THE CHILD’S DRAWING IN THE GREENHOUSE

Dominic pounded his fist against the reinforced basement door.

The heavy steel didn't even vibrate.

“Vincent!” Dominic roared. “Open this door!”

From the air vent above, Vincent’s voice was distorted but perfectly calm. The weeping, terrified old man from the garden was gone.

“I’m sorry, Dominic. I really am. But you leave me no choice.”

Claire backed away from the door, her hands trembling. Bruno pressed himself against her legs, letting out a low, continuous growl.

“What is he talking about, Mr. Moretti?” Claire asked, her voice shaking. “Why did he say my father found you?”

Dominic turned away from the door. He looked down at the silver watch in his palm.

The glass face was shattered. The hands were permanently frozen at 12:04 AM.

“I was nineteen,” Dominic said quietly, staring at the hands of the watch. “I had been drinking with my friends that night. I snuck back onto the estate around midnight.”

He looked up at Claire. The formidable mafia boss looked suddenly lost.

“I don't remember anything after walking through the gates. I woke up the next morning in my bed, and they told me Emily was dead.”

Claire’s eyes widened. “You think you were in the greenhouse?”

“I don't know.” Dominic ran a hand through his dark hair. “Vincent told me I passed out in the foyer. He said he carried me upstairs.”

“He lied.”

They both looked down.

Bruno was scratching at the basement wall.

Not randomly. He was scratching at a specific brick near the floorboards.

“Captain, what is it?” Claire knelt beside the dog.

She pressed on the brick. It was loose.

She pulled it out.

Behind the brick was a small, hollow cavity.

Inside sat a tiny, velvet jewelry box.

Claire carefully pulled it out. She stood up and handed it to Dominic.

Dominic opened the box.

Resting on the velvet was a delicate gold bracelet. It was adorned with small diamond daisies.

Dominic’s breath hitched.

“Emily’s bracelet,” Dominic whispered. “My mother gave it to her for her tenth birthday.”

He pulled the bracelet out of the box.

Tucked underneath it was a folded piece of paper.

Dominic unfolded it.

It was a handwritten note. The handwriting was unmistakable. It belonged to his mother, Beatrice.

Vincent. If Dominic ever remembers what he did to his sister, give him this box. Let him know I covered it up to save him. He must never know the truth about the poison.

Dominic stared at the paper.

The words twisted like a knife in his gut.

“I killed her,” Dominic choked out, staggering backward until his shoulders hit the concrete wall. “Vincent didn't poison her. My mother didn't poison her. I must have done it in a drunken rage. My mother covered it up.”

He looked at Claire, tears finally spilling over his dark eyelashes.

“Your father went to prison for a murder I committed.”

Claire stood perfectly still.

She looked at the mafia boss, utterly broken by a lie he had just uncovered.

Then she looked at the dog.

Bruno wasn't looking at Dominic. He wasn't cowering from a murderer.

Bruno walked over to Dominic, sat down, and rested his heavy chin on Dominic’s knee.

“No,” Claire said firmly.

Dominic looked up. “It’s in my mother’s handwriting, Claire.”

“I don't care,” Claire said, stepping forward. “My father taught me that dogs don't lie. They don't care about money, or power, or blackmail notes hidden in walls.”

She pointed at Bruno.

“That dog loved Emily more than anything in the world. If you had hurt her, he would never let you touch him. He would tear your throat out.”

Dominic stared at the old German shepherd.

“Then why was my watch in your father’s coat?”

“Because my father was trying to protect you too,” Claire realized, the pieces finally clicking together. “Vincent just told us your mother wanted the empire only for you.”

She grabbed the note from Dominic’s hand.