Chapter 2
The dining room held its collective breath.
The silver-haired man’s hand stopped moving inside his tailored jacket.
Luca didn't blink. He didn't step back.
Instead, the thirty-six-year-old mafia boss moved deliberately, placing himself directly between his trembling mother and the man Vanessa had called her uncle.
“Keep your hand exactly where it is,” Luca ordered, his voice dangerously low.
The older man smiled, a thin, humorless stretch of his lips.
“I’m not reaching for a weapon, Luca.”
“I don’t care what you’re reaching for, Arthur. Take your hand out slowly. Empty.”
Arthur withdrew his hand.
His fingers were empty.
But Vanessa let out a broken sob, burying her face in her hands.
“Vanessa, look at me,” Luca said, his eyes never leaving Arthur. “What did he do to your mother?”
Vanessa shook her head.
“I can’t.”
Teresa Moretti squeezed my hand so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“Tell him, Vanessa,” the old woman whispered. “Or I will.”
Arthur buttoned his jacket calmly, looking around at the thirty-eight horrified guests.
“This is hardly the time or place for family history. We are here to celebrate an engagement.”
“The engagement is suspended,” Luca said instantly.
Vanessa’s head snapped up.
“Luca, please. Don’t do this.”
“You lied to me,” Luca said, his voice void of the warmth it had held an hour ago. “You brought a man into my home—to the table where my mother sits—who my father explicitly banned. You hid your mother’s connection to my family.”
Arthur stepped closer to the table.
“Your father was a hypocrite, Luca. He banned me because he couldn't stand looking at a man who knew his deepest secret.”
Teresa stood up.
Her chair scraped loudly against the marble floor.
“Do not speak about my husband,” she commanded.
Her voice wasn't weak anymore. The stroke had taken her coordination, but it hadn't taken her authority.
Arthur laughed softly.
“Oh, Teresa. You still think your husband was a saint? You think he was protecting Vanessa’s mother out of the goodness of his heart?”
He slowly reached into his left pocket and pulled out a tarnished silver compact mirror.
It was heavily scratched, but the intricate floral engraving was unmistakable.
Teresa gasped, falling back into her chair.
I quickly caught her arm to steady her.
“Mrs. Moretti?” I whispered.
She couldn't speak. She was staring at the silver compact as if it were a ghost.
Arthur placed the mirror on the white tablecloth, right next to Teresa’s index card.
“Recognize this, Teresa?” Arthur asked softly.
Luca looked at the compact, then at his mother.
“Mom, what is that?”
Teresa’s lips trembled.
“It belonged to your sister.”
The room went dead silent.
I felt a cold chill run down my spine.
I had worked in this house for eleven months. I had cleaned every room, dusted every portrait, and organized the family archives.
Luca Moretti didn't have a sister.
He was the eldest of three brothers. There were no daughters in the Moretti family.
Luca stared at his mother.
“What are you talking about? I don't have a sister.”
Teresa closed her eyes, tears spilling down her wrinkled cheeks.
“Before you were born, sweetheart. You had a sister. She died when she was two years old.”
Luca looked as though he had been struck.
“And my father gave her compact mirror to Vanessa’s mother?”
“No,” Arthur interrupted, his voice laced with venom. “Your father didn't give it to her. Vanessa’s mother took it.”
Vanessa cried out. “Stop it, Arthur!”
“She took it,” Arthur continued, ignoring Vanessa completely. “Because Vanessa’s mother didn't just visit this house on your tenth birthday, Luca. She was the nanny who was supposed to be watching your sister the day she drowned.”
The chandeliers seemed to dim.
Luca turned slowly toward Vanessa.
“Your mother was our nanny?”
Vanessa couldn't look at him. She stared at the floor, sobbing quietly.
“And that’s not the best part,” Arthur said, picking up a butter knife and tapping it against his crystal water glass.
Clink. Clink.
“Your father didn't ban me because I was dangerous. He banned me because I found out the truth about that drowning.”
Arthur pointed the knife at Teresa.
“Tell him, Teresa. Tell your son why his father paid my wife a quarter of a million dollars the day after the funeral.”
Teresa looked at me. Her eyes were begging for help, but there was nothing I could do.
“He paid her,” Teresa whispered, “to take the blame.”
Luca stepped back. “What?”
Arthur smiled.
“Vanessa’s mother didn't let the child drown, Luca. Your father did.”
And as the room erupted into chaos, Arthur tossed the silver compact toward Luca.
It popped open on the table.
May you like
But the photograph inside wasn't of a baby girl.
It was a photograph of a young Teresa Moretti, holding hands with Arthur.
