Chapter 3 - A Bracelet That Didn’t Belong To Her
Vanessa’s knees gave out.
She caught herself on the edge of the table, her perfectly manicured nails scratching against the wood.
"It's not what it looks like!" she sobbed, the elegant façade completely shattered. "The ticket was a surprise! For our honeymoon!"
Luca held the boarding pass in the air.
"A one-way ticket for one passenger?" he asked.
Nobody at the table spoke. Some guests were already looking at the floor, uncomfortable with witnessing the sudden collapse of a billionaire’s engagement.
"Get out," Luca said.
His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the room like a knife.
"Luca, please—"
"Marco," Luca said, not looking away from Vanessa. "Call security. Have her escorted to the gate. Pack her things. If she takes anything that belongs to my family, call the police."
Vanessa looked around the room, desperate for an ally.
She looked at Marco. He turned his back.
She looked at the guests. They looked away.
Finally, her eyes landed on me.
The hatred in her expression was pure and toxic.
"You," she hissed, pointing a trembling finger at me. "You think you won? You’re a maid. You wipe my floors."
I didn't blink. "I don't wipe your floors anymore, Mrs. Bellini. You don't live here."
A few guests let out sharp exhales.
Vanessa lunged forward, but two security guards were already walking through the dining room doors. They grabbed her arms before she could reach me.
As they pulled her away, she screamed something in Italian.
Not broken Italian. Perfect, gutter Italian.
"Guardati le spalle, puttana!" Watch your back, whore.
The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind her.
The room was completely still.
Luca stood at the head of the table. He looked at the thirty-two guests.
"Dinner is over," he said calmly. "Thank you for coming."
No one argued.
Within ten minutes, the dining room was empty.
Marco directed the staff to clear the plates. I stood up to help, my hands automatically reaching for the wine glasses.
"Emma."
Luca’s voice stopped me.
"Leave the glasses," he said. "Come to my office."
My stomach twisted. I had just ruined his engagement dinner. Even if I was right, rich men didn't like being embarrassed in their own homes.
I followed him down the long, dim hallway to his study.
He sat behind his massive oak desk and pointed to a leather chair.
"Sit."
I sat.
He picked up the heavy gold bracelet that had fallen out of Vanessa's purse.
He turned it over in his hands.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked.
"It's a bracelet, sir."
"It's not hers," Luca said quietly.
He pressed a small latch on the side of the thick gold band. The bracelet popped open, revealing a hidden compartment.
Inside was a tiny, folded piece of paper.
He unfolded it and slid it across the desk toward me.
I looked down.
It was a photograph.
Not of Vanessa. Not of Luca.
It was a picture of my father, sitting in his wheelchair on the front porch of our small house on the West Side. Taken from across the street. Recently.
I felt all the blood drain from my face.
"Why..." I choked on the word. "Why does she have a picture of my father?"
Luca looked at me, his eyes dark and unreadable.
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"Because," he said softly, "Vanessa didn't just change the catering numbers today, Emma. She’s been blackmailing your family for six months. And I need to know why you never told me."
TITLE: The Secret Behind The West Side Restaurant
