Chapter 2 - THE NAME IN THE DEAD WOMAN'S LETTER
Lillian’s flawless complexion turned the color of ash.
She took a step back, her high heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. The ninety-two guests in the room were dead silent, their champagne glasses frozen in mid-air.
“Dante, darling, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lillian stammered, her voice losing its usual polished edge. “Your mother must have known another Mercer. It’s a common name.”
Dante didn't blink.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. The quiet danger radiating from him was enough to make the air in the room feel heavy.
“She didn't write ‘a Mercer’,” Dante said softly. “She wrote Arthur Mercer. Your father.”
Lillian crossed her arms, a defensive posture that made her look small. “This is ridiculous. We met at a charity gala two years ago. My father is a retired banker. He never knew your family.”
“Then why does my mother’s letter say he threatened her life?”
A collective gasp rippled through the guests.
I stood paralyzed next to Rosa. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. I had just wanted to save an old woman’s job. I never intended to unearth a decades-old ghost.
Dante looked down at the letter again, his dark eyes scanning his mother’s elegant handwriting.
“‘If anything happens to me, Dante,’” he read aloud, his voice cracking just a fraction on his own name, “‘do not trust Arthur Mercer. He has been watching us.’”
Dante slowly folded the letter and put it inside his breast pocket. He looked at Lillian, his gaze cold enough to freeze water.
“You didn't bump into me at that gala by accident, did you, Lillian?”
“Dante, please,” she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. It was a good performance, but the slight tremor in her hands betrayed her panic. “I love you. My sister just wanted to help with the catering, that’s all. Rosa is old. She’s confused.”
“Leave Rosa out of this,” Dante snapped.
He stepped toward his fiancée. The space between them felt like a live wire.
“My mother died in a hit-and-run accident fifteen years ago,” Dante said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “The police never found the driver. But this letter… this letter changes everything.”
Lillian’s mask finally slipped. The tears vanished, replaced by a cold, desperate anger.
“You’re going to take the word of a dead woman and a senile cook over the woman you’re going to marry?” Lillian sneered.
“I’m not marrying you,” Dante said.
The words echoed in the massive dining room.
“The wedding is off,” he continued, his tone absolute. “And if I find out your father had anything to do with my mother’s death, I will dismantle your family piece by piece.”
Lillian’s face twisted. She looked around at the guests, realizing her reign in this house was over. She snatched her designer purse from the table.
“You’ll regret this, Dante,” she hissed. “My father knows secrets about this family that would ruin you.”
She turned and stormed out of the room, the heavy oak doors slamming shut behind her.
Dante didn't watch her leave. He turned to the crowd of wealthy, influential guests.
“The party is over,” he announced.
Within minutes, the room was empty.
It was just Dante, Rosa, and me standing amidst the abandoned pink retirement cake and half-empty champagne flutes.
Dante ran a hand through his dark hair, the weight of the last ten minutes suddenly crashing down on him. He looked at Rosa, his expression softening entirely.
“Rosa, I’m so sorry,” he murmured, stepping forward and gently taking the older woman’s hands. “I had no idea she was doing this. You are never leaving this house. Not unless you want to.”
Rosa wiped a tear from her cheek, squeezing his hands back. “I know, bambino. I know.”
“Why didn't you show me the letter sooner?” Dante asked gently.
Rosa looked down. “Because your mother made me swear to only give it to you if a Mercer ever stepped foot inside this house. When Lillian introduced herself two years ago… I was terrified. But I needed proof she was up to no good before I ruined your happiness.”
“My happiness was a lie,” Dante said bitterly.
He turned to me. I immediately lowered my gaze, suddenly hyper-aware of my black-and-white maid’s uniform.
“Avery,” Dante said, his voice rich and deep.
“Yes, sir.”
“You risked your job today to protect Rosa.”
“She’s a good person, sir. She didn't deserve to be humiliated.”
Dante studied my face for a long moment. There was something in his eyes I couldn't quite read. Respect. And maybe something else.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Valenti.”
“Go help Rosa pack up the kitchen,” he instructed. “I need to make some calls. I need to find Arthur Mercer.”
As Dante walked away, pulling out his cell phone, Rosa gripped my arm. Her hands were shaking violently.
“Avery,” the older woman whispered, her eyes wide with terror. “Lillian didn't just want the recipes to sell them.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
Rosa reached into the deep pocket of her apron. She pulled out a heavy, tarnished silver locket. It was covered in dried, dark stains that looked terrifyingly like old blood.
“I found this taped to the back of the recipe book ten years ago,” Rosa whispered, pressing the cold metal into my hand. “It belonged to Dante’s mother.”
I looked down at the locket. “Why didn't you give it to him?”
Rosa’s voice broke. “Because of what’s inside.”
With a trembling finger, I pried the silver clasp open.
Inside was a tiny, faded photograph of a young woman holding a baby.
But it wasn't Dante’s mother.
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“Rosa,” I gasped, the air leaving my lungs. “That’s… that’s my mother.”
TITLE: The Face Inside The Bloodstained Locket
