Chapter 4 - THE ROAD TO ST. CATHERINE'S“If my sister dies tonight, I don't care how powerful my father is. Every secret he's buried is coming into the daylight.”
Luca spoke from the back seat of a black SUV speeding north through the darkness.
Rain streaked across the windshield.
Chicago's skyline had disappeared behind them.
Marco drove.
David Whitman, Luca's longtime attorney, sat in the passenger seat, speaking urgently into a phone.
And I sat beside Luca, holding Lucia Moretti's wooden sewing box against my knees.
I hadn't planned on going.
In fact, when Luca told me to return home, I had immediately agreed.
But then David received Rachel Donovan's call.
And suddenly everything changed.
The nurse had confirmed Isabella was alive.
She had sent photographs, medical records, and a copy of the transfer order.
More importantly, she had risked her job and possibly her life to do it.
Luca had looked at me and asked one question.
“Emma, did you notice anything unusual about the box?”
I remembered the loose lining.
The faded blue cloth.
The strange second cassette.
“I think your mother hid more than the keys.”
He stared at the box.
Then said:
“Bring it.”
Now we were racing toward Wisconsin with state police on their way to the facility and no guarantee we'd arrive before Isabella disappeared.
Luca sat silently.
His phone rested in his palm.
On the screen was Rachel's photograph of his sister.
He had been studying it for nearly twenty minutes.
I watched him from the corner of my eye.
Finally, I spoke.
“She looks like you.”
He didn't answer immediately.
Then he nodded.
“My mother used to say we were two halves of the same stubborn heart.”
I turned toward him.
“You remember her?”
He stared at the photograph.
“Not clearly.”
A pause.
“I remember a girl who hated thunderstorms.”
I smiled faintly.
“My sister used to hide under our kitchen table whenever it rained.”
Luca looked at me.
“Is she younger?”
“Four years.”
He nodded.
“I remember giving Isabella a little silver bracelet.”
His voice softened.
“It had a tiny moon on it.”
He looked back at the photograph.
“I told her that whenever she got scared, she could look at it and remember I was nearby.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Luca whispered:
“I wonder if she still has it.”
The words broke my heart.
Because the man beside me had spent most of his adult life terrifying other people.
And right now, all he wanted was to know whether his sister remembered him.
David ended his call.
“Luca.”
Luca looked up.
“Tell me.”
“The Wisconsin Department of Justice has been contacted. Officers are heading to the facility, but we need to be careful about who has access to the operation.”
“Why?”
David hesitated.
“St. Catherine's has unusually complicated ownership records.”
“How complicated?”
“Six shell companies. Three states. Two nonprofit organizations. And a private trust.”
Luca frowned.
“Whose trust?”
David looked at him.
“Your father's.”
Marco muttered something under his breath.
David continued.
“But that's not the worst part.”
Luca stared at him.
“What is?”
“The facility has received payments from Moretti-controlled businesses.”
A long silence followed.
Luca leaned forward.
“Which businesses?”
David checked his notes.
“Moretti Property Management. Bellini Health Services. And a consulting company called Meridian Holdings.”
Luca's expression changed.
“Meridian?”
David nodded.
“Does that mean something?”
Luca stared through the windshield.
“My father asked me to authorize a Meridian contract three months ago.”
David turned.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn't verify the services.”
Marco glanced at him through the rearview mirror.
“What happened?”
Luca's jaw tightened.
“Salvatore signed it instead.”
Nobody spoke.
The betrayal was getting larger.
It wasn't just one terrible decision made twenty-two years earlier.
It was an entire system.
Companies.
Doctors.
Lawyers.
Family members.
People who had taken money for decades to keep an innocent woman hidden.
David's phone rang again.
He answered.
“Whitman.”
His expression changed.
“Rachel?”
Luca leaned forward.
“Put her on speaker.”
David did.
A frightened voice filled the vehicle.
“Mr. Whitman?”
“Yes. Rachel, we're on our way.”
“They know.”
Luca's face hardened.
“Who knows?”
Rachel's breathing was ragged.
“Pike. The director. He knows I contacted you.”
“Where are you?”
“In the east stairwell.”
“Where's Isabella?”
A pause.
Then:
“I got her out of the room.”
Luca closed his eyes.
“Thank God.”
Rachel continued.
“But we can't reach the loading dock. They've locked the lower floors.”
Marco accelerated.
“Rachel,” Luca said, “this is Luca Moretti.”
Silence.
Then the nurse whispered:
“Your sister thinks you're dead.”
Luca swallowed.
“I know.”
“She doesn't believe me when I tell her you're alive.”
His voice broke slightly.
“Can she hear me?”
“She's right here.”
A rustling sound came through the speaker.
Then a woman's uncertain voice.
“Hello?”
Luca froze.
For twenty-two years, he had believed he'd never hear that voice again.
He leaned toward the phone.
“Bella?”
Silence.
Then a small breath.
Nobody in the SUV moved.
“Who is this?” she whispered.
Luca closed his eyes.
“It's Luca.”
Another silence.
Then Isabella spoke.
“You're not Luca.”
His face tightened.
“Bella, listen to me—”
“My brother is dead.”
“No.”
“They showed me his grave.”
Luca pressed his palm against his forehead.
“They lied to both of us.”
Isabella began breathing harder.
“Stop.”
“Bella, remember the old oak tree behind our house?”
Silence.
“We buried a metal lunchbox underneath it.”
Her breathing changed.
Luca continued.
“You put a blue marble inside. And I put in a little toy car because I thought we'd be rich someday.”
The phone crackled.
Then Isabella whispered:
“You promised we'd open it when we turned eighteen.”
Tears filled Luca's eyes.
“I remember.”
A long pause.
Then she said one word.
“Luca?”
He covered his mouth.
“Yes, Bella.”
She began crying.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just the quiet, broken crying of someone who had spent years learning not to hope.
“I thought you left me.”
Luca shook his head.
“Never.”
The call suddenly filled with shouting.
Rachel gasped.
“Someone's coming.”
Footsteps thundered.
A door slammed.
Then Isabella screamed.
“Rachel!”
Luca sat forward.
“Bella?”
A man's voice came through the phone.
“Give me that.”
A struggle.
Static.
Then the line went dead.
Marco pressed harder on the accelerator.
Luca stared at the silent phone.
And for the first time that night, I saw real terror in his eyes.
David checked the map.
“We're twelve minutes away.”
But Luca wasn't looking at the map.
He was looking at a new text message.
It contained a photograph of Isabella sitting in the back of a dark van.
Her wrists were bound in front of her.
Underneath was a single sentence.
May you like
YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES TO CHOOSE BETWEEN YOUR SISTER AND THE TRUTH.
END OF CHAPTER 4
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