Chapter 3 - THE SECRET OF THE MORETTI FAMILY
Within thirty minutes, the sixty high-society guests had been systematically escorted out of the estate by heavily armed guards, warned in no uncertain terms that if a single word of what transpired leaked to the press, the consequences would be absolute.
Inside the grand parlor, the atmosphere was suffocating.
Rebecca sat on an Italian leather sofa, wrapped in a warm cashmere blanket. Clementine had finally fallen asleep in her mother’s lap, exhausted by the trauma of the evening, her tiny fingers still clutching Rebecca’s wet shirt.
Adriano stood at the bar, pouring two glasses of amber liquid. He walked over and handed one to Rebecca.
“I don't drink,” she said quietly.
“Neither do I,” Adriano replied, setting the glass on the table. “It’s for the shock.”
He sat down in the armchair opposite her, looking at her with a mix of deep reverence and crushing shame. “I don't expect you to forgive me, Rebecca. I brought the violent world into your life. If Thomas had never stopped his truck that night, he would still be alive today, raising this beautiful girl with you.”
“Thomas was a good man,” Rebecca said softly, her eyes filling with tears as she stroked Clementine’s curls. “He would have stopped for anyone. He didn't care if you were a king or a criminal. He just saw a person in pain.”
Adriano bowed his head. “And I am in his debt forever. But you need to understand something... Genevieve’s betrayal goes far deeper than cruel jealousy.”
Before Rebecca could ask what he meant, heavy footsteps echoed down the grand hallway. The heavy double doors of the parlor were thrown open.
Julian Moretti walked into the room. He was a slick, thirty-five-year-old man in a tailored navy suit, flanked by two bodyguards. Behind him, Genevieve followed, her eyes red from crying, her silver dress ruined by sweat and tears.
“What is the meaning of this, Adriano?” Julian demanded, stepping into the middle of the room. “You disarmed my security team at the gate? You hold my sister like a prisoner? Have you lost your mind over a maid?”
Adriano didn't get up. He slowly took a sip of his water and looked up at Julian with dead eyes.
“Julian,” Adriano said smoothly. “Three years ago, when my car was run off the road on Route 9... the police never found out who placed the spike strip under the bridge.”
Julian’s eyes flickered slightly, a microscopic twitch of his jaw. “It was the Russian mob, Adriano. We settled that two years ago.”
“Did we?” Adriano reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black flash drive, setting it on the coffee table between them. “Ten minutes ago, my tech team decrypted the security files from the agency that placed Rebecca in this house eighteen months ago.”
Julian stood rigid.
“Genevieve didn't hire Rebecca by accident,” Adriano revealed, his voice terrifyingly calm. “She paid the agency fifty thousand dollars to locate Thomas Hail’s widow and bring her here under a fake contract. She wanted Rebecca under her thumb. Do you know why, Julian?”
Rebecca sat up straighter, holding Clementine closer. “Why?” she asked, looking at Julian.
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Adriano smiled, a cold, ruthless expression. “Because before Thomas Hail died, he managed to pull something out of my burning car. Something he put in his pocket before he was shot.”
Adriano looked directly at Julian. “He took my black ledger—the ledger containing every bank account, every corrupt judge, and every hit order signed by the Eastern Syndicate. And Julian... your sister and you have been desperately searching for that ledger for three long years.”
