Chapter 2 - The Man Beside The Mother
The ballroom was so quiet I could hear the rain hitting the glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Fifty-two people stared at the man sitting to the right of Luca’s mother.
Marcus Rossi.
He was sixty-two years old, with perfectly groomed silver hair and a custom Italian suit. He was the family’s chief financial officer, a man who had worked alongside Luca’s father for three decades. He had bounced Luca on his knee. He had bought Michael his first car.
And now, Bianca was pointing a trembling finger at him.
Marcus didn’t panic.
He didn’t shout.
He simply set his crystal champagne flute on the white tablecloth, his movements slow and deliberate.
“Bianca, sweetheart,” Marcus said. His voice was warm, almost pitying. “You’ve had far too much to drink. Grief and alcohol are a terrible combination.”
He looked up at Luca.
“Luca, perhaps you should have one of the guards escort your sister upstairs so she can rest. She’s embarrassing herself, and she’s upsetting Rachel.”
It was a masterclass in manipulation.
In ten seconds, he had dismissed her accusation, played the concerned uncle, and used Rachel’s obvious pain as a shield.
A few guests nodded in agreement, the tension in their shoulders dropping.
But Luca didn’t call for a guard.
He didn’t take his eyes off Marcus.
“My sister isn’t drunk,” Luca said. The quiet authority in his voice sent a chill down my spine. “She’s terrified.”
Marcus offered a small, sad smile. “She’s confused. Michael’s death was a tragedy, a horrible car accident on a slick road. We all read the police report. We all buried him.”
“Then why,” Rachel’s voice cut through the room like shattered glass, “did my husband tell her he was warning Luca about you?”
Marcus shifted his gaze to Rachel.
He looked at her the way a chess grandmaster looks at a pawn that has accidentally moved to the wrong square.
“Rachel, dear. Michael was under immense stress. The expansion into New York, the supply chain issues. His mind was… fraying. I was actually recommending he step down from his duties. Perhaps he resented me for it.”
“My husband’s mind was fine,” Rachel said, her voice shaking but her spine completely straight.
Ethan squeezed his mother’s hand. The ten-year-old boy was staring at Marcus, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.
“He was warning me, Luca,” Bianca cried, taking a step away from Marcus. “Three days before he died, Michael called me. He said millions were missing from the offshore accounts. Money that wasn’t tracked. He said Marcus was bleeding the family dry.”
Marcus sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair.
“Luca, are you really going to let her ruin your engagement dinner with these wild fantasies? Check the ledgers. Bring in independent auditors tomorrow morning. My books are immaculate.”
He sounded so confident.
So perfectly reasonable.
That was the problem with men who lied for a living. They practiced their innocence in the mirror until it became muscle memory.
Luca took a step toward the table.
His tuxedo jacket shifted, and I saw his right hand move closer to his waist. It was a tiny movement, invisible to the guests, but I was standing at the perfect angle.
He was preparing to draw a weapon at his own engagement dinner.
“If your books are immaculate,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “why did you just text your driver to bring the car to the service entrance?”
Marcus froze.
The warmth vanished from his eyes.
“Your phone has been on the table this entire time,” Luca continued. “Screen down. But the reflection is visible in the base of your champagne glass, Marcus. You just sent an emergency pickup code.”
A gasp rippled through the guests.
Marcus slowly placed his hands flat on the table.
“I am an old man,” Marcus said smoothly. “This drama is giving me a migraine. I simply wish to go home.”
He started to stand.
“Sit down,” Luca commanded.
Marcus ignored him. He stood to his full height and buttoned his jacket. As he did, his left sleeve pulled back just a fraction of an inch.
The chandelier light caught something metallic on his wrist.
I wouldn’t have noticed it.
I was just the maid, standing near the dessert cart, trying to keep my breathing steady.
But Ethan noticed.
The little boy let go of Rachel’s hand and took a step forward, his eyes wide.
“Where did you get that?” Ethan asked. His high, clear voice echoed in the silent ballroom.
Marcus paused, looking down at the boy. “Excuse me?”
Ethan pointed a small, shaking finger at Marcus’s left wrist.
“That watch,” Ethan said. “The silver one with the blue face.”
Marcus quickly pulled his sleeve down. “It’s a standard timepiece, Ethan. I bought it in Geneva.”
“No,” Ethan said. His voice was getting louder, the fear being replaced by a child’s absolute certainty. “That’s my dad’s watch.”
Rachel immediately looked at Marcus’s wrist. Her breath hitched.
“Ethan is mistaken,” Marcus said, looking at Luca. “It’s a similar model, perhaps.”
“Take it off,” Luca said.
“Luca, this is absurd.”
“Take the watch off, Marcus, and put it on the table. Right now.”
Marcus hesitated. For the first time all evening, a bead of sweat appeared at his temple. He slowly unclasped the heavy silver watch and placed it on the white linen.
Luca picked it up. He turned it over.
His face drained of all color.
“There’s an engraving on the back,” Luca whispered.
He looked at Rachel.
Rachel was already crying. She didn’t need to look at it.
“‘To Michael,’” she recited, her voice breaking. “‘For all of our tomorrows. Love, Rachel.’”
The ballroom erupted in a collective gasp.
Luca’s grip on the watch tightened until his knuckles turned white. He stared at the man who had been a second father to him.
“The police report,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm, “stated that Michael’s watch was destroyed in the fire when his car went into the ravine.”
Marcus swallowed hard. “He… he gave it to me. The week before he died. As a token of appreciation.”
“You’re a liar,” Ethan screamed, stepping in front of his mother.
The ten-year-old boy looked Marcus dead in the eye, unleashing eighteen months of heartbreak.
“He was wearing it the morning he died! I hugged him goodbye before school, and the metal scratched my cheek!”
Complete silence.
The child had just destroyed the alibi of a mastermind.
Marcus’s eyes darted toward the ballroom doors. Two of his personal security men were standing near the exit. He gave them a nearly imperceptible nod.
But before Marcus could move, the woman sitting next to him finally spoke.
Rosa Moretti.
Luca’s mother.
She was seventy years old, draped in black silk, holding a rosary in her lap. She hadn’t spoken a single word all evening.
She turned her head slowly and looked at Marcus.
“You told the police you were with me the night Michael’s car went off the road,” Rosa said softly.
Marcus looked at her, his face pale. “I was, Rosa. I was at your house. We were drinking tea.”
Rosa stood up.
She reached into her small velvet clutch and pulled out a heavy, dirt-stained piece of fabric.
It was a man’s silk handkerchief.
“If you were drinking tea with me in my parlor,” Rosa said, her voice echoing with the wrath of a grieving mother, “then why did my housekeeper find this in the trash can in your guest bathroom the next morning?”
She dropped the handkerchief onto the table.
It was covered in thick, dark red clay.
May you like
The exact same red clay found at the bottom of the ravine where Michael had burned to death.
TITLE: The Clay In The Handkerchief
