Chapter 6 - the drawing in the drawer
The penthouse on Nob Hill occupied the entire forty-second floor. Floor-to-ceiling glass overlooked the black expanse of the bay and the illuminated span of the Golden Gate.
The interior was stark, minimalist, and expensive—gray stone, walnut panels, and absolute quiet.
Two security guards in dark suits stood by the private foyer, bowing their heads respectfully as Luca walked through the double doors.
"Get them something to eat," Luca instructed the housekeeper, an older woman named Rosa who had worked for the Moretti family for thirty years. "Set up the guest suite. Milk for the little girl."
"Yes, Mr. Moretti," Rosa said, her eyes widening slightly as she looked at Lila, whose small hand was still firmly tucked into Luca’s. Rosa looked up at Luca, her expression reflecting instant comprehension, but she bowed her head and hurried toward the kitchen.
Lila walked across the polished marble floor, her small shoes clicking softly. She dropped her pink backpack onto a five-thousand-dollar white sofa and climbed up, placing her stuffed rabbit beside her.
"This house is very big," Lila said, looking around. "Does Santa Claus know how to get here?"
"Santa knows every building I own," Luca said without missing a beat.
Claire stood near the threshold, refusing to take off her coat. "Luca, we need to talk. Alone."
Luca motioned toward the glass-walled study at the end of the corridor. "Rosa will watch Lila."
Claire hesitated, but Lila was already happily accepting a glass of chocolate milk from Rosa. Claire turned and followed Luca into the study.
The heavy mahogany door clicked shut, sealing out the rest of the penthouse.
Luca walked behind his massive desk. He didn't sit down. He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled them up his forearms, revealing the dark ink of a Moretti family oath tattooed along his inner wrist.
"Start talking, Claire," Luca said. "Every word. Every year. Don't leave out a single day."
Claire crossed her arms, holding herself as if she were freezing. "I was twenty-four, Luca. I was an art student living in an apartment you paid for, surrounded by bodyguards with guns under their jackets. Then I took three pregnancy tests in the bathroom, and they were all positive."
"And you thought running was the answer?" Luca’s voice was dangerously quiet. "You thought taking my child away from me was the right choice?"
"I didn't run because of you!" Claire snapped, stepping toward the desk. "I ran because of what happened the night before I left!"
Luca narrowed his eyes. "What happened?"
"Someone came to the apartment while you were in Chicago," Claire said, her voice shaking with rage and memory. "A man. He knew the door codes. He knew the security rotation. He sat at the kitchen table, put a manila envelope in front of me, and told me that if I didn't disappear by dawn, neither I nor the baby would ever see the sun rise."
"Who was he?" Luca demanded, slamming his palm onto the desk.
"He never gave a name," Claire whispered. "He wore a mask. But when he reached across the table to tap the envelope, his sleeve pulled back."
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She looked straight into Luca’s eyes.
"He was wearing a gold signet ring. The Moretti seal. Exactly like the one you wear."
