Chapter 2 - THE MONSTER AT THE HEAD OF THE TABLE
“Because your father wasn't the one who ordered them to disappear.”
Vanessa’s voice trembled, but the words echoed like gunshots in the locked dining room.
Adrian stood perfectly still. His dark eyes locked onto the woman he had promised to marry.
“My father was the Don,” Adrian said, his voice dangerously low. “Nobody gave orders without his approval. Nobody.”
Vanessa backed away until her spine hit the mahogany table. She looked at the thirty wealthy guests, all of whom were now trapped behind the locked double doors. They were breathless. Silent.
“He didn't know,” Vanessa whispered, her carefully applied makeup starting to streak. “Your father loved your mother. He loved Elena. He would have burned Chicago to the ground before letting anyone hurt them.”
My heart pounded against my ribs.
For twenty-six years, my mother had told me we were running from a monster. She had told me the head of the Moretti family wanted us dead. But if it wasn't my father… who was it?
Sophie tugged at my apron. “Mommy, why is the angry lady crying?”
I pulled my daughter closer, shielding her small body. “Shh, sweetie. It’s okay.”
Adrian took a slow step toward his fiancée. The air in the room felt suffocatingly heavy.
“If my father didn't order the hit on my mother and sister,” Adrian said, every syllable dripping with lethal intent, “who did?”
Vanessa swallowed hard. She looked past Adrian, toward the far end of the dining room.
Sitting at the opposite end of the table was a man in his late sixties. Silver hair, an impeccable tailored suit, and a heavy gold signet ring on his right hand.
Uncle Carlo.
My father’s brother. The man who had raised Adrian after our parents supposedly died. The man who currently controlled half of the Moretti empire.
Carlo didn't look panicked. He slowly took a sip of his red wine.
“Vanessa,” Carlo said smoothly. “You’ve had too much champagne. You’re upsetting the guests.”
Adrian slowly turned his head. He looked at the man who had been his mentor, his surrogate father.
“Is she lying, Carlo?” Adrian asked.
Carlo set his wine glass down. “She is a hysterical woman trying to save her position in this house. Your mother died in the fire, Adrian. Elena died in the hospital. This maid is just a clever con artist looking for a payday.”
“She has the scar,” Adrian countered, his voice rising. “She knows the song.”
“Coincidences,” Carlo dismissed smoothly. “Or she did her research. You are the heir to a billion-dollar empire. Women will invent anything to get close to you.”
Vanessa let out a sharp, bitter laugh.
“You taught me well, Carlo,” she spat. “But I’m not taking the fall for this. Adrian, he hired me. Seven months ago, Carlo found out Lucia might have survived. He found a birth certificate in Naples. He tracked Elena here.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“You brought her into my house?” Adrian demanded, looking at Vanessa.
“To keep her close!” Vanessa cried. “Carlo told me to hire her as a maid. Keep her under surveillance. He said we needed to find the music box before we disposed of her.”
The word disposed hung in the air.
They were going to kill me. They were going to kill Sophie.
Adrian’s hands curled into fists. The burn scar on his palm pulled tight.
“Why the music box?” Adrian demanded. “What is inside it?”
Vanessa shook her head frantically. “I don't know! Carlo just said Lucia stole something the night she fled. Something that could destroy him. He said it was hidden inside the wooden bird.”
Adrian didn't hesitate. He turned to me.
“Where is the box, Elena?”
“In my room,” I stammered. “In the servant’s quarters on the third floor. It’s in Sophie’s bedside drawer.”
Adrian looked at his two security guards by the door. “Nobody leaves this room. Not Vanessa. And especially not Carlo.”
“You are making a grave mistake, nephew,” Carlo warned, his voice turning cold.
“If you touch my sister,” Adrian promised, “you won't live to see morning.”
Adrian grabbed my hand. It was the first time my brother had touched me since we were children. His grip was warm, strong, and protective. I scooped Sophie into my other arm, and we ran.
We sprinted out of the dining room and up the grand sweeping staircase. My pulse roared in my ears. We bypassed the luxurious guest suites and climbed the narrow, uncarpeted stairs to the servant’s wing.
I pushed open the door to my tiny, cramped room.
I stopped dead.
The mattress was slashed open. My meager clothes were pulled from the closet and thrown across the floor. Sophie’s few toys were broken.
The room had been completely ransacked.
I dropped to my knees and pulled open the small drawer of the bedside table.
It was empty.
“It’s gone,” I choked out, panic seizing my throat. “The music box is gone.”
Adrian crouched beside me, his eyes scanning the wreckage.
Then, Sophie pointed her little finger toward the shattered window.
“Mommy, look.”
Lying on the floor beneath the broken glass was a heavy, silver pocket watch.
Adrian picked it up. The glass face was cracked, but the hands were frozen at exactly 8:15.
His face went completely pale.
“Adrian?” I whispered. “What is it?”
He turned the watch over. Engraved on the back were three initials.
R. A. M.
“Roberto Antonio Moretti,” Adrian whispered, his voice cracking. “My father.”
“Your father?” I asked, confused. “But he’s dead.”
Adrian looked at me, a terrifying realization dawning in his eyes.
“Elena… my father didn't die in the fire. He died five years ago. I buried him myself. This watch was buried with him.”
The air left my lungs.
If this watch had been buried six feet underground in a sealed casket… how was it sitting on my bedroom floor?
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Before Adrian could speak, a heavy, muffled explosion rocked the foundation of the mansion.
The dining room below us had just been breached.
