Chapter 3 - THE SILVER POCKET WATCH
“Dr. Evans is on his way,” I said, rushing into the downstairs master suite where Matteo had laid Eleanor on the massive four-poster bed.
The old woman looked terrifyingly pale against the dark silk sheets. She was breathing, but her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven intervals.
Matteo sat on the edge of the bed, holding her fragile, wrinkled hand in his large, tattooed ones. The ruthless mafia boss looked completely broken.
“She’s eighty-two,” he whispered, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “She shouldn’t be dealing with my family’s ghosts.”
“She loves you, Mr. Ricci,” I said softly.
He didn’t correct my formal tone. Instead, his eyes darted to the yellow blanket, which he had draped carefully over Eleanor’s legs.
I took a deep breath, my fingers trembling around the cold metal object in my apron pocket.
“Sir… I found something on the dining table. After Camille left.”
Matteo slowly turned his head. “What is it?”
I pulled the silver pocket watch from my apron and held it out.
The moment Matteo saw it, he stood up. He didn’t take it from my hand. He just stared at it as if it were a venomous snake.
“That’s impossible,” he said, his voice raw.
“Is it yours?” I asked.
He shook his head, taking a step back. “Mine is in my safe upstairs. That watch… my father bought a matching pair in Italy. He gave one to me on my sixth birthday. He wore the other one every single day.”
“Camille left it behind,” I explained, my heart pounding. “It fell out of her purse.”
Matteo finally reached out and took it. He turned it over. On the back, deeply engraved into the silver, were the initials: V.R.
Vincenzo Ricci.
Matteo’s jaw tightened so hard I thought his teeth would crack. “The police said this watch melted in the fire. They said there was nothing left of him to recover.”
“If Camille’s father caused the fire…” I started, trying to piece the nightmare together.
“Then Marcus took this off my father’s body,” Matteo finished, his eyes blazing with a terrifying, violent clarity. “He didn’t just burn the house to destroy evidence. He murdered my father, stole his empire, and kept his watch as a trophy. And Camille knew.”
The sheer cruelty of it made me nauseous. For months, Camille had been sleeping in Matteo’s bed, planning their wedding, all while her family held the very watch stolen from his murdered father.
Suddenly, a soft groan came from the bed.
Eleanor’s eyes fluttered open. “Matteo?”
He was by her side in a fraction of a second, the anger melting from his face, replaced entirely by gentle concern. “I’m here. The doctor is coming.”
“No doctors,” she rasped, trying to sit up. “There isn’t time.”
“You collapsed, Eleanor. You need to rest.”
“Matteo, listen to me,” she insisted, her bony fingers gripping his shirt collar with surprising strength. “The photograph wasn’t all I found in the trunk.”
Matteo frowned. “What else was there?”
“Your mother’s leather bound journal. She hid it inside the lining of my old winter coat the day before she died.” Eleanor struggled to breathe. “She knew they were coming, Matteo. She wrote everything down. The accounts, the names, the bribes. Marcus Sterling’s entire betrayal.”
Matteo froze. “Where is the journal now?”
“I hid it,” Eleanor whispered. “Under the floorboards in my bedroom. You have to get it tonight. Before Marcus realizes I told you.”
Matteo stood up immediately. “I’ll send my best men.”
“No!” Eleanor cried out, panic seizing her features. “You can’t trust your men! Marcus has paid off half your captains. Your mother wrote that someone inside your own house unlocked the back door the night of the fire. A traitor.”
Matteo looked like he had been struck.
“Who?” he demanded.
“I couldn’t read the name,” she sobbed. “The ink was smudged by the smoke. But it’s in the journal. You have to go yourself, Matteo. Don’t trust anyone with a gun.”
Matteo looked at me. His dark eyes were desperate.
“Sophie. I need you to stay with her. Lock this door. Do not let anyone in except the doctor. I’m going to Eleanor’s house.”
“Mr. Ricci, wait,” I said, my voice trembling as Camille’s parting threat echoed in my mind. I know about your crippled little brother, Sophie.
“What is it?”
“Camille threatened my brother on her way out,” I confessed, tears finally breaking free. “Leo is at a physical therapy clinic downtown. If her father is as dangerous as you say—”
Matteo didn’t hesitate. He pulled out his phone.
“I’m sending two trusted cars. One to fetch Leo from the clinic. They will bring him here, to this estate. He will be under my personal protection.” He looked me dead in the eye. “Nobody touches your family, Sophie. Do you understand me?”
I nodded, overwhelmed by a sudden, fierce loyalty to this dangerous man.
Matteo turned to leave. But as he reached the door, his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen. His face drained of color.
He answered it and put it on speaker.
“Hello, Matteo,” a smooth, chilling male voice echoed through the bedroom.
“Marcus,” Matteo growled.
“I hear the wedding is off,” Marcus Sterling said calmly. “Such a shame. Camille is heartbroken. But I’m calling with some bad news, son.”
“If you touch one hair on her head—”
“Oh, I don’t care about the old woman,” Marcus interrupted with a dry laugh. “I’m calling about your housemaid. The pretty one. Sophie, I believe?”
My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit.
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“What about her?” Matteo demanded, stepping in front of me as if shielding me from the phone itself.
“It seems there was a fire at her brother’s physical therapy clinic ten minutes ago,” Marcus said cheerfully. “Such a tragedy. Fires are so… unpredictable.”
