Chapter 3 - The Smoke
Vanessa held the silver lighter up like a trophy.
Daniel’s face drained of color. "Vanessa, put that down."
"Why?" She flicked it open. The sharp metallic clink echoed in the quiet bedroom. "Luca thinks you’re his savior tonight. But who set the fire at the harbor warehouse last year? The one that cost the Moretti family four million dollars and put Luca’s uncle in the hospital?"
Luca’s shoulders tensed. "That was a rival family."
"Was it?" Vanessa purred. "Ask your best man."
Daniel took a step back toward the hallway. "Luca, she’s lying. She’s trying to deflect."
"Emily," Luca said, his eyes never leaving Daniel. "Take Sophie. Now."
I grabbed Sophie’s hand. She was trembling. We slipped past Vanessa, who was too busy enjoying Daniel’s panic to notice us. But as we reached the doorway, Daniel bolted. He shoved past me, knocking my shoulder hard into the doorframe, and scrambled down the stairs.
Luca didn't shout. He just pulled his phone from his pocket and typed one message to the security team downstairs.
"Go," Luca told me softly. "Lock the doors at the brownstone. Don't open it for anyone but me."
I hurried Sophie down the back staircase, avoiding the main dining room where the guests were still murmuring. We made it to the underground garage. Luca’s black SUV was waiting.
As I buckled Sophie into the back seat, she reached into her pocket.
"Emily," she whispered. "I took something from Vanessa's purse when she wasn't looking."
I started the engine. "What is it, sweetie?"
Sophie opened her small hand. Sitting in her palm was a heavy, antique pearl necklace.
My breath caught. It wasn't just any necklace. It was the necklace Sophie’s mother had been wearing in the portrait hanging in the grand hallway. The portrait painted before she died in a tragic boating accident six years ago.
"Vanessa said my mom lost it," Sophie said, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Why did she have it?"
I didn't have an answer. I put the car in gear and sped out into the rainy night.
Halfway to the brownstone, my phone buzzed in the cup holder. The caller ID was blocked. I answered it on speaker.
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"Hello?"
"You're a very good maid, Emily," a man's voice said. It wasn't Luca. It wasn't Daniel. It was rough, like gravel. "But you're driving the wrong way. Turn right on 4th Street, or the brakes on that SUV are going to stop working completely."
