Chapter 10 - The Rusted Lockbox
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The return trip to the Moretti estate felt entirely different. Elena wasn't entering through the service gate this time. The armored SUV pulled straight up to the grand front entrance.
Leo sat beside her, completely bewildered. "El, seriously, whose house is this? Why are there guys with earpieces everywhere?"
"It's a long story," Elena whispered, gripping his hand tightly. "Just stay close to me."
They were escorted directly into a massive, wood-paneled study. A fire roared in the hearth, but the room felt incredibly cold.
Adrian sat behind a massive mahogany desk. He had discarded his tuxedo jacket and unbuttoned his collar, looking less like a gala host and more like a general preparing for war.
He stood up when Elena and Leo entered. His eyes locked onto Leo. He studied the boy's face—the dark hair, the sharp jawline. The resemblance to the Moretti family line was undeniable.
"Leo," Adrian said softly, nodding to the boy.
"Uh, hi," Leo mumbled, intimidated by the sheer presence of the man.
Marco placed the heavy, rusted lockbox directly onto the center of Adrian's desk.
"The box, Boss," Marco reported, stepping back into the shadows.
Adrian looked at the metal box. "It's locked. And you don't have the key?" he asked Elena.
"My mother never gave me one," Elena confirmed, stepping up to the desk. "She just told me to keep it safe."
Adrian didn't hesitate. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a heavy steel letter opener. He wedged the thick blade under the rusted padlock and, with a violent twist of his wrist, snapped the old metal mechanism in half.
The lock clattered to the floor.
Elena held her breath. Leo leaned forward, curiosity overcoming his fear.
Adrian slowly lifted the heavy lid of the box.
Inside, there were no stacks of cash or stolen jewels.
It was filled with letters. Stacks and stacks of handwritten envelopes, all tied together with faded ribbons. Beneath the letters lay a small, leather-bound journal, and a birth certificate.
Adrian reached in and pulled out the birth certificate. He unfolded it carefully.
The name on the document wasn't Maria Elena Morris.
It read: Isabella Moretti.
And beneath the mother's name, listed under the father, was a name that made Adrian's blood turn to ice.
Dominic Falcone.
Adrian dropped the paper onto the desk as if it had burned him.
"Falcone," Adrian whispered, the word sounding like a curse.
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Elena frowned. "Who is Dominic Falcone?"
Adrian looked up at her, his eyes dark with a terrifying realization. "He is the head of the rival crime syndicate in Chicago. The man my father went to war with thirty years ago. Your mother didn't just fall in love with a soldier, Elena. She fell in love with the enemy's son."
