Chapter 6 - THE LIE IN THE LOCKET
“Drop the gun, Nora!” Rafael yelled again, finally managing to pin Celeste’s arms behind her back. He shoved her onto the heavy leather sofa, keeping his knee pressed against her legs to keep her down.
But I couldn't hear him.
The roaring in my ears was louder than the gunshot that still echoed in the room. I stared at the tiny photograph inside the pocket watch.
Evelyn. My Evelyn. Young, radiant, and smiling. And Vincenzo DeLuca, not glaring with malice, but looking at her with a warmth I didn’t think his face was capable of holding.
If Vincenzo hated Evelyn, if she was just a "nobody seamstress," why was her picture hidden in his most private safe?
I turned around slowly, the gun dangling uselessly in my left hand, the pocket watch clutched tightly in my right. I walked toward the hospital bed.
Vincenzo’s furious expression faltered as I approached. His eyes darted to the watch in my hand, and for the first time, genuine fear flashed across his paralyzed face.
“Where did you get that?” he hissed, struggling to sit up.
“You lied,” I said, my voice eerily calm. I held the watch up so he could see it. “You said you hated her. You said she was just a seamstress.”
Rafael turned his head, breathing heavily. “Nora, what is it?”
“It’s a picture of them,” I said, never taking my eyes off the old man in the bed. “Evelyn and Vincenzo.”
Celeste let out a cruel, breathless cackle from the couch. “Oh, this family is beautifully rotten.”
“Shut up,” Rafael snapped at her before looking back at his father. “What game are you playing, old man? Tell the truth!”
Vincenzo’s jaw trembled. He looked at me, really looked at me, and suddenly, the hatred in his eyes shattered, replaced by a profound, agonizing grief.
“You have her eyes,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I told you... you have Evelyn’s eyes.”
“Because she is my mother,” I said, the realization hitting me like a freight train. “The story about your wife having an affair, the baby in the fire… that was a lie. You made it up just now.”
Vincenzo slumped back against the pillows, suddenly looking frail and broken. “It wasn't a lie. My wife was having an affair. She was pregnant with another man’s child. But I didn't set the fire.”
“Then who did?” Rafael demanded, letting up the pressure on Celeste slightly.
“I did,” Celeste purred from beneath him.
Rafael jerked his head down to look at her. “You? You were a child twenty-nine years ago.”
“Not me, you fool. My father,” Celeste sneered. “My father found out your mother was leaving Vincenzo. If the DeLuca family fell apart, the Whitmore family would lose our biggest ally. My father set the fire to silence your mother and her bastard. He did Vincenzo a favor.”
Rafael’s face drained of color. He grabbed Celeste by the collar, hauling her halfway off the couch. “Your family murdered my mother.”
“And you were going to marry me,” she smiled, blood on her teeth from her split lip. “We are bound by blood and fire, Rafael.”
“Let her go,” I said softly.
Rafael looked at me, stunned.
“Tie her up, but let her go,” I repeated, walking closer to Vincenzo. “She’s a distraction. The truth is here.”
I sat on the edge of Vincenzo’s bed. I wasn't afraid of him anymore. He was just a sad, broken old man who had lived his whole life hiding behind lies.
“Tell me,” I demanded. “If your wife died in the fire with her baby… who am I?”
Vincenzo closed his eyes. A single tear escaped, rolling down his scarred cheek.
“You are my daughter,” he whispered.
Rafael froze.
“Evelyn was the love of my life,” Vincenzo said, his voice barely audible. “My father forced me to marry Rafael’s mother for an alliance. But I never stopped seeing Evelyn. She was my heart. When she got pregnant with you, I was terrified. If my family, or my wife's family, found out I had a child with a commoner… they would have killed you both.”
I felt the air leave my lungs.
“So when the fire happened,” Vincenzo continued, “when my wife died… Evelyn saw an opportunity. She knew as long as we were near each other, you would never be safe. So she faked a robbery at her own apartment. She left blood. And she disappeared with you.”
“You knew?” I asked, my voice breaking. “You knew she was alive?”
“I found her ten years later,” Vincenzo sobbed. “I tracked her down. I stood outside your elementary school and watched you play on the swings. I went to Evelyn and begged her to let me back into your lives.”
“And she said no,” I realized. Evelyn had always been fiercely protective. She never let me walk home alone. She never let me take pictures at school events.
“She told me my world was poison,” Vincenzo cried. “She said if I truly loved you, I would leave you alone. Let you live a clean, honest life. So I did. I walked away. I let her raise you in poverty because it was safer than my gold.”
I looked down at my hands. The hands that scrubbed floors, washed dishes, and folded laundry. My mother had chosen poverty to keep me out of a mafia war. She had chosen to clean houses so I wouldn't have to dodge bullets.
“She was a queen,” Vincenzo whispered. “And I was a coward.”
I stood up slowly. I had my answer. The mystery of my birth was solved. I was Nora DeLuca. Rafael’s half-sister.
But as I turned to look at Rafael, a new, horrifying realization dawned on me.
If Celeste’s family set the fire... and Celeste had poisoned Leo...
“Rafael,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Where is Ben?”
Rafael’s eyes widened in sheer panic. “He’s at the penthouse. With my guards.”
Celeste began to laugh. A deep, hysterical, triumphant sound.
“Your guards?” she choked out between laughs. “You mean my guards. Who do you think let me slip out tonight, Rafael? My family has owned your security team for six months.”
Rafael dropped her and lunged for his phone, dialing frantically.
He put it on speaker. It rang once. Twice.
Then a man’s voice answered. “Yeah, boss?”
“Marco,” Rafael said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Put Ben on the phone.”
There was a long, chilling pause on the other end of the line.
“I’m sorry, Boss,” Marco said coldly. “Miss Whitmore says the boy is a loose end.”
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A dial tone echoed in the room.
TITLE: The Boy In The Penthouse
