Chapter 3 - My Deaf Mafia Husband Hid a Notebook That Could Destroy His Brother—But When I Opened It, I Discovered Why He Had Really Chosen Me as His WifeThe first time Vincent Moretti told me he was afraid of his brother, he was lying in a hospital bed with a bandage covering his right ear.
The second time, he showed me a photograph of a dead woman.
And that photograph changed everything I thought I knew about our marriage.
It was shortly after midnight when Dominic Russo returned to Vincent's private hospital room carrying a black leather briefcase.
He locked the door behind him.
Then placed the briefcase on the table.
Vincent sat upright immediately.
His expression changed.
I was sitting beside the window, still wearing the same clothes I'd worn when the ambulance brought him to the hospital.
My hands were cold.
My stomach ached from hunger.
But I barely noticed.
All I could think about was the device the doctors had removed from Vincent's ear.
The black object.
The tiny blinking light.
The years of pain.
And the possibility that someone he loved had deliberately caused it.
Dominic opened the briefcase.
Inside was a small notebook wrapped in a plastic evidence sleeve.
Its cover was dark brown.
The corners were worn.
And someone had written a single word across the front.
MORETTI.
Vincent reached for it.
His fingers trembled.
Dominic stopped him gently.
"Let me explain first."
Vincent frowned.
Dominic turned toward me.
"Can you interpret?"
I hesitated.
"I'm still learning."
Vincent picked up his phone.
He can type.
Dominic nodded.
He took out his own phone.
Then typed a message.
The mansion was searched. Luca's men entered your study and the upstairs bedroom.
Vincent's expression darkened.
He typed.
Did they find anything?
Dominic shook his head.
No. I moved the notebook before they arrived.
Vincent closed his eyes.
For a moment, relief crossed his face.
Then he looked at me.
I swallowed.
"What's in it?"
He hesitated.
For several seconds, he simply stared at the notebook.
Then he typed.
Everything my brother has been doing behind my back.
I looked down.
"What kind of things?"
Vincent's expression became grim.
Money transfers. Names. Dates. Meetings.
He paused.
Then typed another sentence.
And evidence that someone has been interfering with my medical treatment.
My chest tightened.
I looked toward Dominic.
He nodded.
"Vincent started keeping records when he realized things weren't adding up."
I frowned.
"Why didn't he go to the police?"
Dominic looked uncomfortable.
Vincent answered before he could.
Because some of the records also expose my own crimes.
I stared at the screen.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Vincent looked directly at me.
His expression was steady.
He typed again.
I won't lie to you, Amelia. I've done terrible things.
My throat tightened.
I had known that.
Of course I had.
Everyone in Chicago knew what Vincent Moretti was.
But hearing him admit it so plainly was different.
He continued.
Some things I regret. Some things I can't undo.
I swallowed.
"Then why keep the notebook?"
He looked down.
Then typed.
Because Luca was becoming worse.
I stared.
Worse how?
Vincent's fingers moved slowly.
He was using my name to threaten people. Taking money. Hurting anyone who questioned him.
My stomach tightened.
He continued.
And every time I tried to stop him, my health got worse.
I looked toward the bandage covering his ear.
For a moment, I felt sick.
Vincent noticed.
He reached for my hand.
Then stopped.
He waited.
I moved my hand into his.
His expression softened.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked, "Why did you marry me?"
Vincent went still.
Dominic looked away.
I stared at my husband.
"I need the truth."
Vincent's jaw tightened.
He typed.
Because I wanted someone outside the family.
I swallowed.
"Someone you could trust?"
He nodded.
I looked down.
Then whispered, "But you didn't know me."
Vincent hesitated.
His fingers hovered over the phone.
Then he typed.
I knew more about you than you think.
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
He looked toward Dominic.
Then back at me.
I knew your mother.
For several seconds, I couldn't breathe.
My mother.
Margaret Carter.
She had died when I was sixteen.
My father told everyone she'd suffered a sudden illness.
He said the hospital couldn't save her.
He said there was nothing anyone could have done.
I had believed him.
Because I was a child.
Because he was my father.
Because grief had left me too exhausted to ask questions.
Now Vincent Moretti was telling me he had known her.
I stared.
"How?"
He looked down.
Then typed.
She worked for my family.
My chest tightened.
"What?"
He nodded.
Years ago.
I swallowed.
"Doing what?"
Vincent hesitated.
Then reached into the briefcase.
He removed a photograph.
It was old.
The edges were faded.
A woman stood outside a large brick house.
She wore a blue coat.
Her dark hair was tied behind her head.
She was smiling.
My heart stopped.
"Mom?"
I reached for the photograph.
My fingers trembled.
It was her.
Younger.
Happier.
Standing beside a little boy with dark hair and serious eyes.
I looked at Vincent.
Then back at the photograph.
The boy was him.
I stared.
"You knew her when you were a child?"
Vincent nodded.
He typed.
She was our housekeeper.
I swallowed.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
Then he continued.
She was kind to me.
My eyes filled.
He looked at the photograph.
Then typed.
After the fire, she stayed at the hospital.
I stared.
The fire that damaged your hearing?
He nodded.
I looked at my mother's face.
Then whispered, "She never told me."
Vincent's expression softened.
He typed.
She had reasons.
My stomach tightened.
"What reasons?"
He hesitated.
Then typed.
Because she knew the fire wasn't an accident.
The room became silent.
I looked at Dominic.
His expression was grim.
Then I looked back at Vincent.
"What happened?"
Vincent closed his eyes.
For a long time, he didn't move.
Then he began typing.
My father had enemies.
I swallowed.
What kind?
He looked at me.
The kind who wanted control of his business.
I nodded slowly.
Vincent continued.
One night, someone started a fire in our house.
My chest tightened.
You were inside?
He nodded.
Luca too.
I looked down at the photograph.
Vincent was twelve.
Luca was eight.
Two children.
A burning house.
And my mother had been there.
I swallowed.
"What did she do?"
Vincent's eyes filled.
He typed.
She saved us.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
He continued.
She carried Luca outside. Then came back for me.
My throat tightened.
I looked at the photograph.
My mother.
The woman who had worked endless shifts to feed us.
The woman who had always told me that kindness mattered more than money.
Had once run into a burning house to save a boy who would grow up to become Chicago's most feared Mafia boss.
I began crying.
Vincent reached for my hand.
I held it.
Then whispered, "Why didn't she tell me?"
He typed.
Because afterward, someone threatened her.
My stomach tightened.
"Who?"
Vincent shook his head.
I don't know.
For a moment, I felt disappointed.
Then he continued.
But I think Luca does.
I stared.
"Your brother?"
Vincent nodded.
I looked toward Dominic.
He was watching us carefully.
Then I asked, "Why did you marry me?"
Vincent looked down.
For a long time, he didn't move.
Then he typed.
When Dominic investigated your father's debts, he found your mother's name.
I stared.
He continued.
I recognized it.
My throat tightened.
And you remembered her?
Vincent nodded.
Then typed.
I wanted to repay what she did for me.
I swallowed.
"So you bought me?"
His expression changed.
Pain crossed his face.
He typed quickly.
No.
I stared.
He continued.
I thought you had agreed to the marriage.
My eyes filled.
He typed.
Your father told us you wanted to leave home.
I swallowed.
"That part was true."
Vincent nodded.
Then typed.
But I should have spoken to you first.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then he added.
I'm sorry.
I stared at him.
The most feared Mafia boss in Chicago.
A man whose name terrified powerful criminals.
Was apologizing to a woman whose father had sold her for fifty dollars.
And somehow, I believed he meant it.
I took a breath.
"Why didn't you tell me about my mother?"
Vincent looked down.
Then typed.
I was afraid you'd think I married you out of pity.
I swallowed.
"And did you?"
He looked at me.
For a moment, his expression softened.
Then he typed.
No.
I stared.
He continued.
I married you because I thought you deserved a chance to be free.
My eyes filled.
Then he added another sentence.
But I never expected to fall in love with you.
My heart stopped.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Vincent looked away.
His expression became uncertain.
Then he typed.
You don't have to say anything.
I stared at him.
The man who had given me a room with a lock.
The man who left notes reminding me to eat.
The man who had never demanded affection.
The man who was now lying in a hospital bed because someone had been hurting him for years.
I took his hand.
Then signed slowly.
I care about you.
His eyes filled.
I swallowed.
Then signed again.
Very much.
He smiled.
A small, trembling smile.
And for a moment, the danger outside the hospital disappeared.
But only for a moment.
Because Dominic's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
His expression changed.
He answered.
"Russo."
For several seconds, he listened.
Then his face went pale.
"What?"
Silence.
He looked toward Vincent.
Then back at me.
"Are you sure?"
Another pause.
Then he ended the call.
I stood.
"What happened?"
Dominic swallowed.
"Luca's gone."
My stomach tightened.
"What do you mean?"
He looked at Vincent.
Then answered.
"He emptied several company accounts and disappeared."
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Dominic added something that made my blood run cold.
"And your father went with him."
I stared.
"My father?"
Dominic nodded.
"Raymond Carter."
My heart pounded.
"Why?"
Dominic looked toward the photograph in my hand.
Then back at me.
"Because your father knows something about the fire."
The room became silent.
I looked down at my mother's face.
And suddenly I understood that my father hadn't simply sold me to Vincent Moretti to settle a gambling debt.
He had been hiding something for years.
Something connected to my mother's past.
Something connected to the fire.
And something that Luca Moretti was willing to destroy an entire family to keep buried.
I looked at Vincent.
He was already typing.
His expression was colder than I'd ever seen it.
He showed me the screen.
Amelia, there's something else you need to know.
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
He hesitated.
Then typed.
Your mother didn't die from an illness.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
I stared at him.
He continued.
She died after trying to expose the people responsible for the fire.
My knees weakened.
I reached for the table.
Vincent caught my hand.
And as I stared at the photograph of my mother, I realized the nightmare I'd thought began eleven days earlier had actually started seven years ago.
May you like
The day my mother died.
And the man who had sold me for fifty dollars might have known the truth all along.
Related Stories
