Chapter 3 - [THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE LEATHER PURSE]
The guests didn't need to be told twice.
Chairs scraped frantically against the hardwood floor as thirty of the city’s wealthiest elites grabbed their coats and practically ran for the exits. Nobody looked back. They knew better than to be in the room when Luca Moretti locked the doors.
Within ninety seconds, the massive dining hall was completely empty, save for Marco standing guard by the frosted glass entrance.
The heavy deadbolt clicked into place.
It was the loudest sound I had ever heard.
“Mom,” Tyler whispered, clinging to my arm. He was trembling violently. “Mom, she has Sarah’s bracelet. Why does she have Sarah’s bracelet?”
I pulled him against my chest, wrapping my arms around him just like I did when he was a little boy waking up from a nightmare. But this was no nightmare. This was real, and it was happening right in front of us.
“I don’t know, baby,” I whispered, kissing his forehead. “We’re going to find out.”
At the head of the table, Luca still held Vanessa’s wrist. His grip wasn't brutal, but it was inescapable.
“Three years ago,” Luca said, his voice deadly calm. “A girl named Sarah was struck by a black SUV on 4th Avenue. The driver never stopped. She bled to death on the asphalt.”
Vanessa was sobbing now, her perfectly styled hair falling into her face. “Luca, please. You’re scaring me.”
“Where did you get the bracelet, Vanessa?”
“I found it!” she cried. “I swear, I just found it in my uncle’s car! I thought it was pretty. I didn’t know who it belonged to!”
Luca stared at her. His uncle, Silvio Bellini, was a man Luca had cut ties with two years ago over suspected drug trafficking.
“You found a broken silver bracelet with cheap solder on it in Silvio’s car, and you decided to wear it to our engagement dinner?” Luca asked softly. “Don’t insult my intelligence.”
Vanessa tried to pull her arm away. “I didn’t hit her! Silvio did! He was driving drunk, and he hit her! I was just in the passenger seat!”
Tyler let out an agonizing sound, his knees buckling. I caught him, bearing his weight as he collapsed against a dining chair.
The woman standing in front of us had watched my son’s fiancé die. She had stolen a piece of her jewelry from her dying body. And then, years later, she had rejected my son from a charity program, telling him he wasn't good enough.
Luca’s disgust was absolute. He let go of her wrist as if touching her made him physically sick.
“Take off the ring,” Luca commanded.
Vanessa gasped. “Luca, no. Please. We can fix this. My uncle—”
“Take off my mother’s ring,” Luca said, his voice echoing in the empty room. “Before I cut the finger off to get it.”
Vanessa sobbed, frantically tugging the massive diamond from her left hand. Her hands were shaking so badly that when the ring finally slid off, she dropped it.
It bounced on the floor, rolling under the table.
She dropped to her knees to find it, her expensive designer purse sliding off her shoulder. The leather bag hit the ground, spilling its contents across the polished oak floor.
Lipstick. A compact mirror. A set of keys.
And a single, glossy photograph.
It slid across the floor, stopping inches from my shoe.
I looked down.
My breath caught in my throat.
It was a picture of a little girl, maybe four or five years old. She had dark, curly hair and striking blue eyes. She was sitting on a swing in what looked like a fenced-in courtyard, clutching a stuffed rabbit.
I slowly bent down and picked it up.
There was something overwhelmingly familiar about the slope of the little girl’s nose. The curve of her smile.
Tyler slowly lifted his head from his hands. His bloodshot eyes fell on the photograph in my trembling fingers.
He stopped breathing.
“No,” Tyler whispered.
He ripped himself out of my arms and snatched the photo. He stared at it, his chest heaving as if he were suffocating.
“Tyler?” I asked, terrified. “Who is that?”
Tyler dropped to his knees, clutching the photograph to his chest. A wail tore out of his throat—a sound of such profound, shattered grief that it made Marco look away.
“They told me she died,” Tyler sobbed, rocking back and forth. “The social workers told me she died in the incubator!”
My mind went entirely blank.
Sarah was pregnant when she was killed. The doctors had managed to deliver the baby prematurely, but Tyler was completely lost to his addiction. A week later, Child Protective Services told him the fragile infant’s heart had given out.
I fell to my knees beside my son, looking at the picture of the beautiful, living little girl.
My granddaughter.
“She’s alive,” Tyler wept, kissing the glossy paper. “Mom, my baby is alive.”
I looked up.
Vanessa had found the diamond ring. She slowly stood up, clutching it to her chest. The terror in her eyes was gone, replaced by a cold, desperate malice.
“Yes, she’s alive,” Vanessa whispered. “My uncle’s people adopted her through a private agency.”
Luca stepped toward her, his fists clenched. “Where is she, Vanessa?”
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Vanessa took a step back, holding her phone up. Her thumb hovered over the screen.
“Don’t come any closer, Luca,” she warned, her voice trembling but vicious. “If I press this button, my uncle will make sure that little girl completely disappears tonight.”
