Chapter 3 - The Piano’s Testimony
The silence that fell over the music room was so profound that the ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the hallway sounded like a hammer striking an anvil.
Vivian froze. Her arm dropped to her side, the color draining from her face until she looked like a porcelain doll left out in the snow. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.
Luca stared at his mother’s outstretched finger, his jaw clenching so hard that the muscles along his jawline jumped. He slowly turned his head back toward Vivian, his dark eyes narrowing into slits of pure, incandescent rage.
“Isabella cannot speak,” Luca said, his voice dropping into a register so cold it made the bodyguards in the doorway step back instinctively. “And she cannot write. But she has a voice you forgot about, Vivian.”
Luca turned to Naomi. “Nurse Carter. Step aside.”
Naomi hastily stepped back, her knees shaking with relief.
Luca walked slowly toward the Steinway piano where Isabella stood. He knelt down beside his mother, his imposing frame softening just a fraction as he gently took her ink-stained, trembling hand in his own large, calloused palm.
“Mama,” Luca murmured, his voice gentle—a tone he reserved for no one else on earth. “Did she hurt you?”
Isabella looked into her son’s eyes. She couldn't form the words, but she didn't need to.
With her left hand, she reached out and struck a single, low, resonant G-note on the piano keyboard.
Yes.
Then, she reached down, picked up the scattered legal papers from the floor, and dropped them into Luca’s lap. She raised her ink-stained thumb and pressed it firmly against the blank signature line of the document, then pointed sharply at Vivian, followed by two rapid, high-pitched taps on the piano keys.
No. She forged it. She tried to steal everything.
The trap snapped shut with finality.
Vivian staggered backward, colliding with the bookshelf, knocking a stack of leather-bound books clattering to the floor. “It’s a trick!” she screamed, her aristocratic composure completely shattering into hysteria. “The old woman is losing her mind! She doesn't know what she’s doing! Luca, you can’t believe her over me! We’re getting married in two months!”
Luca stood up slowly. He didn't yell. He didn't slam his fists. He simply walked toward Vivian with the slow, inevitable momentum of a tidal wave.
“You lived in this house for three years,” Luca said quietly, towering over her. “You ate at my table. You wore my mother’s jewelry. And you thought because she had a stroke, you could steal her legacy and frame an innocent woman.”
Vivian shook her head frantically, backing into the corner of the room. “Luca, please! Let’s talk about this! Don't do something you’ll regret!”
Luca raised his hand, signaling his head of security, Viktor.
“Take her to the lower vault,” Luca commanded coldly. “Lock her in the reinforced holding room. Strip her of every asset, every key, and every credit card tied to the Moretti name. And make sure her family’s corporate accounts are audited by dawn. If they so much as own a pen by morning, I’ll hold you personally responsible, Viktor.”
“Understood, Boss,” Viktor grunted, stepping forward alongside two other guards and grabbing Vivian by both arms.
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“Let me go! You can’t do this to me! You’re monsters! All of you!” Vivian shrieked as she was dragged kicking and screaming out of the music room, her high heels clicking frantically against the parquet floor before her cries faded down the grand staircase.
The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them.
