Chapter 4 - THE PHOTOGRAPH WAS TAKEN FROM MY BEDROOM
I couldn’t breathe.
I stared at the photograph in Luca’s hand.
It wasn’t a candid shot taken on the street.
It was a picture of me, sitting on the edge of my bed in the servant’s quarters.
I was reading a book.
My hair was down.
The photo had been taken through my bedroom window.
From the outside.
In the dark.
“Where… where did that come from?” my voice cracked.
Luca’s jaw was set so tight a muscle ticked beneath his skin.
He looked from the photo to my terrified face.
“I found it in the pocket of Thorne’s coat when I searched Vanessa’s car an hour ago.”
He stepped closer, his dark eyes scanning my face for any sign of recognition.
“Maria, why does Victor Thorne have a photograph of you?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered, tears suddenly burning my eyes. “I swear to you, Mr. Moretti. I don’t know who that man is. I’ve never met him.”
Luca studied me.
He had spent his whole life surrounded by liars.
He knew what a lie looked like.
And he knew I was telling the truth.
He looked back at the photograph.
He carefully slipped it out of the small frame.
He turned the photo over.
Written on the back, in thick black ink, were two words:
The daughter.
I stared at the ink.
“The daughter?” I repeated, confusion twisting my stomach.
“My mother died when I was six. My father was a mechanic. He died three years ago.”
Luca’s expression darkened.
“Are you sure he was your father?”
The question hit me like a physical blow.
“Of course I’m sure. We have the same last name. Santos. He raised me.”
Luca didn’t say anything.
He walked over to the altar and picked up the chisel the contractors had left behind.
He gripped it tightly.
“Vanessa didn’t just want the window to sell the watch back to Thorne,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly low.
“She wanted the plaque gone, too.”
He walked toward the marble plaque mounted on the wall.
IN MEMORY OF ELENA MORETTI
BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER
“Sir, what are you doing?” I asked, stepping forward.
Luca didn’t answer.
He jammed the chisel into the crack between the marble plaque and the stone wall.
He struck the back of it with the heel of his hand.
Crack.
Dust rained down.
He hit it again.
Crack.
The heavy marble slab groaned.
Luca grabbed the edges of the plaque with both hands.
His shoulders strained against the fabric of his suit.
With a violent pull, he ripped the heavy marble completely off the wall.
It crashed to the floor, shattering into three pieces.
I gasped, covering my mouth.
He had just destroyed his own mother’s memorial.
But Luca wasn’t looking at the broken marble on the floor.
He was looking at the dark, hollow space in the wall behind where the plaque had been.
It was a hidden safe.
And the door to the safe was already hanging open.
Luca reached inside.
It was completely empty.
Except for one thing.
He pulled out a heavy, dark wooden rosary.
The beads were worn from use.
He turned around and held it up.
My stomach violently dropped.
I knew that rosary.
I had seen it every day of my childhood.
It had hung over the rearview mirror of my father’s rusty pickup truck for twenty years.
“This belongs to your father,” Luca said softly. “Doesn’t it?”
I couldn’t speak. I just nodded, tears spilling down my cheeks.
Luca looked at the empty safe.
“My mother didn’t just hide the watch. She hid something else. Something about you. And Thorne got to it first.”
He threw the rosary onto the pew.
He pulled out his phone.
“Daniel,” Luca barked into the receiver. “Lock down the estate. Nobody leaves. Not Vanessa. Not her guards.”
A pause.
Through the quiet chapel, I could hear Daniel’s frantic voice through the speaker.
“Boss… they’re already gone. But that’s not the problem.”
“What is it?” Luca demanded.
“The warehouse,” Daniel said. “Lakefront Salvage. The police just called.”
Luca went perfectly still.
“What happened?”
“It’s gone, boss. The whole warehouse burned to the ground ten minutes ago. The stained glass is destroyed.”
Luca slowly lowered the phone.
Thorne hadn’t just bought the window.
He had burned the evidence to ashes.
And then, my phone buzzed in my apron pocket.
I jumped.
I slowly pulled it out.
It was a text message from an unknown number.
I opened it.
It was a picture of the Moretti mansion gates.
May you like
And underneath it, a message:
Come outside, Maria. We have your mother.
