Chapter 2 - The Man At The End Of The Table
The silence in the dining room felt heavy enough to break the glass on the tables.
Sixty guests.
None of them moved.
Nico’s eyes traced the length of the room, passing over the flowers, the crystal, the expensive wine, until they locked onto his uncle.
Arthur Bellini.
The family patriarch since Nico’s father died.
Arthur sat perfectly still, his hands resting on the white tablecloth. He was seventy-one, impeccably dressed, and known in Chicago for two things: his aggressive corporate takeovers, and his absolute demand for family loyalty.
Ten minutes ago, Arthur had raised a glass to welcome Celeste into the family.
Now, his face was the color of ash.
“Rosa,” Nico said. His voice was dangerously quiet. “What are you saying?”
Arthur stood up.
He didn’t look at Nico. He looked directly at Celeste.
“This is an outrage,” Arthur said, his voice carrying the practiced authority of a man who owned the room. “You let a fired maid and a senile former employee ruin the most important night of your life?”
Rosa didn’t flinch.
“I am not senile, Arthur.”
“You are confused,” Arthur snapped, stepping away from his chair. “Evelyn was a troubled woman. She left this house because she was caught stealing. She was unstable.”
“She was bleeding,” Rosa corrected.
“She fell!” Arthur shouted.
The outburst shocked the room. Arthur never raised his voice.
Nico turned to his uncle. “You just said she left because she was stealing. Now you’re saying she fell?”
Arthur’s jaw tightened. He realized his mistake instantly.
“It was thirty years ago, Nico. I don’t recall the exact sequence of events of a maid’s dismissal.”
“You recall enough to shout,” Nico said.
Celeste was trembling. Not from fear, but from a rage she had clearly been holding onto for decades. She looked at the man who had bought her expensive gifts for the last eighteen months, pretending he didn’t know her.
“She didn’t fall,” Celeste said.
Arthur sneered. “You weren’t even there.”
“No,” Celeste said. “But I have the dress.”
Arthur froze.
Nico looked at his fiancée. “What dress?”
Celeste opened her small evening clutch. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely undo the clasp.
“When my mother died,” Celeste whispered, her voice cracking, “the hospital gave my foster family a plastic bag with her personal effects.”
She pulled something out of her purse.
It wasn't a dress. It was a heavy, tarnished silver pocket watch.
“This was in the pocket of her coat,” Celeste said.
Arthur took a step back. “Where did you get that?”
Nico stared at the watch. I recognized it too. Every maid in the house knew about the missing Bellini family watch. It was a legendary piece of missing jewelry, supposedly lost by Nico’s father.
“She didn't steal it,” Celeste said, looking right at Arthur. “You gave it to her. To buy her silence.”
Arthur’s eyes darted toward the exit.
“Nico,” Arthur said, his tone shifting into something desperate and placating. “Listen to me. These women are trying to destroy our family.”
Nico didn't look at him. He reached out and gently took the watch from Celeste’s hand.
He ran his thumb over the engraved silver casing.
Then he pressed the latch.
The watch popped open.
Nico looked at the inside of the lid. His breath caught.
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“Uncle Arthur,” Nico whispered, staring at whatever was inside the watch. “Why is your face scratched out?”
TITLE: The Picture Inside The Watch
