Chapter 4 - The Photograph Of A Secret
Silence fell over the dining room.
Vanessa’s face turned the color of ash. She stared at the photograph in my shaking hands.
“Where did you get that?” Vanessa demanded, her voice shrill. “Give that to me!”
She lunged across the table, but Luca grabbed her wrist mid-air. His grip was absolute.
“Don’t touch her,” Luca growled, pushing Vanessa back. He took the photograph from my hands.
He studied the faded image. It was unmistakable. My grandmother, Rosa, standing in front of a small cottage, holding a baby with a distinct birthmark on her shoulder. The same birthmark Vanessa carelessly displayed in her red silk gown.
“Arthur,” Luca said, his voice carrying a dangerous echo. “You told me Vanessa’s mother died in childbirth.”
Arthur’s calm facade finally cracked. He adjusted his collar, looking away.
“Rosa was my housekeeper thirty years ago,” Arthur muttered. “She took the child when my wife became... unwell.”
“She wasn't just your housekeeper,” I said, the pieces suddenly snapping together in my mind. “She was your mistress.”
Gasps rippled through the remaining guests.
Vanessa looked at Arthur, horrified. “Dad? Is this true? I’m the daughter of a maid?”
Arthur didn’t answer. His silence was a confession.
Luca’s expression hardened into stone. The man I had known as a gentle, grieving father was completely gone. In his place stood the head of the Moretti family.
“You used Emily to get into my house,” Luca deduced, his eyes darting between Arthur and me. “You had Rosa send her granddaughter here to spy on Isabella.”
“No!” I cried, stepping in front of Isabella to shield her. “I swear, I didn't know anything! She just told me the agency had an opening!”
Luca looked deeply into my eyes. For a terrifying second, I thought he was going to throw me out.
But Isabella squeezed my hand.
“Lei è buona, papà,” the little girl whispered to her father. She is good, Daddy.
Luca’s shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. He trusted his daughter.
“Get out of my house,” Luca told Arthur. “Both of you. The wedding is off. The merger is dead.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Arthur warned, his face turning red. “You have until midnight to sign the papers, Luca. Or Elena dies.”
Arthur turned on his heel and marched toward the grand double doors. Vanessa, humiliated and crying, ran after him.
The moment the doors slammed shut, Marco grabbed Luca’s arm.
“We have to find her now, Luca. He isn't bluffing.”
Luca looked at the gold watch in his hand. “He said he took her from your safehouse yesterday. Where was she?”
“A cabin near Lake Geneva,” Marco said. “But they cleared it out. Left nothing behind.”
“They left something,” I said quietly.
Both men turned to me.
I pointed to Isabella’s hands.
The little girl was holding a small, rusted iron key.
“Bella,” Luca knelt down gently. “Where did you get that key, sweetheart?”
Isabella looked at me.
“La mamma l'ha messo nella mia tasca prima di andarsene,” she whispered.
I translated quickly. “Her mother put it in her pocket before she left.”
Luca took the key. It had a number stamped on the metal: 402.
Marco gasped. “That’s the number of the safety deposit box Elena opened before the crash. The one she said contained her life insurance.”
Luca stood up, his eyes burning with renewed hope. “We’re going to the bank.”
He turned to his head of security. “Lock down the estate. Nobody gets in.”
As we rushed toward the garage, my phone buzzed in my apron pocket.
May you like
I pulled it out. It was a text message from an unknown number.
Don't let them open the box, Emily. Or I’ll tell Luca what you did in Milwaukee.
