Chapter 3 - The Hidden Photograph
“I didn't know,” I gasped, stepping back from the wheelchair. “I swear to God, Mr. Marino. I didn't know my mother worked for your family.”
The dining room erupted into chaotic whispers.
Anthony’s men pushed back their chairs, their eyes locked on me. The warmth and vulnerability Anthony had shown just minutes ago were entirely gone, replaced by the cold, calculating mask of a syndicate boss.
He looked at the tiny photograph of my mother and Elena.
“My wife died of sudden cardiac arrest,” Anthony said, his voice flat and terrifying. “She was twenty-nine years old. The doctors said it was an undetectable defect. But your mother was the only nurse on duty that night.”
“My mother was a good woman!” I cried, tears spilling hot down my cheeks. “She worked herself to the bone to provide for us. She would never hurt anyone!”
Victoria smiled, a thin, satisfied line across her face.
“Then why did she hide, Claire? Why did she quit her nursing job the very next morning and spend the rest of her life scrubbing toilets under her maiden name?”
I froze.
It was true. My mother had changed her last name when I was ten. She told us it was to escape my father’s gambling debts. She never spoke of her time as a nurse.
Anthony stepped closer to me.
He was a tall man, and his shadow fell entirely over me.
“Did you come into my house to finish whatever she started?” he asked quietly.
“No!” Lily suddenly screamed.
The little girl scrambled out of her chair and threw her arms around my waist, burying her face in my apron.
“Daddy, stop it! Claire is good! She makes me hot chocolate and reads me stories! She didn't hurt Mommy!”
Anthony looked down at his daughter clinging to me.
Then he looked at his mother.
Rosa Marino had not said a word. She was staring at the photograph on the table. Her swollen hands gripped the wheels of her chair.
“Mom?” Anthony asked.
Rosa slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were filled with a profound, heavy sorrow.
“Victoria is right about one thing,” Rosa whispered. “Elena did give her that rosary. But she is lying about the reason.”
Victoria’s confident smile faltered. “Excuse me?”
Rosa wheeled herself forward, pushing past Victoria as if the woman didn't exist. She stopped in front of her son.
“Your wife didn't hide that photograph to protect herself from you, Anthony. She hid it to protect you from the truth.”
“What truth?” Anthony demanded.
Rosa reached out and gently touched the faded Polaroid.
“Elena knew she was being poisoned. Slowly. Over months.”
The room went dead silent.
Anthony stopped breathing. “Poisoned? By who?”
Rosa pointed a shaking finger directly at Victoria.
“By her.”
Victoria let out a shrill, theatrical laugh. “This is absurd! The old woman’s dementia is acting up! She belongs in an asylum!”
“You brought her special herbal teas every afternoon,” Rosa said, her voice gaining strength. “You told us it was an old family recipe to help with her pregnancy. But Elena started getting weaker. Paler. And by the time Lily was born, Elena’s heart was failing.”
“Lies!” Victoria shouted, looking around at the mafia lieutenants for support. “She’s trying to deflect because I caught her precious maid spying!”
“Claire’s mother wasn't a spy,” Rosa said gently, looking up at me. “She was Elena’s only confidant. Elena figured out what Victoria was doing, but she was too weak to prove it. So she gave Claire’s mother the evidence.”
Anthony turned his terrifying gaze back to Victoria.
“What evidence?”
Victoria took a step backward toward the heavy double doors. “Anthony, darling, you aren't actually going to listen to—”
“Close the doors,” Anthony ordered.
Two massive men in tailored suits immediately stepped in front of the exit, crossing their arms.
Victoria was trapped.
“Mom,” Anthony said, never taking his eyes off his former fiancée. “Where is this evidence?”
“Elena asked Claire’s mother to hide it where Victoria could never reach it,” Rosa explained, her voice trembling with the weight of a decade-old secret. “She hid it inside the floorboards of my cottage.”
My mind raced.
My mother had known Rosa? She had hidden something on this estate?
“Get the cars ready,” Anthony commanded his men. “We’re going to the cottage.”
He looked at me.
“You’re coming with us. If your mother helped my wife, I owe you my life. If she helped kill her, you won't leave this property.”
I swallowed hard and nodded. I had nothing to hide, but the fear in my chest was suffocating.
Five minutes later, Anthony, Rosa, Lily, Victoria, and I were making our way across the sprawling, snow-covered estate toward the small stone cottage near the woods.
Anthony’s men marched Victoria forward. She was quiet now. Too quiet.
When we reached the cottage, Anthony unlocked the heavy wooden door and pushed it open.
He flipped on the lights.
Rosa gasped.
I covered my mouth.
The cottage had been completely ransacked.
The furniture was overturned. The mattress was slashed. The beautiful lace curtains Rosa had sewn herself were torn from the rods.
And in the center of the living room, the heavy oak floorboards had been brutally pried up with a crowbar.
Anthony walked slowly to the hole in the floor.
He knelt.
He reached into the dark space between the joists.
When he pulled his hand out, it was empty.
Whatever my mother had hidden there ten years ago was gone.
Anthony stood up and turned to Victoria.
But Victoria wasn't looking at him.
She was looking at the dark tree line just beyond the cottage window.
And she was smiling.
“You’re too late, Anthony,” Victoria whispered.
Suddenly, the glass of the cottage window shattered inward with a deafening crash.
A heavy, brass object flew through the broken window and rolled across the wooden floor, stopping right at Anthony’s feet.
It was a man’s pocket watch.
The glass face was cracked, and the silver chain was stained with fresh blood.
Anthony stared at it, his face turning an ash-gray.
May you like
Because I knew exactly whose watch that was.
It belonged to Marcus, Anthony’s head of security. The man who was supposed to be guarding the front gates.
