Chapter 2 - The Silver Locket
“We were told to leave one witness alive—so that someday, she could lead Serena back to you.”
The stranger’s words hung in the dining room like a guillotine blade waiting to drop.
Twenty-eight guests sat completely frozen. The crystal chandeliers above us seemed to dim. I stood beside Sofia DeLuca’s chair, my hand still resting on the frail, trembling shoulder of Roman’s blind grandmother.
Roman stepped forward, his tailored suit shifting around his broad shoulders. The devastating calm in his dark eyes was far more terrifying than anger.
“Lead Serena back to me?” Roman repeated, his voice barely a whisper, yet it carried to every corner of the room. He turned slowly to look at his fiancée. “Why did your family need to be led back to me, Serena?”
Serena Vale’s perfect, porcelain mask was shattering. The arrogant woman who had humiliated me moments earlier was now trembling so violently that her champagne glass rattled against the mahogany table.
“Roman, please,” Serena begged, her voice cracking. She took a step toward him, but Roman’s security guards instantly blocked her path. “My father arranged the engagement. You know this was a merger between our families. I didn’t know who this man was!”
“Liar,” the man named Peter Nardi spat. He wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead. “Your father hired me twenty-four years ago to raid this house. And he hired me again tonight to make sure Roman actually went through with the wedding.”
“Why?” Roman demanded, his voice finally rising in volume, echoing off the marble floors. “We signed the contracts. The families are united. Why bring the man who attacked my family into my home?”
Peter let out a bitter, hollow laugh. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
Instantly, six security guards drew their weapons, the metallic clicks echoing sharply.
“Easy,” Peter said, keeping his hands visible. “I’m not armed. I just brought a wedding gift.”
He pulled out a small, tarnished silver object and tossed it onto the long dining table. It clattered against a crystal wine glass and slid to a stop directly in front of Roman.
I gasped.
Even from where I stood, I recognized the intricate engraving on the metal. It was a heavy silver locket.
Sofia’s head tilted sharply at the sound of the metal hitting the table. “What is it, Claire?” she whispered frantically.
“It’s a silver locket, Mrs. DeLuca,” I murmured, my heart pounding in my throat.
Roman stared at the necklace. The color drained entirely from his face. His hand shook as he reached out and picked it up.
“This belonged to Elena,” Roman said, his voice entirely broken.
Serena let out a loud sob, covering her face with her hands.
Elena was Serena’s older sister. She had been Roman’s first love, the woman he was supposed to marry seven years ago. But Elena had died in a tragic car accident before the wedding. Her death had devastated Roman, turning him into the cold, ruthless man who now ran the DeLuca empire. He had only agreed to marry Serena out of a grim sense of duty to Elena’s memory.
“Open it,” Peter commanded.
Roman pressed the small latch. The silver locket popped open.
I watched as Roman’s chest stopped moving. He didn’t blink. He just stared at the tiny photograph hidden inside the tarnished metal.
“Where did you get this?” Roman asked, his voice suddenly sounding incredibly young and terrified.
“Elena gave it to me,” Peter said softly. “Right before her father forced her off the road.”
The room erupted into gasps.
“My father didn’t kill her!” Serena screamed, lunging at Peter, but the guards held her back. “It was an accident! The roads were slick!”
“Your father ran her off the cliff because she was going to run away from the Syndicate,” Peter said coldly. “But she survived the crash just long enough to hand me that locket and make me promise to protect what’s inside it.”
Roman slowly looked up from the locket, his eyes burning with a mixture of profound grief and sudden, violent rage. He turned his gaze toward Serena.
“Elena didn’t just die in that crash, did she, Serena?” Roman asked.
Serena shook her head, tears ruining her expensive makeup. She fell to her knees on the Persian rug. “I’m sorry, Roman. I’m so sorry.”
Sofia gripped my wrist, her fingernails digging into my skin. “Claire, what is in the locket? Describe it to me!”
I stepped closer to the table, leaning over to look at the small photograph resting in Roman’s palm.
My breath caught in my lungs.
It wasn’t a picture of Elena. And it wasn’t a picture of Roman.
“It’s a little boy, Mrs. DeLuca,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “A little boy with dark hair and blue eyes.”
May you like
Roman looked at Peter, the realization hitting him with the force of a freight train.
“He is seven years old, Roman,” Peter said, his voice echoing in the dead silence of the dining room. “He has your eyes. He has your blood. And if you don’t marry Serena and sign over the DeLuca empire tonight… her father is going to kill your son.”
