Chapter 3 - THE SECRET SEWN INTO THE WINTER COAT
The dining room descended into absolute, suffocating silence.
Don't let Luca find the coat.
Thirty-six guests sat frozen, pretending not to listen to the dismantling of the Moretti family.
Luca stared at the handwritten note. The ink was faded.
“Caroline wrote this,” Luca said, his voice hollow. “She knew you before she died.”
Vanessa backed away, her heels clicking frantically against the marble floor.
“She was a client of my gallery,” Vanessa said quickly. “That’s all. We were barely friends.”
“You don’t leave your only child to a casual acquaintance,” Luca countered.
He stepped closer to her.
“And you certainly don’t orchestrate a kidnapping two years later based on a note hidden in a photograph. What coat is she talking about, Vanessa?”
“I don’t know!” Vanessa cried.
I looked at Sophie. The little girl was staring at the empty chair. The one she had dragged from the sitting room.
The one holding her mother’s white cardigan.
“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered.
Luca turned to me.
“It’s not a winter coat,” I said softly, pointing to the chair. “It’s that cardigan.”
Vanessa lunged forward. “Don’t touch it!”
Daniel immediately stepped in front of her, his massive frame blocking her path.
Luca walked slowly to the empty chair. He picked up the small, white knitted cardigan. It smelled faintly of lavender. Caroline’s signature scent.
He ran his hands over the soft wool.
He stopped at the thick hem near the bottom.
His long fingers traced a slight, unnatural stiffness in the fabric.
Luca pulled a small pocket knife from his jacket. He didn’t hesitate. He carefully sliced the seam of the cardigan his dead wife had loved so much.
He reached inside the lining.
He pulled out a small, folded piece of thick parchment paper.
Vanessa covered her mouth, a stifled sob escaping her lips.
Luca unfolded the paper.
I watched his face. The fierce, terrifying mafia boss suddenly looked incredibly fragile.
“What does it say, Daddy?” Sophie asked, her voice echoing in the quiet room.
Luca didn’t answer his daughter immediately. He looked at Vanessa.
“My wife didn’t die of heart failure, did she?” Luca asked.
The guests gasped. For two years, the official story was a sudden, tragic medical event.
Vanessa shook her head, tears spilling over her mascara.
“No,” Vanessa whispered. “She was poisoned.”
I felt a cold chill run down my spine.
“And you knew,” Luca realized, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “You knew, and you let me mourn her. You let me believe I couldn’t save her.”
“She made me swear!” Vanessa wept. “Caroline knew they were coming for her. She knew the syndicate was compromised. She told me to wait two years, to gain your trust, and then get Sophie out of the country before they realized the child was the only heir to the hidden accounts!”
Luca stared at her.
“Who is ‘they’?” Luca demanded.
Vanessa looked terrified. She glanced at the wealthy guests sitting around the table.
“I can’t say it here,” Vanessa pleaded. “Luca, please. If they know I failed, they’ll kill us all.”
Luca folded the parchment paper and put it in his inner pocket.
“Daniel,” Luca ordered. “Clear the room. Send everyone home. Secure the perimeter.”
The guests scrambled out of their chairs, eager to escape the suffocating tension of the mansion. Within five minutes, the dining room was completely empty, save for Luca, Vanessa, Sophie, Daniel, and me.
“Take Sophie upstairs, Emma,” Luca said softly. “Lock the bedroom door. Do not open it for anyone but me.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, taking Sophie’s hand.
“Daddy, are you mad at Vanessa?” Sophie asked.
Luca knelt down and kissed his daughter’s forehead. “I’m just trying to understand, sweetheart. Go with Emma. You’re safe.”
I led Sophie up the grand staircase. My heart was pounding so loudly I thought it would burst.
We reached her bedroom. I locked the heavy oak door and turned the deadbolt.
“Is my mom in heaven, Emma?” Sophie asked, climbing into her massive bed.
“She is,” I promised, pulling the covers up to her chin. “And she loves you very much.”
I sat on the edge of the bed until Sophie’s breathing slowed and she fell asleep.
I walked over to the window, looking out over the sprawling, manicured lawns of the estate. The security guards were patrolling heavily in the dark.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my apron pocket.
I pulled it out. It was a text from an unknown number.
Check the bottom drawer of Sophie’s dresser.
My blood ran cold.
I looked at the heavy antique dresser in the corner of the room.
I walked over on trembling legs. I pulled the bottom drawer open.
It was full of winter sweaters.
I dug my hands to the bottom. My fingers brushed against cold, hard metal.
I pulled it out.
It was a heavy, silver pocket watch.
But it wasn’t ticking.
And clutched in the chain of the watch was a small, torn photograph of my own parents.
May you like
With a red circle drawn around my father’s face.
TITLE: The Red Circle Around My Father
