Chapter 3 - THE GRAVE THAT WAS ALREADY EMPTY
“Your father.”
Luca repeated the words slowly, as if testing their weight.
“Yes,” I whispered, staring at the tarnished silver casing.
I traced the initials engraved on the back. J.B.
Jonathan Brooks.
“He died in a car accident when I was five,” I explained, my voice barely audible over the murmurs of the forty guests. “My grandfather gave him this watch on his wedding day.”
Vanessa crossed her arms, her diamond bracelets clinking together.
“This is absurd. The girl is clearly running a scam. She planted the watch to extort you, Luca.”
Luca finally turned to look at her.
The coldness in his eyes was absolute.
“Vanessa. You will go to the west sitting room. You will wait there with two of my guards until I decide what to do with you.”
Her mouth fell open.
“You’re taking the word of a maid over your fiancée?”
“I’m taking the word of the only person in this room who didn't lie to me today.”
Vanessa’s face flushed dark red.
She turned on her heel and stormed out of the music room, flanked immediately by two men in dark suits.
Luca turned back to the guests.
“Dinner is canceled. Marco will arrange cars for everyone. Have a good evening.”
It wasn't a request.
Within ten minutes, the grand dining room was empty.
The mansion, usually buzzing with staff and music, felt like a tomb.
Luca stood by the grand piano, turning the silver pocket watch over in his large hands.
I stood awkwardly near the doorway, unsure if I was still allowed to be there.
“Natalie.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sit down.”
He pointed to one of the velvet armchairs near the fireplace.
I sat.
He pulled up a chair opposite me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
“Tell me about your father.”
I swallowed hard.
“There isn't much to tell. He was a musician. He played jazz in small clubs. My mother died when I was born, so it was just him and my grandfather.”
“And the car accident?”
“He was driving home late from a gig. The police said he lost control on a wet road.”
Luca watched my face carefully.
“Did you see his body?”
The question felt like a physical blow.
“No. The casket was closed. My grandfather said it was better that way.”
Luca nodded slowly.
He looked down at the watch.
“My father, Vittorio, loved jazz. He owned three clubs in the city.”
I frowned.
“I didn't know that.”
“Most people don't. He kept his legitimate businesses very quiet.”
Luca leaned closer.
“Twenty years ago, my father’s favorite jazz club burned to the ground. Arson.”
My breath caught.
“My father died twenty years ago.”
“I know.”
Luca opened the silver pocket watch.
The glass face was cracked. The hands were frozen at exactly 11:42.
“The fire at the club started at 11:42 PM,” Luca said quietly.
The room spun slightly.
“Are you saying... my father didn't die in a car accident?”
“I’m saying my father’s enemies set that fire. And if your father was playing there that night, he was caught in the crossfire.”
I stared at him.
“But my grandfather said it was a car crash.”
“Your grandfather lied to protect you, Natalie.”
The revelation hit me so hard I felt sick.
The man who had raised me, taught me everything, had lied to me my entire life to shield me from the mafia.
“But if he died in the fire,” I whispered, “how did his watch get inside your piano today?”
Luca’s expression darkened.
“Because whoever put the listening device in the piano wanted me to find it.”
“Arthur,” I said.
“The dead apprentice.”
Luca stood up and began pacing.
“Arthur fakes his death. He approaches my fiancée using a fake story. He plants a bug in my piano. And he leaves your dead father’s watch for us to find.”
He stopped and looked at me.
“He’s leaving a trail of breadcrumbs. He’s trying to tell us something.”
“What?”
“That the people who killed our fathers are still alive.”
Before I could process that, Marco appeared in the doorway.
His face was grim.
“Boss. We searched Vanessa’s belongings, just like you asked.”
Luca turned.
“And?”
Marco walked into the room.
He wasn't holding a phone or a document.
He was holding a piece of paper, folded roughly.
“We found this tucked inside the lining of her designer purse. She tried to throw it out the window when the guards weren't looking.”
Marco handed the paper to Luca.
Luca unfolded it.
He stared at it for a long time.
Then, his face went completely pale.
He slowly turned the paper around so I could see it.
It wasn't a financial document.
It was a child’s drawing.
Drawn in bright, messy crayons.
It showed a tall man holding the hand of a little girl with dark pigtails.
They were standing in front of a piano.
And written at the top, in clumsy, childish handwriting, were the words:
To Daddy, from Natalie.
My heart stopped.
I had drawn that picture when I was four years old.
I had placed it inside my father’s casket before they buried him.
Luca looked at me, his voice trembling for the first time.
May you like
“Natalie... someone dug up your father’s grave.”
TITLE: THE SECRET IN THE MUD
