Chapter 2 - THE SILVER POCKET WATCH
Cold air rushed out of the floral refrigerator, but Luca Moretti didn’t feel it.
He stood perfectly still.
The elderly florist’s words hung in the freezing room, heavier than the scent of the hundreds of white roses surrounding them.
Your fiancée was married to my son.
Luca looked down at the photograph in the trembling woman’s hands.
It was unmistakably Vanessa. Her hair was lighter, her smile less practiced, but the sharp, calculating angle of her jaw was identical. She was clutching the arm of a handsome young man with kind eyes and a nervous smile.
"What is your name?" Luca asked, his voice dangerously quiet.
"Eleanor," the woman whispered, pulling Luca’s expensive suit jacket tighter around her frail shoulders. "Eleanor Vance. My son's name is David."
Daniel, Luca's head of security, stepped forward, his hand instinctively dropping to the weapon holstered at his waist. "Boss, should I secure the perimeter? If Miss Bellini—"
"No," Luca said, never taking his eyes off the photograph. "Let my fiancée enjoy her champagne. For now."
He gently took the picture from Eleanor. The edges were worn soft, a testament to how many times a grieving mother had traced her thumb over her son’s face.
"You said you've been looking for him for six years," Luca said, his mind moving with the terrifying precision that had made him the most feared man in Chicago. "Why today? Why here?"
Eleanor reached into the deep pocket of her florist’s apron.
Her hands were shaking so badly she nearly dropped what she was holding.
"Because of this," she choked out.
She opened her palm.
Resting on her calloused skin was a heavy, antique silver pocket watch. The silver was tarnished, and the glass face was cracked in a jagged web. But what caught Luca’s eye was the deep, rusted brown stain soaked into the intricate engraving on the back.
Blood.
"That's David's," Eleanor sobbed. "His grandfather gave it to him. He never took it off. Not even to sleep."
Luca didn't touch it. "Where did you find it?"
"In her suite," Eleanor whispered, terrified. "When I came upstairs to deliver the bridal bouquet, Vanessa was in the bathroom. Her designer purse had tipped over on the bed. The watch spilled out."
Answer one: Vanessa hadn't just abandoned her past. She was carrying a bloody trophy of it.
But that immediately opened two more terrifying questions: If David was dead, who killed him? And why on earth would Vanessa keep the evidence in her handbag on the night of her engagement to a mafia boss?
"She caught me holding it," Eleanor cried. "She didn't say a word. She just grabbed my arm, dragged me down the service stairs, and shoved me in here. She said if I made a sound, she would ensure I ended up exactly where David did."
Luca’s jaw clenched. The muscles in his neck pulled tight.
He had spent the last year believing Vanessa Bellini was the polished, perfect daughter of a European shipping magnate. He had invited her into his home. Into his inner circle.
He looked at Daniel. "Take Mrs. Vance to my private office. Lock the door from the inside. Do not open it for anyone but me."
"Yes, sir. What about you?"
"I need to speak to the maid who supposedly 'fell' in this cooler."
Luca left the kitchen.
The engagement party was still in full swing in the grand dining room. He could hear the clinking of crystal glasses and the smooth jazz playing from the grand piano. He could hear Vanessa's musical laugh echoing down the marble hallway.
He didn't turn toward the music.
He turned toward the servant's quarters.
The hallway was narrow, lined with modest doors. He stopped at the third one on the left and knocked.
No answer.
"Natalie," he said, his voice firm. "Open the door."
He heard a sudden scramble inside. Something heavy hit the floor.
Luca didn't wait. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.
Natalie Brooks was standing beside a narrow twin bed. Her uniform was crumpled, her face was pale, and her injured left foot was bare, the horrific purple bruise now wrapped in a messy bandage.
On the bed was a cheap canvas duffel bag. She was desperately shoving clothes into it.
Reversal: She wasn't just afraid of losing her job. She was running for her life.
"Going somewhere?" Luca asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
Natalie froze, a stack of folded shirts falling from her trembling hands. "Mr. Moretti. I... I was just—"
"Packing," Luca finished for her. "Despite the fact that I just assured you your job was safe."
Tears spilled over Natalie's eyelashes. "You don't understand. I can't stay here. She'll ruin me."
"Vanessa?"
Natalie flinched at the name. "Please, sir. Just let me leave. If I'm gone before the party ends, she might let it go."
Luca walked slowly toward her. He was a large man, intimidating by nature, but he kept his hands visible, softening his posture. "She locked an elderly woman in a freezing room, Natalie. And you stood in my dining room, carrying eighty pounds of glass and water on a sprained ankle, and lied to my face to protect her."
"I had to!" Natalie cried, her voice cracking.
"Why?" Luca demanded. "I pay you. I protect my staff. What could my fiancée possibly hold over you that would make you risk your own life?"
Natalie looked at the floor, sobbing quietly. Then, slowly, she reached into her apron pocket.
Her hands were shaking just as badly as Eleanor’s had.
She pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and held it out to him.
Luca took it.
It wasn't a blackmail letter. It wasn't a threat.
It was a child's drawing.
Crayon on construction paper. It depicted a stick-figure woman with brown hair holding hands with a little boy. Above them, written in clumsy, oversized letters, were the words: I LOVE AUNTIE NAT.
"Who is this?" Luca asked softly.
May you like
Natalie looked up, her eyes wide with absolute terror.
"That's Leo," she whispered. "My six-year-old nephew. Vanessa found out where he goes to school. She said if I opened the cooler door for that old woman, the next time I went to pick Leo up... he wouldn't be there."
