Chapter 3 - A Ghost In The Silver Watch
“Where did you get this?”
Luca’s voice was no longer quiet. It was a low, terrifying growl that vibrated through the marble floor.
I stared at the photograph in horror. “I… I’ve never seen that before in my life. I swear.”
Teresa Moretti pushed herself up from the table, leaning heavily on her silver-handled cane. She stepped closer, her pale eyes landing on the photograph. She let out a sharp, ragged gasp and covered her mouth.
“Antonio,” she whispered, tears instantly welling in her eyes.
Grant saw an opening and lunged for it. “You see? I told you she was sick! I found that box in her closet and I took it to protect you, Mr. Moretti! She’s been obsessing over your family! She’s a dangerous gold digger, and she’s probably selling information to your enemies!”
Luca grabbed Grant by the lapels of his tailored gray suit and slammed him against the mahogany wall. The fine china on the table rattled.
“If you speak to her again, I will rip your tongue out of your head,” Luca snarled.
He let Grant drop to the floor, then turned back to me. His eyes searched mine, looking for a lie, looking for deception.
“Rachel,” Luca said, his chest heaving. “My father was assassinated twenty years ago. The police never found the crime scene photos. They were stolen from the precinct. How is this in your grandfather’s watch?”
My hands shook violently. “I don't know! I didn't put it there. The last time I opened that compartment was ten years ago.”
Teresa reached out a trembling hand and picked up the silver pocket watch. She turned it over, tracing a tiny, almost invisible engraving on the back casing.
“It wasn't her grandfather’s,” Teresa said, her voice breaking. She looked up at Luca. “This watch belonged to Elena.”
My heart stopped.
Elena was my mother. She died when I was nineteen.
“My mother?” I choked out. “Mrs. Moretti, how do you know my mother’s name? She was a waitress. She never knew anyone like you.”
Teresa’s tears spilled over her wrinkled cheeks. “Your mother wasn't a waitress, Rachel. Thirty years ago, she was my head housekeeper. And she was Antonio’s most trusted confidante.”
The dining room erupted into chaotic whispers. The guests were leaning in, hungry for the scandal.
“Daniel,” Luca barked. “Clear the room. Everyone goes home. Now.”
Within three minutes, the security team had ushered the protesting guests out the front doors. Only Luca, Teresa, Daniel, Grant, and I remained in the cavernous room.
Grant pulled himself up from the floor, straightening his jacket. “This is insane. You’re trusting a woman who has been lying to you from the start. Cancel the construction contract if you want, Moretti, but I’m leaving.”
“You aren't going anywhere,” Luca said. Daniel immediately grabbed Grant by the collar and forced him into a chair.
I was suffocating. My mother worked here? She knew the Morettis? She had a crime scene photo of a mafia boss hidden in her belongings?
I reached into the wooden box, desperate for something familiar. I pulled out the folded crayon drawing. It was a drawing of a yellow house with a crooked chimney, drawn by my six-year-old niece, Lily.
Lily was currently in the foster system. My sister had passed away, and Grant had used his high-priced lawyers during our divorce to smear my name, preventing me from getting custody. I had been fighting the state for eight months to bring her home.
As I unfolded the drawing, a small piece of lined notebook paper fluttered to the floor.
I picked it up.
It was a handwritten note, scribbled in Grant’s messy scrawl.
“Did you really think I’d let you win, Rachel? Say goodbye to Lily.”
I froze. I looked at the date on the note. It was today.
May you like
“Grant,” I whispered, the blood draining from my face. “Where is Lily?”
Grant smirked, leaning back in his chair. “She had a little field trip today. Her foster parents are so trusting.”
