Chapter 5 - THE BETRAYAL HIDDEN IN THE WATCH
“My father?” Bianca laughed, though the sound was shrill and panicked. “You’ve finally lost your mind, Evelyn. My father was a respected investments manager!”
“Your father, Arthur Voss, was a desperate man drowning in gambling debts,” Mrs. Whitmore replied, her voice steady and relentless.
Matteo’s grip on the framed child’s drawing tightened until his knuckles were stark white. He looked at Bianca, his eyes narrowing. “Arthur was my father’s accountant. He managed the estate’s offshore trusts.”
“And he was stealing from them,” Mrs. Whitmore said. “Millions of dollars, Matteo. Your mother found out. She found the ledgers hidden in Arthur’s office.”
I stood paralyzed, the silver locket heavy against my chest. Everything I thought I knew about my life, my adoptive mother, and my origins was unraveling in this grand, oppressive dining room.
Leo tugged on Matteo’s pant leg. “Dad? Why is everyone yelling?”
Matteo instantly softened. He handed the drawing to me and scooped Leo into his arms, pressing a kiss to his son’s forehead. “It’s okay, buddy. We’re just having a loud conversation.”
He looked at one of the servers standing frozen by the door. “Maria, please take Leo to the playroom. Stay with him.”
Maria nodded quickly, taking Leo’s hand and ushering the confused little boy out of the room.
Once the doors clicked shut, Matteo turned his attention back to Bianca. The softness was completely gone.
“Explain,” Matteo demanded, his voice dangerously quiet.
Bianca took a step back, her champagne gown catching the light. “Matteo, you can’t possibly believe this senile old woman! My father was a good man. He died tragically of a heart attack when I was ten!”
“He didn't die of a heart attack,” Mrs. Whitmore said flatly. “He died in a car crash.”
Bianca froze.
“Twenty-eight years ago,” Mrs. Whitmore continued. “On a rainy stretch of highway just outside of Vermont. The exact same night Margaret died.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
I looked at the brass pocket watch still resting on the table next to my silver key. I reached out and picked it up. The metal was cool in my palm.
“Mrs. Whitmore,” I said softly. “You said the watch proves it.”
The elderly woman nodded at me. “Open the back casing, Emily. Not the front lid. The back.”
Bianca suddenly lunged forward. “Give me that!”
But I stepped back, and Matteo firmly grabbed Bianca by the shoulders, pushing her away. “Don’t you dare touch her.”
My hands were shaking, but I found the small seam on the back of the pocket watch. I pressed my thumbnail into the groove and pried it open.
Inside the brass casing, folded into a tiny, perfect square, was a piece of aged parchment paper.
I carefully pulled it out and unfolded it.
The handwriting was elegant, rushed, and unmistakable. It matched the embroidery on the baby blanket.
“If anything happens to me, look at the offshore accounts. Arthur Voss is draining the Sicily trust. He knows I have the ledgers. He said he would make sure I never made it to the police. Protect Emily. Protect Matteo.”
I read the words aloud, my voice breaking on my own name.
Matteo took the paper from my trembling hands. He read his mother’s final words, his chest heaving with slow, deep breaths.
When he finally looked at Bianca, his eyes were devoid of any warmth.
“You knew,” Matteo whispered. “You knew your father caused the crash that killed my mother.”
Bianca’s face was ashen. The cruel confidence that had defined her for eleven months was entirely gone.
“I… I didn’t know everything,” she stammered, backing away. “My mother told me the DeLuca family ruined us! She said your father owed us that estate in Sicily!”
“So you plotted your way into my life,” Matteo said, his voice rising in anger. “You made me fall in love with you. You manipulated me into an engagement. All so you could get access to the estate and steal the inheritance your father tried to kill for.”
“I did love you, Matteo!” Bianca cried, tears finally spilling down her cheeks.
“Liar,” Matteo spat.
He threw the silver key and the pocket watch onto the table.
“The wedding is off,” he stated with finality. “Pack your things, Bianca. I want you out of this house in one hour. If you are not gone, I will have security drag you out, and I will hand this note directly to the police to reopen the investigation into my mother’s death.”
Bianca sobbed, her hands covering her face. Without another word, she turned and fled the dining room, her silk heels echoing down the hallway.
The twenty-two guests sat in stunned, awkward silence.
Matteo ran a hand through his silver-streaked hair, looking exhausted. Then, he turned to face me.
For a long moment, we just looked at each other.
“Emily,” he said, his voice cracking slightly.
“Mr. DeLuca,” I whispered.
He shook his head, stepping forward. “No. Not Mr. DeLuca.”
He reached out, his large, warm hand gently gripping my shoulder.
“Matteo,” he corrected softly. “I’m your brother.”
Tears spilled down my face. I had spent my entire life feeling utterly alone since my adoptive mother passed. And now, standing in this grand dining room, I finally had a family.
But as Matteo pulled me into a tight, emotional hug, Mrs. Whitmore suddenly gasped, clutching her chest.
“Mrs. Whitmore!” I cried, pulling away.
The elderly woman was staring in horror at Bianca’s abandoned purse on the floor.
The clasp had broken when Bianca fled, spilling its contents onto the rug. Lipstick, a compact mirror, and a heavy, tarnished object that caught the light.
It was an antique silver rosary.
May you like
Matteo saw it, and the color drained from his face completely.
“That’s impossible,” Matteo breathed, stepping away from me. “I buried that rosary with my father.”
