A Child’s Drawing In The Wrong Hands

My hands shook as I picked up the photograph.

"I didn't know," I whispered.

I stared at the image of my father. He looked tired. He had his thick wool blanket draped over his knees. The timestamp in the corner showed it was taken three days ago.

Luca watched me carefully.

"You expect me to believe your mother's restaurant hasn't been paying protection money to Vanessa’s cousin?" he asked.

I looked up, anger suddenly replacing the fear.

"My mother pays her taxes and her mortgage, Mr. Moretti. That’s it. We don't deal with the mob. We sell pasta."

Luca leaned back in his leather chair.

"Then why is Vanessa holding a picture of your father in a smuggler's bracelet?"

I didn't have an answer.

My mind raced back to the last few months. My mother working double shifts. My father refusing to go to physical therapy, saying it was "too expensive right now." The strange, quiet arguments my parents had in the kitchen when they thought I was asleep.

"You didn't know," Luca said. It wasn't a question this time.

"No."

He sighed, rubbing his temples. The anger that had fueled him in the dining room was gone, replaced by a deep, exhausting burden.

"Vanessa wasn't just my fiancée," Luca said quietly. "Her family controls the docks. Marrying her was supposed to bring peace between our families. But she got greedy. She started using my name to extort local businesses."

He looked at the photograph in my hand.

"Including yours."

"Why us?" I asked, my voice cracking. "We have nothing."

"Because of what your mother’s restaurant sits on," Luca said. "The land. It's the access point to the new rail line. Vanessa’s cousin has been trying to force your family into bankruptcy so they can buy it for pennies."

I felt sick.

All the late fees. The sudden health inspector visits. The vandalism last month.

It wasn't bad luck. It was a coordinated attack.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, looking him in the eye. "I'm just a maid."

Luca stood up and walked around the desk.

"You aren't just a maid, Emma," he said, stopping right in front of me. "You’re the woman who just saved my son's life."

I frowned. "Leo?"

"The catering company Vanessa hired," Luca said, his voice tightening. "The men who came into my house today to drop off that drawing... they weren't here for the money."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silver object.

He placed it on the desk next to the photograph.

It was a heavy, silver pocket watch.

I gasped.

"That’s my father’s," I said, reaching for it. The glass was cracked, but the inscription on the back was still there: Per Sempre.

"My security team stripped the catering van before they kicked the drivers off the property," Luca said. "They found this on the front seat. Along with zip ties and chloroform."

I covered my mouth.

"They weren't going to kidnap Leo," Luca said quietly. "They were going to kidnap you."

I stepped back. "Me? Why?"

Before Luca could answer, the office door burst open.

Marco stood in the doorway, breathless.