The De Luca Heir

The Message

The first morning of my marriage began with a lie.

Not a particularly surprising development, considering I had married into a family that could turn lying into an Olympic sport.

Still, I hadn’t expected the lie to come from my husband.

Adrian was standing beside the floor-to-ceiling windows of our bedroom, dressed in black trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His phone was pressed to his ear, his expression unreadable.

“No,” he said quietly. “She doesn’t know anything.”

I stopped outside the half-open door.

She.

Who was she?

“And she won’t,” Adrian continued. “Not until I know who sent the message.”

My stomach tightened.

The message.

Last night, Daniel had appeared at our wedding and handed us a photograph of my uncle Gabriel. Then he’d disappeared after suggesting that my mother hadn’t died for the reasons we’d been told.

And afterwards, my phone had lit up with those six words.

Now let’s talk about what your husband did five years ago.

I had barely slept.

I had spent half the night staring at the ceiling, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the De Luca mansion and trying to convince myself that marrying Adrian hadn’t been the biggest mistake of my life.

Now I was standing outside my bedroom, listening to him tell someone that I knew nothing.

Adrian ended the call.

I pushed the door open.

“Good morning to you too, husband.”

He turned.

For half a second, something shifted in his expression. Surprise, perhaps. Then his usual composure returned.

“Isabella.”

“That’s my name.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Brilliantly. I especially enjoyed the part where I imagined all the possible ways my marriage could fall apart before breakfast.”

His jaw tightened.

“You shouldn’t be awake worrying about things you can’t control.”

I laughed without humour.

“That’s interesting advice from the man who married me because two dead women signed a document before we were old enough to understand it.”

“I married you because you chose to stand beside me.”

“And I did. Remember? I was there.”

He looked away.

There it was again.

That tiny movement he made whenever I got too close to something he didn’t want to discuss.

I folded my arms.

“Who were you talking to?”

“No one important.”

“Try again.”

His gaze returned to mine.

“Someone who may know more about Daniel.”

“Then why did you tell them I didn’t know anything?”

“Because the less people know about what we have, the safer we are.”

I stared at him.

“Adrian, I am so tired of people deciding what I can and cannot handle.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because you sound exactly like your father.”

That landed.

His expression went cold, and for one terrible second, I thought he’d tell me to leave the room.

Instead, he exhaled slowly.

“You’re right.”

I hadn’t expected that.

“What?”

“I said you’re right.”

“Should I get someone to write down the date?”

A reluctant smile touched his mouth.

“Don’t ruin it.”

I almost smiled back.

Almost.

Then I remembered the message.

I took my phone from the pocket of my dressing gown and showed him the screen.

His expression changed as he read it.

“Did you reply?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Adrian.”

He looked up.

“I need you to tell me what happened five years ago.”

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then he walked towards the bedside table, picked up his phone and turned it face down.

“Five years ago, Serena disappeared.”

“I know that.”

“You know what everyone has been told. You don’t know what happened.”

“Then tell me.”

He rubbed a hand across his face.

“I was twenty-three. My father was preparing to hand more responsibility over to me. He wanted me to prove I could keep the family together, and he believed that meant following his orders without asking questions.”

“And Serena?”

“She was the one person who challenged me when I started becoming like him.”

I watched him carefully.

“Were you together?”

His eyes met mine.

“No.”

The answer came too quickly to be entirely convincing.

“Did you love her?”

His silence lasted a fraction too long.

“I cared about her.”

I looked down.

I hated the uncomfortable twist in my chest. I had no right to be jealous of a woman who had disappeared five years before Adrian and I had even met properly.

But I was human.

And I was married to a man whose past seemed to have more rooms than his enormous house.

“What happened the night she disappeared?” I asked.

Adrian walked to the window.

“She contacted me. She said she had found something that could destroy my father. She wanted to meet me somewhere away from the mansion.”

“Did you go?”

“Yes.”

My heart began to beat faster.

“And?”

“She never arrived.”

“That’s it?”

“No.”

He turned towards me.

“Her car was found near the old road outside the city. Her phone was inside. There was no sign of her.”

I swallowed.

“What did you do?”

“I searched for her.”

“For how long?”

“Months.”

“And then?”

He looked down at his hands.

“Then I found something that made me believe she hadn’t wanted to be found.”

“What?”

“A letter.”

“What did it say?”

His eyes lifted to mine.

“That she was sorry.”

I stared at him.

“Sorry for what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Adrian, that makes no sense.”

“I know.”

“Did you keep it?”

He didn’t answer.

I felt my stomach sink.

“You did.”

He walked towards the wardrobe, opened a small safe hidden behind a row of suits and removed a folded piece of paper.

He handed it to me.

The paper was old and creased. The handwriting was elegant, hurried and unmistakably feminine.

I read the first line.

Adrian, if you’re reading this, it means I didn’t have the courage to tell you the truth to your face.

I continued.

I know what you promised me. I know what you were willing to sacrifice to keep that promise. But I cannot let you do it.

Some people are not meant to be saved.

Forget me.

Serena.

I lowered the letter.

“What did you promise her?”

Adrian’s expression gave nothing away.

“Something I couldn’t keep.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have right now.”

I stared at him.

“Do you hear yourself? You’re asking me to trust you while refusing to tell me the one thing that could explain why somebody is threatening our marriage on its first morning.”

“I’m not asking you to ignore the threat.”

“Then what are you asking?”

He stepped closer, stopping just short of me.

“Give me until tonight.”

I wanted to say no.

I wanted to demand every answer immediately.

But I could see the tension in his face, the exhaustion around his eyes, and the way his fingers tightened around the edge of the letter.

Whatever had happened five years ago, it hadn’t left him untouched.

“Tonight,” I repeated.

He nodded.

“And if you still haven’t told me?”

“Then you can decide what happens next.”

I searched his face for a sign that he was manipulating me.

I found fear.

Not fear of me.

Fear of whatever waited in the past.

“Fine,” I said. “Tonight.”

He reached for my hand, then paused as if remembering that I had the right to refuse even that.

I closed the distance myself and took his hand.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

His fingers wrapped around mine.

“I won’t.”

I hoped he was telling the truth.

By lunchtime, the mansion had become a circus.

Flowers from the wedding were still arranged throughout the hall. Staff moved around us as if nothing had happened, clearing plates, polishing furniture and pretending they hadn’t spent the morning whispering about Enzo’s sudden loss of control.

Luca found me sitting in the conservatory with a cup of tea I hadn’t touched.

“Congratulations,” he said, dropping into the chair opposite me. “You’ve been married for less than twenty-four hours and you’ve already managed to make this family significantly more complicated.”

“Thank you. It’s a gift.”

He grinned.

Then he noticed my expression.

“Oh. You’re serious.”

“Did you know about Serena?”

His grin disappeared.

“Why?”

“Because Adrian told me what happened five years ago.”

Luca leaned back.

“What exactly did he tell you?”

“That she disappeared after arranging to meet him. That he searched for her. That he found a letter.”

Luca looked towards the conservatory doors.

“Did he tell you about the night before she disappeared?”

“No.”

He rubbed his palms together.

“Then I probably shouldn’t be the one to tell you.”

I gave him a flat look.

“Luca.”

“Right. Sorry. Family habit.”

He lowered his voice.

“Serena came to me the night before she vanished. She was frightened. Not of Adrian—of what Adrian was about to do.”

“What was he about to do?”

“I don’t know exactly. She said he’d made a promise to someone, and that keeping it would cost him everything.”

I thought of the letter.

I know what you promised me.

“Who was the promise to?”

Luca shook his head.

“She wouldn’t say.”

“Did she tell you where she was going?”

“No. But she left something with me.”

He reached into his jacket and took out a small silver key.

I stared at it.

“What is that?”

“The key to a storage room in the old De Luca offices. Serena told me to keep it somewhere safe.”

“And you never told Adrian?”

“I was going to.”

“When?”

“When it stopped being dangerous.”

I stared at him.

“Do any of you understand how suspicious that sounds?”

“Constantly.”

I took the key.

“Where are the offices?”

“Adrian can take you.”

“No. You’re going to take me.”

Luca blinked.

“Me?”

“You’re the one with the key.”

“Excellent point. Terrible day for me.”

I stood and slipped the key into my pocket.

“Let’s go.”

The old offices were on the outskirts of the city, in a building that looked as though it had been forgotten by everyone except the people who wanted to keep its secrets.

Luca unlocked the side entrance.

Inside, the air smelled of dust and old paper. Narrow corridors led to abandoned rooms filled with filing cabinets and broken furniture.

“Room seventeen,” he said.

We found it at the end of the hall.

The silver key turned in the lock.

Inside was a small desk, a filing cabinet and a cardboard box sealed with yellowing tape.

I opened the box.

Photographs.

Dozens of them.

Serena standing outside a café. Serena beside Adrian at a family gathering. Serena talking to a man whose face had been carefully scratched out of every picture.

And beneath the photographs, a notebook.

I opened it.

The first few pages contained dates, names and numbers. Some entries referred to Enzo. Others mentioned the original agreement, Gabriel and a place called Blackthorn House.

Then I reached a page dated five years earlier.

One sentence had been underlined several times.

ADRIAN MUST NEVER KNOW WHO GAVE THE ORDER.

I read it twice.

“Luca.”

He leaned over my shoulder.

His face drained of colour.

“That’s not good.”

“Who gave the order?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who was Serena writing about?”

“I don’t know, Isabella.”

I turned the page.

A photograph had been tucked into the notebook.

It showed Adrian standing beside a car at night. He looked younger, his face tense, his shirt collar turned up against the rain.

Beside him stood Serena.

But they weren’t looking at each other.

They were looking at a third person.

A man standing in the shadows.

I recognised him immediately.

Vittorio Moretti.

My father.

On the back of the photograph, Serena had written three words.

HE CHOSE HIM.

My hands went cold.

“Luca, what does this mean?”

Before he could answer, my phone rang.

Adrian.

I answered immediately.

“Where are you?”

“I’m at the old offices. I found something.”

“Isabella, listen to me. You need to leave that building now.”

“Why?”

“Because someone has been looking for you.”

A crash sounded somewhere beyond the room.

Luca spun towards the door.

Adrian’s voice sharpened through the phone.

“Isabella?”

I stared at the corridor.

“I’m here.”

“Get out. Now.”

The lights went out.

Luca grabbed my arm, pulling me away from the doorway as footsteps sounded in the hall.

Then a voice spoke from the darkness.

“Isabella Moretti.”

I froze.

Nobody called me that anymore.

Not since the wedding.

“Your husband has been lying to you,” the voice continued. “But the worst part isn’t what he did five years ago.”

A small light appeared at the end of the corridor.

Someone was standing there.

Someone holding a photograph.

“It’s what he promised to do to you.”

My phone slipped slightly in my hand.

Adrian was shouting my name through the speaker.

And the stranger stepped forward just far enough for me to see his face.

Gabriel Moretti.

My uncle.

The man everyone had told me was dead.

He looked at me with eyes that were painfully familiar.

Then he said the words that would change my marriage forever.

“Ask your husband why he agreed to marry you before he ever met you.”

The call disconnected.

And somewhere in the darkness, a door slammed shut.