Chapter 2 - WHAT FELL FROM THE FIANCÉE’S PURSE
The silence in the dining room was deafening.
Thirty elite guests stared at Luca Moretti.
Vanessa’s face turned the color of ash. Her perfectly manicured hands gripped the edge of the long mahogany table.
“Luca,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You’re embarrassing me.”
He didn't blink.
“You didn’t answer my question, Vanessa. What kind of family are we building if it requires crushing a seven-year-old girl?”
Vanessa looked around the room, desperate for an ally. But the politicians and businessmen sat frozen. No one dared interrupt the head of the Moretti family.
“It was just a wedding detail,” she stammered, forcing a fragile, defensive laugh. “She’s a maid’s daughter, Luca. You’re acting like I committed a crime.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
He slowly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
He didn’t open it. He just set it on the table.
“The wedding is postponed,” Luca said quietly.
Vanessa gasped. “You can’t do that! My parents have invited half the city! The deposit on the cathedral—”
“Is my money,” Luca interrupted, his voice cold. “And I’m not spending another dime until I figure out who you actually are.”
He turned to the guests.
“Thank you all for coming. The evening is over. My staff will see you to your cars.”
Chairs scraped nervously against the marble floor. People moved quickly, avoiding eye contact as they hurried toward the coat check.
Vanessa was hyperventilating.
“You’re choosing them over me?” she hissed, pointing a shaking finger at me and Sophie. “You’re blowing up our entire future over a secondhand dress and a sob story?”
“I’m choosing basic human decency,” Luca replied.
He looked at me. His eyes softened immediately.
“Emily, take Sophie to the kitchen. Have Chef Antonio make her whatever she wants. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Yes, Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, my heart pounding against my ribs.
I took Sophie’s hand. She was still clutching her little white basket, her father’s photograph safely tucked inside.
But as we turned to leave, Vanessa lost her temper.
She snatched her expensive beaded clutch from the table, intending to storm out. But her hand caught the edge of a silver gravy boat.
The clutch slipped.
It hit the marble floor with a heavy, metallic crash. The clasp snapped open, and the contents spilled across the polished stone.
Lipstick. A compact mirror. A set of keys.
And a heavy, tarnished silver pocket watch.
The glass face was cracked, and the silver chain was broken at the end.
Luca froze.
He didn't look at Vanessa. He stared at the floor, all the color draining from his face.
Slowly, he walked over and picked up the watch. His large hand trembled as he traced the intricate engraving on the back.
“Where did you get this?” Luca asked. His voice wasn’t loud, but it held a dangerous, lethal edge that made the hair on my arms stand up.
Vanessa swallowed hard. She stepped backward.
“I bought it,” she lied smoothly. “At an antique shop in the Gold Coast. I was going to have it restored for you as a wedding gift.”
Luca looked up at her. His eyes were entirely black.
“My father was holding this watch when he died in his hospital bed three years ago. The nurses said it vanished before I arrived.”
Vanessa’s throat shifted. “Well, perhaps whoever stole it pawned it. I found it in a shop, Luca. I swear.”
I squeezed Sophie’s hand, pulling her toward the kitchen doors. I just wanted to get my daughter away from this toxicity.
But Sophie planted her feet.
She was staring at the heavy silver watch in Luca’s hand.
“Mom,” my seven-year-old whispered, her voice carrying through the empty dining room.
I looked down at her. “What is it, baby?”
Sophie pointed a small finger at the broken silver chain dangling from Luca’s grip.
“That’s the ticking thing,” she said.
Luca snapped his head toward us. “What did you say, Sophie?”
Sophie shrank behind my leg, intimidated by his intensity.
I knelt down instantly, shielding her. “Mr. Moretti, she’s just tired. Let me take her—”
“No, Emily, please,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a gentle, pleading tone. He crouched down so he was at eye level with my daughter. “Sweetheart, you’ve seen this watch before?”
Sophie peeked out from behind my apron. She nodded slowly.
“Where, Sophie?” Luca asked softly.
Sophie looked at the cracked glass face of the watch, then up at Luca’s eyes.
“The angry man dropped it,” she whispered.
My blood ran cold.
“What angry man, baby?” I asked, my heart hammering in my ears.
May you like
Sophie looked at me, her big brown eyes filled with innocence and a terrible, buried memory.
“The man with the scar on his neck,” she said quietly. “The one who yelled at Daddy in the garage, on the day Daddy went to heaven.”
