Chapter 7 - The Tightening Noose
Vanessa’s breathing turned shallow and erratic.
She looked from my face to Michael’s rigid posture.
"What kind of documents, Luca?" she asked, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to sound composed.
"Oh, just some old mail," I replied casually, walking slowly toward the exit.
"And a few interesting photographs from downtown Chicago."
Michael’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek.
"If this is some kind of joke, Luca, it isn't funny."
"Who said I was joking, Michael?" I stopped at the doorway, turning back to face them.
"Join us in the main dining room in ten minutes."
"We are going to have a very important family meeting."
I walked out of the conservatory, leaving them alone among the exotic plants.
Upstairs in the private office, Hannah Miller sat before the computer monitor.
She had listened to every word through the hidden audio feed.
"Mr. Moretti," she whispered as I walked through the connecting door.
"They are going to try to run."
"Let them try," I said, pulling my suit jacket tighter across my shoulders.
"Every exit from this estate is sealed by Frankie and twelve armed men."
"Nobody leaves until I give the order."
Ten minutes later, the heavy mahogany doors of the main dining room clicked open.
Vanessa walked in first, having changed into a dark green velvet dress.
Her hair was pinned up, but her hands were shaking slightly as she pulled out a chair.
Michael followed her closely, his eyes darting toward the corners of the ceiling where the security domes were mounted.
I sat at the head of the long mahogany table.
A single silver tray sat in the center, covered by a polished domed lid.
"Sit down," I instructed.
Neither of them moved.
"I said sit down."
Michael pulled out the chair beside Vanessa and lowered himself stiffly into the seat.
"Luca, what is the meaning of this theatrical nonsense?" Michael demanded, trying to project false authority.
"You interrupted our morning to play games?"
"Games?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Michael, you are my oldest friend."
"You were supposed to stand beside me at the altar as my best man."
"A best man is supposed to protect the groom, not help his fiancée draft secret marriage licenses behind his back."
Vanessa let out a sharp gasp, slamming her palms flat against the table.
"That is an outrageous lie!" she screamed, her composure entirely shattering.
"Who has been feeding you these absurd paranoid delusions?"
I did not raise my voice.
I simply reached out and lifted the silver domed lid off the tray.
Inside sat three items.
The first was the certified marriage license from the Cook County Clerk’s Office, dated last Thursday.
The second was the photograph of Michael and Vanessa standing outside the municipal building with a bouquet of lilies.
The third was Rebecca’s purple-inked letter detailing how Michael had offered her twenty thousand dollars to renounce the family trust.
Michael stared at the tray, and all the color drained completely from his face.
"Where did you get these?" he whispered, his voice cracking.
"Your mistake wasn't meeting at the courthouse, Michael," I said softly.
"Your mistake was using the service stairwell in my house to exchange paperwork."
Vanessa stared at the photograph, her face contorting into an expression of pure, venomous hatred.
"You dumb little maid," she hissed through clenched teeth.
"I should have broken both her legs instead of just one."
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"You won't be breaking anything else ever again, Vanessa," I said, standing up slowly from my chair.
"Because as of right now, your residency in this house has been terminated."
