Chapter 3 - THE SHATTERED WATCH
The cottage was eerily silent, save for the sound of rain lashing against the broken windowpane.
I knelt on the rug and picked up the shattered silver watch.
The metal was still warm.
Answer one: Vanessa hadn’t just sent Paul away. She had sent someone to silence him.
Open two: What did Paul know that was worth destroying his home? And where had they taken an arthritic seventy-year-old man?
My hands shook as I pulled out my phone. I dialed Luca’s private number.
He answered on the first ring.
“Tell me you have him,” Luca said. The background noise was muffled; he was hiding in his study.
“He’s gone, Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, staring at the overturned chairs. “The cottage is trashed. There was a struggle.”
Silence hung heavy on the line.
“Get out of there, Emma. Now.”
“But Paul—”
“If whoever took him is still on the grounds, you are not safe. Go back to the kitchen. Act like you were looking for extra napkins. I will handle this.”
I hung up, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I turned to leave, but my foot caught on a heavy, leather-bound photo album lying half-hidden under the overturned sofa.
It had been sliced open.
But one photograph had slipped out and was resting against the baseboard.
I picked it up.
It was an old Polaroid, faded at the edges.
It showed a much younger Elena Moretti standing in a hospital nursery. She was holding a newborn baby wrapped in a blue blanket.
But it wasn’t Luca.
The date stamped on the bottom of the photo was August 14, 1988.
Luca was born in 1992.
Beside Elena stood a man I recognized instantly. It was Arthur Bellini. Vanessa’s father. He was looking at the baby not with joy, but with cold calculation.
I shoved the photo into my apron pocket and ran out into the rain.
When I returned to the kitchen, the atmosphere was suffocating.
Maria was washing dishes, her face tense. The hired caterers were nervously plating dessert.
Through the swinging doors, I could hear Arthur Bellini giving a toast in the dining room. His voice was booming, authoritative, and dripping with fake warmth.
“...to the merging of two great families. To my beautiful daughter, Vanessa, and the son I never had, Luca.”
I felt sick.
Luca walked into the kitchen. He had changed into a dry suit, but his eyes were dangerous.
He walked straight to me.
“Did anyone see you?” he asked in a low voice.
“No.” I pulled the photograph from my pocket and slid it onto the stainless-steel counter. “But I found this in Paul’s living room.”
Luca looked at the picture.
All the color drained from his face.
He touched the image of his mother holding the baby.
“My mother had a child before me,” he breathed. “A boy.”
“Who is he?” I asked.
“He died,” Luca said, his voice cracking. “A heart defect, two days after he was born. It destroyed her. She never spoke of it.”
He looked at the man standing next to his mother.
“Why is Arthur Bellini in the hospital room?”
Answer one: Arthur Bellini was deeply involved in the Moretti family long before he became a business partner.
Open two: If the baby died, why did Vanessa’s father care? And what did it have to do with the silver key hidden in the chair?
Suddenly, Maria dropped a stack of ceramic plates.
They shattered across the tile floor.
We spun around.
Maria was staring at the photograph on the counter. Her hands were covering her mouth.
“Maria?” Luca asked, stepping toward her. “What is it?”
Tears were streaming down her face.
“He didn’t die, Luciano,” she sobbed, backing away. “God forgive me, he didn’t die.”
The kitchen went dead silent.
“What are you talking about?” Luca demanded, his voice rising.
Maria looked frantically toward the dining room doors.
“Arthur Bellini took him,” she whispered, her whole body trembling. “Elena’s husband, your father... he wasn’t the boy’s real father. If the board found out Elena had an affair, she would have lost control of the company.”
Luca stared at her in horror. “My mother had an affair?”
“With Paul,” Maria confessed, the truth finally spilling out after thirty years. “Paul the gardener. They were in love. But she was forced to marry your father for the business.”
My mind spun. Paul was the father of Elena’s firstborn.
“Arthur Bellini found out,” Maria continued, weeping. “He blackmailed Elena. He told her he would take the baby far away, keep him safe, in exchange for fifty percent of the Moretti voting shares.”
“He stole my brother,” Luca said, the realization hitting him like a physical blow.
“And he lied,” Maria cried. “Arthur didn’t keep him safe. He gave the boy to a terrible orphanage in the city. He threw him away. Elena spent the rest of her life searching for him.”
Luca reached into his pocket and pulled out the tarnished silver key.
“What does this open, Maria?”
Maria looked at the key.
“It opens a safety deposit box at First Chicago Bank. It holds the original adoption papers. The proof of what Arthur did.”
The doors to the dining room swung open.
Arthur Bellini stood there, a thick cigar in his hand, a cruel smile on his face.
Behind him stood Vanessa, and two massive men in dark suits.
“It’s a beautiful story, Maria,” Arthur said smoothly. “But it’s time to stop talking.”
May you like
He looked at Luca.
“Give me the key, son. Or I make sure the gardener doesn’t survive the night.”
