Chapter 4 - THE TICKING POCKET WATCH
I didn't think. I just reacted.
I threw the heavy bronze bookend with everything I had.
It struck the man squarely in the shoulder.
He grunted, stumbling backward, the silenced pistol dropping to the Persian rug.
I lunged for it, but he was faster, kicking the gun out of the way and grabbing me by the hair.
“Claire!” Emily screamed.
He threw me to the floor. My vision blurred.
He turned his attention to Emily, stepping toward the pregnant woman cowering on the sofa.
“Hand over the picture, sweetheart,” he sneered.
Suddenly, a deafening crack shattered the study’s silence.
The man froze, his eyes widening in shock.
He collapsed to his knees, then pitched forward onto the floor.
Behind him stood Luca, breathing heavily, a smoking revolver in his hand. Marco was right behind him.
“Dad!” Emily cried, throwing her arms around him.
Luca dropped the gun and held her tight. He looked at me on the floor, pulling me up with his free hand.
“Are you hurt, Claire?”
“I’m fine,” I gasped. “Mr. Moretti, look.”
I pointed to the crumpled photograph on the floor.
Luca picked it up.
As his eyes registered the image of his late wife in Marcus’s arms, his face drained of all color.
“Where did this come from?” he asked, his voice dead flat.
“Vanessa slipped it into my coat,” Emily said, crying. “Dad, what’s going on? Why did Marcus’s man attack us?”
Luca didn’t answer. He turned the photo over.
Written on the back in faded blue ink were the words:
The cabinet holds the truth. 1999.
“1999,” Luca whispered. “The year before you were born, Emily.”
He looked at Marco. “Where is Marcus?”
“He slipped out during the chaos in the dining room,” Marco said grimly. “Vanessa went with him. They’re gone, Boss.”
Luca’s jaw set. “Get the cars. We are going to Maple Street. Right now.”
“Dad, no!” Emily pleaded. “It’s too dangerous. Let the police—”
“The police can’t solve a thirty-year-old betrayal,” Luca said.
Ten minutes later, we were in the back of an armored SUV, speeding through the rainy Chicago streets.
Emily squeezed my hand the entire way.
When we pulled up to the little brick house on Maple Street, the front door was wide open.
Wood splinters covered the welcome mat.
“Stay behind me,” Luca ordered, drawing his weapon again.
We moved through the house Emily grew up in. It felt violated. Drawers were pulled out, cushions ripped open.
But the worst damage was in the basement.
We walked down the creaky wooden stairs.
The heavy steel cabinet, the one Emily’s mother had kept locked for decades, was completely forced open.
Its metal doors were twisted on their hinges.
“We’re too late,” Emily sobbed.
The shelves inside were completely bare.
Whatever secret the cabinet held, Marcus had gotten to it first.
But as Luca stepped closer to inspect the damage, his boot crunched on something metallic.
He looked down.
Lying in the dust was a silver pocket watch.
Luca picked it up. His hands began to tremble.
“Dad?” Emily asked. “Is that Marcus’s watch?”
“No,” Luca said, his voice breaking.
He snapped the watch open. Inside was a tiny engraved inscription.
He turned it toward us.
I read the words aloud:
To my beloved husband. Happy 1st Anniversary.
May you like
Luca looked at Emily, his eyes filled with a terror I had never seen in him.
“This is the watch I buried with your mother.”
