Chapter 3 - The Venetian Trap
By Monday morning, the news had broke. In the world of Chicago high society, secrets were currency, and the scene at L’Auberge had been witnessed by three hedge fund managers and a city council member.
THE MORETTI HEIRS? EX-WIFE NIA CARTER SPOTTED WITH TWINS BEARING UNCANNY RESEMBLE TO BILLIONAIRE LUCA MORETTI.
The headlines burned across every local tabloid and financial blog. Paparazzi began camping at the edge of my Lincoln Park brownstone driveway by 7:00 AM.
When I tried to take Leo and Maya to their private primary school, three dark sedans with tinted windows blocked the street, photographers leaping out with long zoom lenses, shouting questions about child support, secret pregnancies, and Moretti Global's inheritance.
My kids were terrified. Leo clung to my leg, while Maya buried her face in my coat, crying softly.
“Back up!” I screamed at a photographer who shoved a camera inches from Maya’s face. “Get away from my children!”
Suddenly, the deafening roar of three heavy dark suburban SUVs echoed down the narrow street.
The vehicles pulled up with military precision, flanking the paparazzi cars and blocking the photographers' view. Four massive, suited men stepped out, led by Sam Russo.
Sam didn't hesitate. He stepped between the press and my family, his massive frame shielding us entirely.
“Mr. Moretti’s orders,” Sam said, his voice deep and authoritative as he glared at the photographers. “Touch those children, and your agency will be sued into bankruptcy by noon tomorrow. Clear the street!”
The photographers instantly backed away; nobody in Chicago dared challenge Moretti Global’s security apparatus.
Sam turned to me, his harsh face softening into a respectful smile. “Miss Nia. It’s good to see you again. You look wonderful.”
“Sam,” I gasped, clutching my crying children. “What is happening?”
“The boss knew the press would jump on this,” Sam explained, opening the door of a bulletproof Suburban. “He sent us to ensure your safety. Please, get in. I’ll take the kids to school myself, or we can take you all to a private facility until the press clears.”
Before I could answer, my phone vibrated in my coat pocket.
It was a text from Luca.
I’m sorry about the media. I’m handling the press injunctions now. Please let Sam drive them. They are safe with him, Nia. I promise on my life.
I looked at Sam, then at my terrified children. I hated relying on Luca’s shadow, but I loved my children more than my pride. I loaded Leo and Maya into the safe, tinted interior of the SUV, kissed their foreheads, and told them Sam was a friend who would take them safely to school.
Once the kids were gone, I took a rideshare directly to Moretti Global headquarters downtown. It was time to put an end to this before it swallowed our lives whole.
The Moretti Global glass tower rose eighty stories above Michigan Avenue. I walked through the soaring marble lobby, where security guards who recognized me from years past immediately bowed their heads and bypassed the turnstiles for me.
I took the private executive elevator directly to the top floor.
When the doors opened onto the mahogany-paneled executive suite, I expected to find Luca sitting in his glass office. Instead, I walked right into a tense, icy standoff in the main reception area.
Standing near the floor-to-ceiling glass windows was Beatrice Moretti—Luca’s seventy-two-year-old mother. She was draped in a tailored Chanel tweed suit, her pearl necklace gleaming, her silver hair pulled into a severe bun. Standing beside her was Evelyn Shaw, looking sharp, pale, and furious.
And sitting behind the glass desk, looking entirely unfazed by their presence, was Luca.
“...She lied to you for six years, Luca!” Beatrice’s sharp, aristocratic voice rang through the suite as I stepped out of the elevator. “She hid the Moretti heirs in some middle-class neighborhood, stealing six years of their legacy from this family! She is an opportunist who staged that scene at the restaurant to manipulate you into a settlement!”
“Mother,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a register of cold, absolute danger. “Say one more word about my wife, and security will escort you out of this building.”
“She is NOT your wife!” Evelyn snapped, her composure cracking. “I am your wife, Luca! We have contracts! We have joint real estate holdings in New York and London! You cannot just throw away our marriage because your ex-wife suddenly produces two children out of thin air!”
“The divorce papers were signed three weeks ago, Evelyn,” Luca said coldly, standing up from his desk. “You received twenty million dollars and the London townhouse. You have no standing here.”
“I am standing right here,” I announced, stepping into the mahogany room.
All three heads turned toward me.
Beatrice’s eyes flashed with pure, unadulterated venom. She stepped toward me, her designer cane clicking sharply on the hardwood floor.
“Nia,” Beatrice sneered. “So the little girl from the suburbs finally decides to show her face. How much do you want? Ten million? Twenty? Name your price to hand over custody of my grandchildren to this family, and then get out of Chicago.”
I felt a cold, white-hot fury ignite in my chest—a fire that had been dormant for seven years.
I walked straight up to Beatrice Moretti, standing three inches from her arrogant face.
“Keep your blood money, Beatrice,” I spat out, every word cut like broken glass. “Seven years ago, you sat at my dining table and told me I was broken because I couldn't produce a child to carry on your precious title. You convinced your son to abandon his marriage based on lies and medical assumptions you fabricated with your paid doctors!”
Luca’s head snapped up. “What did you say?”
I turned my head toward Luca, my eyes flashing with righteous rage.
“You want to know why I left so quietly, Luca?” I demanded. “Because three weeks before you asked for a divorce, your mother visited my office with a forged medical report from a doctor she bribed at Northwestern Hospital. She told me I had severe early ovarian failure and that I would never carry a child to term. She told me if I truly loved you, I would step aside so you could find a 'real woman' like Evelyn Shaw who could give you an heir!”
The room went dead, suffocatingly quiet.
Luca went entirely stock-still. His slate-gray eyes shifted slowly from my face to his mother’s. The air in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees.
“Mother?” Luca whispered, the tone of his voice so terrifying that even Beatrice took a step back, her pale face suddenly turning gray.
“Luca... she’s lying,” Beatrice stammered, her voice trembling. “She’s trying to divide us—”
“IS IT TRUE?” Luca roared, his voice echoing off the glass walls with enough force to rattle the windows. He slammed his broad palm onto his walnut desk with a thunderous CRACK.
Beatrice swallowed hard, unable to meet her son’s terrifying, murderous gaze.
Luca stared at his mother, the horror of what she had done finally settling into his soul. His mother had systematically dismantled his marriage, bribed doctors, forged medical documents, and manipulated him into abandoning the only woman he had ever loved—and in doing so, had robbed him of six years of his children’s lives.
Luca pointed a trembling, lethal finger toward the elevator doors.
“Get out,” Luca whispered, his voice vibrating with absolute, unforgiving hatred.
“Luca...” Beatrice gasped.
“GET OUT OF MY BUILDING!” Luca screamed, his posture shaking with raw rage. “You are stripped of your board seat. Your access to the family trust is revoked. If you ever set foot near my children or near Nia again, I will have Sam arrest you for corporate fraud and medical forgery!”
Evelyn didn't wait to be asked twice. She grabbed her designer purse and sprinted toward the elevator, completely abandoning Beatrice.
Beatrice stood alone, looking at her son, realizing she had lost everything she had worked her entire life to control. She turned, her head bowed in disgrace, and shuffled slowly into the elevator.
The heavy brass doors slid shut.
Silence descended over the top floor.
Luca stood behind his desk, his shoulders heaving with ragged, broken breaths. He looked at me, his slate-gray eyes swimming with an agony so profound it threatened to swallow him whole.
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“Nia...” Luca choked out, taking two slow, trembling steps toward me. “My God... Nia... I didn't know. I swear to you on my father’s grave, I didn't know...”
He collapsed onto his knees before me for the second time in three days, reaching out to clutch the hem of my coat, burying his face against my waist as he wept uncontrollably.
