Chapter 2 - THE WATCH IN HIS POCKET
“The one where Uncle Michael told everyone he couldn't remember the accident.”
Nicholas’s small voice echoed through the massive dining room.
Fifty guests sat frozen in their chairs.
The clinking of silverware had stopped completely.
Michael Moretti, a man who usually commanded the room with a charming, careless smile, looked as though all the blood had been drained from his body.
He stared at his ten-year-old nephew.
“Nicholas,” Michael whispered, his voice cracking. “What did you just say?”
Vanessa stepped forward, her red gown swishing sharply against the marble floor.
“He’s confused!” she practically screamed, her composure entirely shattered. “The boy is deaf and he’s confused! Luca, you cannot possibly listen to this nonsense.”
Luca didn’t look at her.
His dark eyes remained fixed on his younger brother.
“Michael,” Luca said, his voice dangerously calm. “Look at me.”
Michael slowly turned his head.
Three years ago, Michael’s car had gone off a bridge in the dead of night. He had been in a coma for two weeks. When he woke up, the doctors said the trauma had wiped the last year of his memory.
Luca had spent millions protecting him, rebuilding his life, keeping the Chicago families at bay while his brother healed.
“I didn’t lie, Luca,” Michael said, his hands trembling against the white tablecloth. “I swear to God. I don’t remember that night.”
Vanessa’s father, Marcus Bellini, finally stood up.
He was a heavy-set man with cold eyes and a tailored suit that suddenly looked too tight for him.
“This is an outrage,” Marcus barked. “A child’s wild imagination is destroying an engagement dinner. Luca, control your household. Or I will.”
Before Marcus could take a step toward Nicholas, I instinctively pulled the boy behind me.
Luca’s head snapped toward the older man.
“Take one more step toward my son, Marcus, and you will leave this house in a bag.”
The threat wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
The sheer weight of Luca’s authority crashed over the room, pressing everyone into silence.
“Daddy,” Nicholas whimpered from behind my apron.
Luca instantly softened. He knelt down again, ignoring the expensive fabric of his suit pooling on the floor.
“It’s okay, buddy,” Luca said softly. “You’re safe. Nobody is mad at you. But I need you to tell me exactly what Grandpa Bellini said in your room.”
Nicholas gripped my hand tightly.
“He was holding Uncle Michael’s silver pocket watch,” Nicholas whispered.
Michael gasped.
His hand flew to his vest. The antique silver watch, a family heirloom passed down from their grandfather, was missing.
“He said,” Nicholas continued, tears spilling down his cheeks, “that it was a shame Michael forgot who pulled him out of the water. Because if he remembered, he would know who really belonged in that hospital bed.”
Luca stood up, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek.
He walked slowly toward Marcus Bellini.
“Where is my brother’s watch?” Luca asked.
Marcus puffed out his chest, trying to maintain his dignity.
“The boy is lying. I haven't been in his room.”
Vanessa grabbed Luca’s arm. “Darling, please! The maid put him up to this. She hates me!”
Luca didn’t even blink. He reached into Marcus Bellini’s tailored suit jacket, moving faster than anyone could react.
Marcus tried to pull away, but Luca’s grip on his lapel was like iron.
Luca pulled his hand back.
Dangling from his tattooed fingers was the heavy, tarnished chain of Michael’s silver pocket watch.
The room gasped.
But it wasn't the watch that made my heart stop.
As the watch slipped from Marcus’s pocket, a small piece of folded paper fell to the floor, landing right near my shoe.
It was a train ticket.
I recognized the vintage blue ink immediately.
I knelt down and picked it up.
“Emily, put that down,” Vanessa hissed.
But I had already unfolded it.
The date on the ticket was from three years ago. The exact night of Michael’s accident.
And the name printed on the passenger line made my lungs seize.
It was Thomas Carter.
My father.
A man who supposedly died of a heart attack in an empty apartment a week before Michael’s crash.
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I looked up, my vision blurring, and met Luca’s eyes.
“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Why does Vanessa’s father have a train ticket with my dead father’s name on it?”
