Chapter 3 - THE CHILD’S DRAWING
The heavy wooden doors slammed shut, cutting off Victoria’s screams.
But her words remained suspended in the air.
We’ve been poisoning his water supply for six months.
My knees gave out.
I collapsed onto the hardwood floor, the tray of desserts slipping from my hand and crashing, sending shards of porcelain and cream across the room.
I didn’t care about the mess.
I didn’t care about the forty wealthy guests staring at me.
My father.
The man who had raised me. The man whose hospital bed I sat next to every single Sunday, watching him wither away from a mysterious organ failure the doctors couldn’t diagnose.
He wasn’t sick.
He was being murdered.
“Clara!”
Small hands wrapped around my neck.
Sofia had dropped to the floor beside me. She buried her face in my shoulder, her little body trembling.
“I’m sorry,” Sofia cried softly. “I’m sorry she hurt you.”
I wrapped my arms around the little girl, burying my face in her dark hair. I was a maid. I was supposed to be invisible. But right now, this nine-year-old child was the only thing keeping me anchored to the earth.
“Everyone out,” Alessandro’s voice boomed.
It wasn’t a request. It was an absolute command.
Chairs scraped violently against the floor.
Within sixty seconds, the dining hall was entirely empty, save for me, Sofia, Alessandro, and two armed guards at the door.
Alessandro walked over to us.
He didn’t call for another maid to clean the mess. He didn’t yell at me for being on the floor.
The most feared man in the city knelt down in the spilled cream and broken porcelain.
He reached out and gently unpried Sofia’s arms from my neck.
“Go with Marco,” Alessandro told his daughter softly. “Let me talk to Clara.”
Sofia hesitated, looking at me with large, tear-filled eyes.
“Go ahead, sweetie,” I whispered, forcing a brave smile. “I’m okay.”
Sofia stood up, but before she left, she reached into the pocket of her white dress.
She pulled out a folded piece of paper and pressed it into my hand.
“This is for you,” she whispered. “I found it in Mommy’s old room.”
She turned and ran out the door with the guard.
Alessandro watched her go, his expression softening. Then he looked back at me.
He held out his hand.
I hesitated, then placed my shaking hand in his. He pulled me up from the floor, his grip strong and steady.
“I will send my personal doctors to your father’s hospital tonight,” Alessandro said immediately. His voice left no room for argument. “They will run toxicology screens. If there is poison in his system, we will find the antidote. You have my word.”
I stared at him. “Why are you helping me? I’m just staff.”
“You are not staff,” Alessandro said, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “You protected my daughter tonight. In my world, loyalty is repaid with blood.”
He looked at the photograph of my mother still resting on the table.
He flipped it over.
There was writing on the back in faded blue ink.
Alessandro read it aloud.
“She knows about the bracelet.”
Answer One: Victoria’s family killed my mother because she discovered a secret regarding a specific bracelet.
But what bracelet?
“My mother didn’t own expensive jewelry,” I said, wiping my tears. “We barely had enough to pay rent.”
“It wasn’t her bracelet,” Alessandro said quietly.
He walked over to Victoria’s spilled bag and began sifting through the items. He pulled out a small velvet pouch that had been tucked inside a zippered pocket.
He opened the pouch and poured the contents into his palm.
A heavy, intricate silver bracelet fell out. It was engraved with a pattern of vines and a single word: Elena.
My breath stopped.
Elena.
Alessandro’s first wife. Sofia’s mother.
The woman who had supposedly died of a sudden heart attack five years ago.
“That belonged to my wife,” Alessandro whispered, his voice cracking with an emotion I had never heard from him. “She was wearing it the night she died. It disappeared from the coroner's office. I spent a year looking for it.”
Open One: Why did Victoria have Elena’s stolen bracelet?
Open Two: Did Victoria’s family have something to do with Elena’s death?
I looked down at the folded paper Sofia had pressed into my hand.
I found it in Mommy’s old room.
I carefully unfolded the paper.
It was a child’s drawing. Done in heavy, dark crayons.
It was a picture of a bedroom. A woman with long brown hair was lying on the bed.
Standing over her were two figures.
One was a woman with blonde hair. Victoria.
The other was a man.
Reversal: Elena didn’t die of a natural heart defect. She was murdered in her own bed, and Sofia had witnessed it from the closet.
I handed the drawing to Alessandro.
I watched his hands begin to shake as he looked at the crayon figures.
“Sofia saw it,” I whispered. “She drew what she saw.”
Alessandro traced the drawing with his thumb. His eyes were entirely black with rage.
But he wasn’t looking at the blonde woman in the picture.
He was looking at the man standing next to her.
The child had drawn the man holding a very specific object.
A pocket watch with a cracked glass face.
Alessandro’s head snapped up.
“This man,” Alessandro breathed, his voice terrifyingly cold. “He isn’t from Victoria’s family.”
I stepped back. “Who is he?”
Alessandro reached into his own suit jacket.
He pulled out a heavy gold pocket watch.
May you like
The glass face was cracked straight down the middle.
“He is my brother,” Alessandro said.
