Chapter 13 - MARCO’S CONFESSIONLuca did not hit his uncle.
I think that frightened Marco more.
He simply stared.
“You were driving.”
Marco nodded.
“Yes.”
Viktor sat down.
“Why did you sound like Anton?”
“Because Bellini wanted everyone to believe Anton did it.”
Marco’s voice broke.
“He had me imitate him.”
Luca’s eyes became cold.
“You tried to kill my mother.”
“No.”
“You drove the car.”
“Yes.”
“You rammed them.”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t insult me with technicalities.”
Marco lowered his head.
“I was twenty-three.”
“So?”
“I owed Bellini money.”
“So?”
“He threatened my family.”
“So?”
Each word became quieter.
Marco finally looked up.
“There is no answer that makes it acceptable.”
Luca said nothing.
“I have spent twenty-six years knowing that.”
“Why fake your death?”
“Bellini found me again.”
“Why?”
“Because Sofia resurfaced.”
“You knew she was alive?”
“Yes.”
Luca laughed bitterly.
“Apparently I’m the only person in Chicago who didn’t.”
Marco continued.
“I was going to testify.”
“Then why attack the farmhouse?”
“I didn’t.”
“The vehicle belonged to you.”
“I gave it to federal investigators.”
Everyone froze.
“What?”
Marco looked toward the agents.
One of them stepped forward.
“We can confirm Mr. Moretti has been cooperating for three months.”
Luca stared.
“You knew he was alive?”
“Yes.”
“And let me bury him?”
“It protected the investigation.”
Luca rubbed his face.
“I am never attending another funeral.”
Even Marco smiled.
Then he became serious.
“The farmhouse attack was Bellini’s people using my old credentials.”
Luca looked toward Vanessa’s father, now in federal custody.
“So this ends with him.”
Marco shook his head.
“No.”
Luca’s expression darkened.
“Please do not say that.”
“Bellini wasn’t the top.”
“Of course he wasn’t.”
“There was someone above him.”
“Who?”
Marco looked at the ledger.
“Your father called him the Architect.”
Luca frowned.
“Who is that?”
“Nobody knew.”
“But?”
“But Anna did.”
Viktor suddenly looked toward the greenhouse photograph.
The torn photograph.
The missing person beside Anthony.
“Wait.”
He picked it up.
“The photograph was not torn when Anna gave it to me.”
Luca stared.
“Who tore it?”
“I don’t know.”
I looked at the remaining hand.
Emerald ring.
Sofia.
But maybe we had assumed too much.
“What if the torn person wasn’t Sofia?”
Everyone looked at me.
“The hand might belong to her.”
I pointed.
“But the person beside Anthony could be someone else.”
Viktor stared at the picture.
Then he flipped it over.
Writing.
Faded.
Four names.
Anna. Anthony. Sofia. Evelyn.
Luca frowned.
“Who is Evelyn?”
Viktor’s face drained.
“No.”
“Who?”
“Your grandmother.”
Luca stared.
“My father’s mother?”
Viktor nodded.
“She founded Moretti Holdings.”
“She died before my mother.”
“No.”
Luca closed his eyes.
“Please stop telling me dead relatives are alive.”
Viktor shook his head.
“She is dead.”
“Thank God.”
Everyone stared.
Luca sighed.
“You know what I mean.”
Viktor continued.
“Evelyn controlled the family finances.”
Marco looked horrified.
“The Architect.”
Viktor nodded.
Luca stared.
“My grandmother created all of this?”
“Yes.”
“And my father inherited it.”
“Yes.”
“Then tried to leave.”
“Yes.”
Luca looked toward the ledger.
The crime was not one villain.
It was a legacy.
Passed from parent to child.
Protected by silence.
Until now.
He closed the ledger.
“Then it ends with me.”
Marco looked at him.
“How?”
Luca stood.
“We give them everything.”
“Luca, Moretti Holdings may collapse.”
“I know.”
“Thousands of jobs—”
“Will be protected where possible.”
“You could lose billions.”
Luca looked at his father’s letter.
Names can be rebuilt. Character cannot.
“Then I lose billions.”
He handed the ledger to the federal agent.
“Take it.”
The agent stared.
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
Luca looked around the greenhouse.
“My family spent three generations protecting its name.”
He paused.
“I’m done protecting it from the truth.”
That afternoon, Luca Moretti held a press conference.
He disclosed the investigation.
Admitted the company’s historical crimes.
Announced an independent audit.
Created a restitution fund.
And stepped down temporarily as CEO.
The Moretti stock plunged.
News channels exploded.
Business partners abandoned him.
By midnight, he had lost an estimated $640 million in market value.
He sat in the kitchen eating leftover prune cake.
I found him there.
“How does it taste?”
He chewed thoughtfully.
“Terrible.”
I laughed.
He looked at me.
“My mother loved this?”
“Apparently.”
“She was wrong about at least one thing.”
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
And went completely still.
“What happened?”
May you like
Luca lowered the phone.
“Bellini escaped custody.”
