The Burnt Edge of a Mother’s Letter

I stared at the silver bracelet, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The house was locked down. Marco and ten of Luca’s most trusted men were patrolling the perimeter. No one could have gotten inside to place the bracelet on the table.

Which meant whoever put it there had been inside all along.

I picked up the note. The handwriting wasn’t Elena’s. It wasn’t Vanessa’s. It was jagged, rushed, and terrifyingly familiar.

Before I could process it, Luca stepped out of Lily’s room.

He saw my face.

“Claire?” he asked, stepping toward me.

I handed him the note and the bracelet.

Luca stared at the blue stone. His jaw tightened, the peaceful father I had just seen vanishing in an instant, replaced by the ruthless boss of the Moretti family.

“Where did you find this?” he demanded quietly.

“On the tray. Just now.”

He looked down the long, empty hallway. “Who else was upstairs tonight?”

“No one,” I said, my voice trembling. “Just me, you, and Lily. Marco came up an hour ago to check the window locks, but that was it.”

Luca’s eyes snapped back to the bracelet.

“Marco,” he breathed.

“Marco?” I repeated, stunned. “He fought those men in the alley. He drove us to safety.”

“He also shot the men on the bridge before they could answer my questions,” Luca said softly. “He silenced them.”

Luca pulled his gun from his holster.

“Lock Lily’s door from the inside,” he ordered. “Do not open it for anyone but me.”

I ran back into Lily’s room, locking the heavy deadbolt behind me. Lily was already asleep, completely unaware that the nightmare had crawled back inside the house.

I sat on the floor against the door, holding my breath.

Five minutes passed.

Then, I heard a muffled thud from the floor below.

A voice drifted up the stairs. It wasn't Marco’s.

“You always were too trusting, Luca.”

It was an older man’s voice. Raspy. Deep.

I crept toward the air vent on the floor and pressed my ear against the metal grate.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Luca’s voice echoed from the study below.

“Car crashes are so easy to fake,” the older man replied with a low chuckle. “Especially when you run the security for the family. Your father never even questioned the burnt body.”

Tomaso.

The man from the photograph. The man who had supposedly poisoned Sarah.

“You worked for Elena,” Luca growled.

“Elena was a spoiled child playing with matches,” Tomaso scoffed. “She thought she was running the show. I let her believe it. She paid the hospital bribes, she orchestrated the hit on Vanessa. It kept your attention on her.”

“Why?” Luca demanded.

“Because the Moretti empire shouldn’t belong to a bloodline that goes soft,” Tomaso said coldly. “Your father was weak at the end. You were weaker. I didn’t just poison your wife, Luca. I poisoned your father, too.”

I gasped, covering my mouth with both hands.