Chapter 2 - THE SILVER LOCKET IN THE RAIN
The silence in the dining room was so absolute I could hear the rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Thirty-two of Chicago’s most dangerous elites held their breath.
Luca Moretti didn't move. He stood perfectly still, his dark eyes locked on the frail, sixty-five-year-old woman in the faded blue coat.
“What about her father?” Luca asked, his voice dropping to a terrifying, quiet rumble.
Vanessa lunged forward, grabbing her mother’s arm. “Stop it! You’re senile! You don't know what you’re saying!”
Luca didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to.
“Take your hand off her, Vanessa.”
Vanessa froze. She slowly released her mother’s arm, her champagne gown trembling as she backed away.
Mrs. Miller took a shaky breath, her eyes filling with tears. She looked at Luca with a mixture of profound sorrow and desperate courage.
“The little girl’s name is Mia,” Mrs. Miller whispered. “And her father didn't abandon Vanessa. He didn't run away six years ago like she told everyone.”
“Who was he?” Luca demanded softly.
“He was your younger brother,” Mrs. Miller wept. “Julian.”
The room erupted into shocked gasps.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Julian Moretti. He had been the beloved, charismatic heir to the family who supposedly died in a tragic, solitary boating accident six years ago.
Luca’s face drained of all color. His imposing, terrifying presence seemed to fracture for a single second.
“Julian?” Luca breathed, stepping closer. “Julian didn't have any children. He was engaged to someone else when he died.”
“He didn't know about Mia,” Mrs. Miller cried. “Vanessa hid the pregnancy. She knew Julian would never leave his fiancée for her. But she knew that if she had a Moretti child, she could use it as leverage later. So she gave the baby to me in secret. She paid me to stay hidden in the suburbs.”
Vanessa’s face twisted in sheer panic. “She’s lying! Julian is not the father! She’s just a crazy old woman trying to extort you!”
“Then why are you shaking, Vanessa?” Luca asked coldly.
He turned to me.
“Emma.”
I jumped slightly. “Yes, sir?”
“Go to the car. Bring the child inside.”
“Don't!” Vanessa screamed, lunging toward the hallway.
Two of Luca’s bodyguards stepped seamlessly into her path, blocking her escape.
I didn't wait. I turned and sprinted toward the grand foyer, pushing through the heavy oak front doors and out into the freezing Chicago rain.
The sprawling driveway was lined with luxury cars. Mrs. Miller had pointed toward a rusted, ten-year-old sedan parked near the security gates.
I ran across the wet asphalt, the rain soaking through my black uniform.
“Mia!” I called out, pulling my sweater tight against the cold.
I reached the old sedan. The streetlight illuminated the backseat.
I wiped the rain from the glass and peered inside.
There was a small pink backpack resting on the faded upholstery. A coloring book. A half-eaten apple.
But the backseat was empty.
My stomach plummeted. I yanked the door handle. It was unlocked.
I leaned inside, frantic. “Mia? Are you in here?”
Silence.
I backed out of the car, rain stinging my eyes. I looked frantically around the dark, sprawling estate grounds. The gates were closed. The security guards were at their posts. A six-year-old girl couldn't have just vanished.
Then, a glint of metal caught my eye on the wet pavement.
Just beneath the rear tire of the sedan, something was shining in the rain.
I knelt down, my knees soaking in the icy puddle, and picked it up.
It was a heavy, silver locket.
The chain was broken, as if it had been ripped from someone’s neck.
I wiped the mud from the silver casing. It was an expensive, custom-made piece, entirely out of place for a woman living in poverty like Mrs. Miller.
I pressed the small latch on the side. The locket popped open.
Inside was a tiny, perfectly preserved photograph of Julian Moretti holding a newborn baby.
But it wasn't the photograph that made my blood run cold.
It was the engraving on the inside of the silver lid.
I stared at the words, the rain washing over my trembling hands.
To Vanessa. For our beautiful secret. - Julian.
Vanessa hadn't hidden the child from Julian. Julian had known.
And if Julian had known, then the story of his tragic, solitary boating accident was a lie.
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Suddenly, a heavy hand clamped over my mouth from behind, yanking me backward into the shadows of the hedges.
TITLE: THE SCAR ON THE WRIST
