Chapter 3 - The Secret Beneath The Oak Boards
I stared at the brass key resting on the crisp white tablecloth.
It was the spare key to my childhood home. The one my mother kept hidden inside a fake rock on the front porch. Blake had taken everything.
“What did you find?” I asked, my voice trembling.
Blake just backed away toward the front hallway. “Ask your mother. Oh wait, you can’t. You’ll just have to dig it up yourself. If you get there before the bulldozers do.”
Two of Luca’s security men stepped into the dining room, blocking Blake’s path. They looked at Luca for a command.
“Let him leave,” Luca said quietly. “He won’t get far. Silvio is waiting by his car.”
Blake turned and hurried out of the mansion.
Teresa reached out and squeezed my hand. “Go, child. Do not let that man take your history from you.”
I ran to the staff quarters, grabbed my wool coat, and met Luca at the front steps. A sleek black SUV was waiting. Luca opened the passenger door for me himself—something nobody had ever done for a maid.
The drive across the city was a blur of streetlights and rain.
I clutched my mother’s ring in my palm, the cold metal digging into my skin. “Mr. Moretti, you don’t have to do this. This is my mess.”
“Nora,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “Arthur Volante is my mess. If Blake used him to steal your home, our messes are intertwined. And please, outside of my mother’s house, call me Luca.”
When we pulled onto Elm Street, my stomach plummeted.
A chain-link construction fence had already been erected around my mother’s small property. A large sign read: Future Site of Horizon Luxury Condos. A heavy padlock secured the front gate.
“He wasn't lying,” I whispered, staring at the dark, empty house. “They’re going to tear it down.”
Luca put the SUV in park. He stepped out into the drizzle, walked to the trunk, and pulled out a heavy pair of bolt cutters.
“Wait here,” he instructed.
I watched in shock as the wealthy, polished billionaire walked to the fence, snapped the heavy padlock like a twig, and tossed it into the wet grass. He opened the gate and waved me over.
We hurried up the porch steps. I used the brass key Blake had left behind. The front door creaked open, revealing the empty, hollow shell of my childhood.
All the furniture was gone. The floral wallpaper was peeling.
“The bedroom closet,” I said, my voice echoing in the empty space.
I led Luca down the short hallway. My mother’s room smelled faintly of dust and her lavender perfume. I dropped to my knees inside the small closet, running my hands over the old oak floorboards.
“Here,” I said, my fingers catching on a board that felt slightly raised.
Luca knelt beside me. His large, tattooed hands gripped the edge of the wood. With a sharp pull, he pried the board loose. It snapped with a loud crack, revealing a dark, dusty cavity between the floor joists.
I reached inside.
My fingers brushed against cold metal. I pulled out a heavy, rusted lockbox.
It wasn't locked. The latch had been forced open—probably by Blake.
I opened the lid.
Inside was a stack of yellowed envelopes, bound with a rubber band. Beneath them lay a small, tarnished silver pocket watch.
I picked up the first envelope. It was addressed to my mother, Miriam Ellis. The return address was a law firm in Chicago.
I slid the letter out and unfolded the crisp paper.
“What is it?” Luca asked gently.
I read the first paragraph, and the air left my lungs.
Dear Mrs. Ellis,This letter confirms the finalization of the adoption. The biological parents have formally surrendered all rights. The child is legally yours.
I stared at the words. Adoption?
“I was adopted?” I whispered, my world tilting on its axis. “My parents... they weren't my biological parents?”
I looked closely at the date on the letter. October 14th, 1993.
I frowned, wiping a tear from my cheek. “Wait. This doesn't make sense. I was born in 1999. This letter is dated six years before I was born.”
Luca leaned closer, his eyes narrowing at the document. “Nora, look at the name of the child on the second page.”
I flipped the heavy parchment over.
Child’s legal name going forward: Marco Ellis.
My hands started to shake. “Marco? I don’t have a brother named Marco. I’m an only child.”
I dropped the letter and picked up the tarnished silver pocket watch from the bottom of the box. I pressed the small button on the top. The casing popped open.
Inside the watch cover was a small, faded photograph.
It was a picture of my mother, much younger, sitting on this very front porch. Sitting on her lap was a little boy with dark hair and striking, intense eyes. He looked to be about five years old.
Luca let out a sharp, ragged breath.
I looked up at him. The color had completely drained from his face. He was staring at the photograph as if he had just seen a ghost.
“Luca?” I asked. “What is it?”
May you like
He reached out and gently took the watch from my hands. His thumb brushed over the little boy’s face.
“I know this child,” Luca said, his voice entirely hollow. “Nora, I know exactly who this is.”
