Chapter 3 - THE PHOTOGRAPH BENEATH THE FLOORBOARDS
Every eye in the dining room snapped to Marcus.
He sat at the head of the table, his silver hair perfectly combed, his tailored suit immaculate.
He didn’t look panicked.
He looked annoyed.
“Vanessa is hysterical,” Marcus said calmly, dabbing his mouth with a linen napkin. “She’s trying to drag me down to save herself.”
Luca didn’t move. He held the gold bracelet in his fist.
“Is she?”
Marcus stood up slowly. “Luca, we’ve been brothers for thirty years. I stood up at your wedding. I helped carry your wife’s casket. You think I care about an old piece of jewelry?”
Emily was shaking.
I put my arm around her shoulders. She leaned into me, her hand resting heavily on her pregnant belly.
“Dad,” she whispered. “I want to go home.”
Luca’s expression softened for a fraction of a second when he looked at his daughter.
Then it turned to stone as he looked back at Marcus.
“Marco,” Luca said to his head of security. “Take Emily to my private study. Claire, stay with her. Lock the door.”
I nodded, guiding Emily away from the dining room.
As we walked down the grand hallway, the heavy oak doors shut behind us, muffling the sudden explosion of shouting.
The study was quiet, smelling of expensive leather and old paper.
I locked the door and helped Emily onto the plush sofa.
She was pale, her breathing shallow.
“Are you okay?” I asked, pouring her a glass of water from a crystal pitcher. “Is the baby okay?”
“He’s kicking,” she managed a weak smile. “I think he hates shouting.”
“Here.” I handed her the water.
She took a sip, but her hands were trembling so badly water spilled onto her wool coat.
She reached into her coat pocket for a tissue.
Instead, she pulled out a worn, folded photograph.
She stared at it, her brow furrowing.
“This isn’t mine,” she said.
I sat beside her. “What is it?”
She unfolded the photo.
It was old, the edges yellowed.
It showed Emily’s mother, young and beautiful, standing in front of the Maple Street house.
But she wasn’t standing with Luca.
She was standing next to Marcus.
And Marcus had his arm wrapped securely around her waist, looking at her with a level of intimacy that made my stomach turn.
“Why was this in your pocket?” I asked.
Emily looked horrified. “When Vanessa grabbed my coat earlier… she pushed it against my chest. She must have slipped this into the pocket.”
I stared at the picture.
Vanessa hadn’t just been trying to kick Emily out.
She had been trying to smuggle this photograph out of the mansion using Emily as a blind courier.
Before we could process it, the study door rattled violently.
Someone was trying the handle.
“Marco?” I called out.
No answer.
Then came a heavy, deliberate shoulder ram against the wood.
Emily grabbed my arm.
The door hinges groaned, wood splintering near the lock.
I looked around frantically and grabbed a heavy bronze bookend from Luca’s desk.
The door burst open.
It wasn’t Marco.
It was one of the men who had been sitting next to Marcus at the dining table.
He stepped inside, locking the broken door behind him.
May you like
He looked at the photograph in Emily’s hand.
“Mr. Marcus would like that back,” he said, pulling a silenced pistol from his jacket.
