Lauren.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
His smile disappeared.
“She was helped.”
May you like
And suddenly I knew the attack in the alley had never been the worst thing Marco Bellini had done to my family.
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