Chapter 3 - THE GOLDEN POCKET WATCH
The words hung in the freezing air of the garage like shattered glass.
Luca didn't move. He didn't speak. He just stared at the little boy, his face completely hollowed out. For a second, the powerful, untouchable crime boss looked like a man who had just taken a bullet to the chest.
“She told you I hurt your mother?” Luca finally managed to whisper.
The boy nodded slowly, burying his face deeper into Bruno’s wet fur. “She said if I made a sound, you would put me in the ground with her. She said the dog was the only one who wouldn't let you hurt me.”
I felt a surge of pure, violent sickness in my stomach. Vanessa hadn't just imprisoned this child. She had psychologically tortured him, using the terrifying reputation of the Moretti family to keep a five-year-old completely paralyzed with fear.
Luca stood up. The vulnerability in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating fury that was far more frightening than any yelling.
“Emma,” Luca said, his voice completely flat. “Take the boy. Bring him to the guest suite on the third floor. Draw him a warm bath. Find him some clothes. Do not let anyone else see him.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“And Marco?” Luca called over his shoulder as the head of security appeared in the garage doorway, his gun drawn.
“Sir,” Marco said, lowering his weapon at the sight of the child.
“Keep Vanessa locked in the study. If she tries to leave, break her legs.”
Marco didn't blink. “Understood.”
I approached the boy slowly, holding out my hands. “Hi, sweetheart. My name is Emma. I'm going to get you out of here, okay? We're going to get you something warm to eat.”
He hesitated, his small fingers still tangled in Bruno’s fur.
“Bruno can come too,” I promised.
That was the only thing that worked. The boy allowed me to lift him. He weighed almost nothing, his bones feeling as fragile as a bird’s beneath the heavy, oversized wool coat. Bruno limped dutifully behind us as we crossed the rain-slicked driveway and entered the mansion through the service doors.
The house was eerily silent. The guests were gone. The catering staff had vanished.
I carried him up three flights of stairs to the safest room in the house, a massive suite with a marble bathroom. I set him down gently on the plush rug.
“What’s your name, honey?” I asked, turning on the hot water in the massive tub.
“Leo,” he whispered.
“Okay, Leo. Let’s get this heavy coat off. It’s freezing and wet.”
He didn't fight me. He stood shivering as I unbuttoned the thick, filthy wool coat. As I pulled it off his shoulders, I noticed how unnaturally heavy the right side felt. The lining was torn, hastily stitched back together with black thread.
I set the coat on the bathroom counter and helped Leo into the warm water. The moment the heat hit his skin, a massive sigh escaped his tiny chest. I gave him a bottle of expensive lavender body wash to play with, then turned my attention back to the coat.
I ran my fingers along the heavy hem. There was something hard inside the lining.
I grabbed a pair of nail scissors from the vanity and carefully snipped the black thread.
I reached inside and pulled out a heavy, solid gold object.
It was a vintage pocket watch.
The gold was tarnished, covered in what looked like dried mud and rust. The glass face was cracked in a perfect spiderweb pattern.
But it was the time frozen on the dial that caught my eye. The hands were permanently stopped at exactly 11:42.
I wiped the mud from the back casing with a towel. Engraved into the gold were three letters: A.V.M.
The bathroom door opened. Luca stood in the doorway. He had taken off his tuxedo jacket, his white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, revealing the dark tattoos wrapping around his forearms.
He looked at Leo in the tub. Then he looked at my hands.
“What is that?” Luca asked, his voice tight.
“I found it sewn into his coat,” I said, handing it to him.
The moment Luca’s fingers brushed the cold gold metal, he stopped breathing. He stared at the cracked glass, at the time frozen on the dial, and then at the initials on the back.
His hands began to shake.
“Where did he get this?” Luca demanded, his voice suddenly loud, echoing off the marble tiles.
Leo flinched in the tub, water splashing over the edge.
“Sir, please,” I said quickly, stepping between Luca and the child. “You’re scaring him.”
Luca stepped back, running a trembling hand through his dark hair. He looked like he had seen a ghost.
“Emma,” Luca whispered, holding the watch up to the light. “My brother, Alessandro, died three years ago in a car explosion. The police report said the blast happened at exactly 11:42 PM.”
I stared at the frozen hands on the cracked dial.
“I bought him this watch for his birthday,” Luca continued, his voice breaking. “And I stood in the rain and watched the mortician bury him with it in his casket.”
We both turned to look at the five-year-old boy playing in the water.
“If my brother was buried with this watch,” Luca said softly. “How did this child get it?”
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Before I could answer, Leo pointed a wet finger at Luca.
“My daddy gave it to me,” the boy said clearly. “He said if I ever got lost, I was supposed to show it to the man with the red door. But the lady took me before I could find him.”
