Chapter 3 - THE SILVER ROSARY OF A GHOST
Luca stared at the little blue card in his hand.
The silence in the dining room felt suffocating.
Forty guests held their breath, watching the most powerful man in Chicago turn to stone.
I saw his jaw tighten.
“Gabriel.”
He whispered the name like it was a curse.
Gabriel Moretti. The middle son. The brother who had been banished from the family five years ago.
“Mom,” Luca said, his voice dangerously low. “Why did you write Gabriel’s name?”
Teresa’s frail hand gripped my arm for support.
“Because Michael said if I didn’t sign the papers, he would make sure Gabriel never found out what happened to me.”
Michael slammed his glass down.
“She’s confused, Luca! You know how her memory gets!”
“Do not interrupt her,” Luca warned, not looking away from his mother.
Vanessa stepped in, her silk dress rustling.
“Darling, Gabriel is gone. He betrayed this family. Michael was just trying to protect her from grasping at ghosts.”
But Teresa wasn't grasping. She reached into the pocket of her cardigan.
Her trembling fingers pulled out a heavy, tarnished silver rosary.
A collective gasp echoed through the room. Vanessa’s father, the imposing Don Bellini, sat up straighter.
I recognized that rosary. I’d seen Teresa holding it when she cried.
“He isn't a ghost,” Teresa said clearly. “He was here.”
Luca stepped forward, his eyes locked on the beads.
“Where did you get that?”
“He left it on my pillow three nights ago,” Teresa whispered. “He came to say goodbye. He said Michael told him I was already dying.”
Michael’s face drained of color.
Luca turned to his brother. The calmness in his eyes was terrifying.
“You told Gabriel our mother was dying?”
“Luca, listen to me—”
“And then you brought a lawyer here to declare her incompetent?” Luca’s voice finally rose, echoing off the crystal chandeliers.
Vanessa rushed forward, grabbing Luca’s arm.
“It was for the estate, Luca! We needed to consolidate the assets before the wedding!”
Luca slowly pulled his arm away.
“Who is ‘we’?”
Before Vanessa could answer, Teresa squeezed my hand again.
“Hannah... show him the paper.”
My blood ran cold.
Earlier that day, while cleaning Michael’s study, I had found something on the floor. Teresa had begged me to keep it.
I reached into my apron and pulled out a crumpled, yellowed receipt.
But it wasn't a receipt. It was a transfer of deed.
Luca took it from my shaking hands. He read the bottom line.
“This is Mom’s signature,” Luca said slowly. Then he looked closer. “But the ink is blue.”
Michael flinched.
“Mom hasn't been able to write with a ballpoint pen in two years,” Luca stated, his voice turning to ice. “Her hand shakes too much. She only uses felt-tip markers.”
He looked up at Michael.
“You forged her signature.”
Vanessa gasped, but it sounded practiced. “Michael! How could you?”
But Luca wasn't fooled. He looked at his fiancée.
“The notary on this document is your father’s lawyer, Vanessa.”
Don Bellini stood up, knocking his chair back. “Careful, Luca.”
“Dinner is over,” Luca announced to the room. “Everyone out.”
The guests scrambled.
As the room cleared, Teresa suddenly gasped, her hand flying to her chest.
“Mrs. Moretti!” I caught her as her knees buckled.
Luca rushed over, lifting his mother into his arms.
“Call a doctor!” he yelled at Michael.
As Luca carried her away, I saw something fall from Teresa’s pocket onto the Persian rug.
I picked it up.
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It was a one-way bus ticket to Detroit. Printed for tomorrow morning.
And the name on the purchaser line was Gabriel Moretti.
