Chapter 3 - THE SCARF IN THE FIREPLACE
The dining room descended into absolute chaos.
A child.
Luca stared at the faded train ticket, his chest rising and falling in heavy, jagged breaths. The invincible mafia boss looked entirely broken for a fraction of a second. His sister hadn’t just disappeared into the night—she had fled while carrying a child. His blood. His family.
“A baby,” Luca whispered, the paper trembling in his hand.
Vanessa scrambled backward, her perfect facade completely shattered. “Marcus, shut up! Don’t tell him anything else!”
But Marcus was already backing toward the large French doors leading to the gardens. Two of Luca’s men drew their weapons, the metallic clicks echoing loudly over the screams of the departing guests.
“Don’t shoot him!” Luca roared. “I need him alive!”
Marcus froze, surrounded. He looked at Luca and laughed—a dry, humorless sound.
“You think I wanted to deal with this?” Marcus sneered. “Sofia came to me the night she left. She found the ledger, yes. But she also found out about the money Vanessa and I took. She threatened to expose everything to you. So I gave her a choice. Get on a train and disappear forever, or I’d make sure she and the baby had a fatal ‘accident’ before morning.”
Luca lunged forward, grabbing Marcus by the throat and slamming him backward onto the banquet table. Crystal glasses shattered. Expensive china crashed to the floor.
“WHERE IS SHE?” Luca screamed, his composure entirely gone.
Marcus choked, gasping for air, but his sick smile remained. “You’re three years too late, Luca. The train ticket was just a courtesy. I didn’t actually let her get on it.”
My stomach turned to ice.
Luca’s grip tightened. “What did you do to my sister?”
Marcus struggled to speak. “I sent… my men… to intercept her at the station.”
Vanessa fell to her knees, sobbing hysterically. “He made me do it, Luca! Marcus forced me to help him! I didn’t want anyone to get hurt!”
Luca ignored her. He leaned his face inches from Marcus’s.
“If my sister is dead,” Luca whispered, his voice vibrating with absolute malice, “I will spend the rest of my life keeping you alive in a dark room. Do you understand me?”
Marcus coughed, his face turning purple. “Look… in her room. The fireplace.”
Luca dropped him.
Marcus collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath as Luca’s men immediately dragged him up by his arms and pinned him against the wall.
Luca didn’t say another word. He turned and sprinted out of the dining room.
I didn’t wait for permission. I hiked up my wine-stained apron and ran after him.
We raced up the grand, curving staircase to the east wing of the mansion. Sofia’s bedroom had been locked for three years. Luca hadn’t allowed anyone, not even the maids, to go inside.
He kicked the heavy mahogany door open.
The room smelled of stale air and dried lavender. Everything was exactly as she had left it. Her favorite books on the nightstand, her silver brush on the vanity.
Luca walked straight to the grand marble fireplace.
It hadn’t been lit in years. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the ash that stained his tailored pants. He reached up into the dark, soot-covered flue.
His hand grasped something.
He pulled it down.
It was a small, scorched metal lockbox.
Luca broke the cheap latch with his bare hands. He threw the lid open.
Inside was a delicate, pale pink silk scarf.
It was deeply stained with dark, dried blood.
Luca let out a guttural, agonizing sound. It was the sound of a man having his heart ripped out of his chest. He pulled the scarf to his face, burying his nose in the silk, sobbing violently.
I stood in the doorway, my hand covering my mouth, tears streaming down my face. Sofia was the kindest person in this house. She used to sit with me in the kitchen and help me fold napkins when I was overwhelmed. She didn’t deserve this.
“She’s gone,” Luca wept, holding the bloody silk against his cheek. “My little sister is gone.”
But as I stared at the scarf, a memory violently clicked into place.
I walked slowly into the room.
“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered.
He didn’t look up.
I fell to my knees beside him. I reached out, my trembling fingers gently touching the edge of the pink silk.
“Sir, look at the hem,” I said softly.
Luca slowly lowered the scarf, his eyes red and bloodshot. He looked down at the fabric.
Along the bottom edge, embroidered in tiny, silver thread, were the initials: V. B.
Luca stared at it.
“Vanessa Bellini,” I whispered.
Luca stopped breathing.
“Sofia didn’t own a pink silk scarf, sir,” I said, my voice gaining strength. “She hated the color pink. Vanessa bought this scarf for herself in Paris four years ago. She used to complain that the silk was too fragile.”
Luca’s sorrow instantly vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating fury.
He looked at the dried blood on the fabric.
“It’s a fake,” Luca realized, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Marcus planted this to make me believe she was dead.”
“If he wanted you to believe she was dead,” I said, my heart pounding, “then she has to be alive. He just didn’t want you looking for her.”
Luca stood up, the bloody scarf clutched in his fist. He walked over to Sofia’s vanity.
Resting on the glass was a beautiful silver pocket watch. It belonged to their grandfather. Sofia used to wind it every night.
Luca picked it up and pressed the latch. The silver cover popped open.
He stared at the face of the watch, and his jaw dropped.
“Emma,” Luca said.
I rushed to his side.
The glass face of the watch had been removed. Wedged behind the ticking hands was a tiny, folded piece of paper.
Luca pulled it out with trembling fingers and unfolded it.
It was a handwritten note in Sofia’s messy, rushed handwriting.
“Luca. If you find this, it means I made it out. Don’t trust the police. Don’t trust Marcus. Look for the angel in the snow.”
May you like
I gasped.
“The angel in the snow,” I repeated, staring at the note. “Mr. Moretti… I know exactly where she is.”
