Chapter 5 - THE GOLD POCKET WATCH
“Lock down the estate!” Alessandro roared, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. “Nobody gets in or out! Daniel, get the medical kit for him!”
The villa instantly erupted into controlled chaos. Guards sprinted past us, radios crackling with frantic Italian orders. Alessandro didn’t chase after Vivian. Instead, he holstered his weapon and turned immediately back to me, his priority crystal clear.
“Come with me,” he ordered, his hand wrapping firmly around my upper arm. He didn’t wait for my response. He guided me and Emma away from the grand hall, away from the blood on the floor, and deep into the private, restricted heart of the mansion.
We reached his private study. Heavy oak doors, bulletproof glass, and walls lined with centuries-old books. He locked the doors behind us and turned to face me.
“You need to sit down,” he said, pointing to a plush leather sofa near the fireplace.
I sat, keeping Emma securely in my lap. She was incredibly quiet, her tiny fingers twisting the fabric of her own dress since Mr. Bunny was now ruined and resting on Alessandro’s desk.
Alessandro poured a small amount of amber liquid into a crystal glass and handed it to me.
“Drink,” he commanded gently. “It will help with the shock.”
I took a sip. The brandy burned down my throat, grounding me slightly.
“Who helped her escape?” I asked, my voice trembling. “You said she had someone on the inside.”
“Vivian isn’t a mastermind,” Alessandro said, pacing in front of the fireplace, the flames casting sharp shadows across his striking face. “She is a socialite. She married into this world, just like she tried to marry me. The man she ran with was likely the same man who ordered your husband’s death.”
I looked down at the photograph still resting on his desk. David and Vivian.
“Why would David be with her?” I whispered. “He loved us. We were a family.”
Alessandro stopped pacing. He sat down on the coffee table directly in front of me, putting him at eye level.
“Clara, I need you to think back to the night David died,” Alessandro said softly. “Emma said Vivian tore his coat. What happened after Vivian left?”
I closed my eyes, forcing myself to relive the worst night of my life.
“David came into the kitchen,” I recalled, my voice breaking. “He was pale. Sweating. He said he had to go to the shop to fix a client’s car, but he was acting frantic. He kissed Emma. He kissed me. And then…”
I opened my eyes, a forgotten memory suddenly slamming into the forefront of my mind.
“He gave me a watch,” I breathed.
Alessandro went entirely still. “A watch?”
“Yes,” I nodded, my heart accelerating. “He had this old, broken pocket watch. It belonged to his grandfather. He pressed it into my hand and told me to keep it safe. He said, ‘If anything happens, Clara, remember the time.’ I thought he was just being sentimental. I put it in my jewelry box and never looked at it again.”
Alessandro leaned forward, his dark eyes burning with intense focus. “Clara. Do you have that watch here? In your staff quarters?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s in a small wooden box under my bed.”
Alessandro stood up instantly. “Stay here. Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone but me.”
He was gone before I could even nod.
I sat in the quiet study, holding Emma tight. The reality of my situation was terrifying. I was a maid, hiding in a mafia don’s office, hunted by a syndicate, because my dead husband was an underworld archivist. It felt like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.
Ten minutes later, three sharp knocks rapped against the heavy oak door.
“Clara. It’s me.”
I scrambled up and unlocked the door. Alessandro stepped inside, locking it quickly behind him. In his large hand, he held the old, tarnished silver pocket watch David had given me two years ago.
“Is this it?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, stepping closer.
Alessandro pressed the latch. The cover popped open. The watch was broken; the hands were frozen in place.
“Remember the time,” Alessandro murmured, repeating my husband’s last words.
He stared at the face of the watch. The hour hand was pointing exactly at the four. The minute hand was resting exactly on the four.
4:04.
Alessandro looked up at me, his eyes wide with a brilliant, terrifying realization.
“The rusted key,” Alessandro said, pulling the heavy iron key from his pocket. “The key said 404-Termini.”
“But David hated trains,” I reminded him. “He wouldn't hide something at a train station.”
“It’s not a train station,” Alessandro smiled, a fierce, predatory grin that transformed his face. “Termini isn’t a place. It’s a word. In Latin, Terminus means the end of the line. The final boundary. And 404 isn’t a locker number.”
He flipped the watch over, pressing his thumbs against the back casing.
“It’s the combination,” Alessandro said.
With a sharp click, the back of the pocket watch popped off.
Inside the casing wasn't a set of gears.
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It was a small, tightly folded piece of heavy parchment, sealed with dark red wax.
But as Alessandro reached for the parchment, the heavy oak doors of the study didn't just knock. They splintered inward with a deafening crash as a shotgun blast blew the locks entirely out of the wood.
