Chapter 3 - The Bracelet In The Dust
The room spun.
“My father wasn’t a thief,” I said. My voice was surprisingly loud.
Roman looked at me. Not with anger, but with intense calculation. “Then explain the lighter.”
“He lost it,” I said quickly. “Years ago. When the shop was struggling. He said he dropped it.”
“He didn’t drop it.”
Elias’s voice cut through the room.
I turned to the old sommelier. He was staring at the lighter with a profound sadness.
“Patrick didn’t lose it, Megan,” Elias said softly. “He surrendered it.”
“Surrendered it?” I asked. “To who?”
“To the man who bought your father’s debt,” Elias said. “The man who ultimately took your shop.”
Roman’s jaw tightened. “And who was that, Elias?”
“Greg Thorne,” Elias said.
The name hit me like a physical blow.
Greg. My ex-husband.
“That’s impossible,” I whispered. “Greg was a middle-school teacher. He didn’t have the money to buy a commercial lease. He didn’t even drink wine.”
Elias looked at me with pity. “He didn’t buy it for himself, Megan. He bought it for the people he owed money to.”
I couldn’t breathe. The medical bills. The sudden foreclosure. My father’s heart attack. The divorce that followed right after the shop was demolished.
Greg hadn’t just left me when things got hard. He was the reason things got hard.
Bianca let out a shrill laugh. “This is insane! You’re listening to a maid and a senile old man? Roman, my brother is in danger!”
Roman ignored her. He was staring at me. “Your ex-husband works for the Rinaldi family?”
“No,” I said, my voice shaking. “He doesn’t work for anyone. He’s a coward.”
“A coward with my father’s cases,” Roman said softly.
Suddenly, Daniel’s radio crackled. He pressed a hand to his earpiece. His eyes widened.
“Sir. Lockdown. Now.”
Roman didn’t ask questions. “Everyone to the basement.”
Panic erupted. The thirty-four guests shoved back their chairs. Glasses shattered. Women screamed.
“Move!” Daniel shouted, pulling a sidearm from his jacket.
Roman grabbed my arm. His grip was firm, grounding me. “Stay behind me.”
We rushed down the service hallway. Elias was right beside us. Bianca was sobbing, trailing behind Roman, clinging to the back of his jacket.
We reached the cellar doors. The heavy steel vault swung open.
Inside, the cool air smelled of oak and aged cork. The guests huddled in the center of the room.
Roman turned to Daniel. “What happened?”
“Sniper fire,” Daniel said grimly. “From the tree line. The van driver is dead.”
Bianca screamed.
“Shut up,” Roman snapped. He looked at Daniel. “Target?”
“It wasn’t the driver,” Daniel said. “The bullet passed through the passenger window. The trajectory was aimed at the dining room.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed. “Who were they aiming at?”
“Not you, sir,” Daniel said. “Based on the angle…” He looked directly at Bianca. “They were aiming at her.”
Bianca collapsed to her knees, weeping hysterically.
Elias moved to lock the secondary cellar door. He pulled it shut, but it snagged on something.
“Mr. DeLuca,” Elias called out.
We walked over. Trapped in the heavy steel hinge of the door was a piece of jewelry.
A tarnished silver charm bracelet.
I stopped breathing.
Roman looked at it, then at me. “Do you know what this is?”
May you like
“Yes,” I whispered. I reached out and pulled the crushed metal from the hinge. “It’s my daughter’s.”
TITLE: The Voice On The Phone
