Chapter 2 - THE GOLD POCKET WATCH
The dining room felt like a graveyard.
Matteo didn't shout. He didn't slam his fist on the table.
He simply stared at Andrew.
And in Matteo Vescari's world, absolute silence was far more dangerous than a raised voice.
"You stole the envelope," Matteo said softly. "And when my maid found you, you tried to permanently silence her."
Andrew’s face lost all its color. The confident estate manager who had controlled this mansion for eleven years was suddenly trembling.
"Mr. Vescari, you don't understand," Andrew pleaded, taking a step backward. "I didn't take it for myself. I didn't want to hurt her. I was looking for it because I had to."
"You had to," Matteo repeated.
"They made me."
Andrew reached into his tailored suit jacket. The security chief instantly placed a hand on his weapon, but Matteo raised a single finger. Wait.
Andrew’s shaking hand emerged holding an object.
A heavy, antique gold pocket watch.
He placed it gently on the long mahogany table. It slid a few inches before stopping near my tray.
"They slipped this into my coat yesterday," Andrew whispered, his voice cracking. "I didn't know how they got past the gates. But they left a message inside."
Matteo looked at the watch. He didn't touch it. "Who?"
"The Moretti syndicate."
A collective gasp swept through the remaining guests. The Morettis were Matteo's oldest rivals. Ruthless. Unpredictable.
"They said if I didn't find the envelope containing the shipping logs, they would use the information in that watch," Andrew choked out, tears finally spilling over his cheeks. "I was protecting my family, Matteo. Please. I have a wife. I have a daughter."
I looked at Andrew.
For a second, I almost pitied him. I knew what desperation felt like. I knew what it meant to compromise your morals to protect someone you loved.
But Matteo’s expression didn't soften.
He slowly reached out and picked up the gold pocket watch. He pressed the small latch on the side.
The lid popped open.
Matteo looked at the inside of the lid for a long time. His jaw tightened so hard I thought his teeth would shatter.
"You did this to protect your daughter," Matteo said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, hollow whisper.
"Yes," Andrew cried. "I swear it."
Matteo turned the open watch around and placed it on the table so Andrew—and I—could see it.
There was a tiny photograph secured inside the lid.
But it wasn't a picture of Andrew's daughter.
It was a picture of a little boy with dark hair, playing in a garden.
Leo.
Matteo's six-year-old son.
Andrew stared at the photo, confusion wiping away his tears. "That... that isn't the picture they gave me. The picture was of my Sarah."
"You've been played, Andrew," Matteo said, the coldness in his eyes turning into absolute, lethal rage. "They didn't threaten your family. They used you to threaten mine. And they swapped the photo to let me know they can get inside my house."
Before Andrew could speak, before anyone could react to the horrific realization, the lights in the dining room abruptly cut out.
Pitch blackness.
A second later, the massive crystal window at the end of the dining room shattered.
A suppressed gunshot echoed through the dark.
I felt a warm spray hit my cheek.
When the emergency backup lights flickered on a moment later, casting the room in a blood-red glow, the guests were screaming.
Andrew Cole was slumped over the mahogany table.
Dead.
The security chief drew his weapon, aiming at the broken window.
But Matteo wasn't looking at the window. He grabbed my arm, pulling me hard behind the solid oak pillar near the entryway.
"Are you hit?" he demanded, his eyes scanning my face, seeing the blood on my cheek.
"It's not mine," I breathed, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Matteo wiped the blood from my face with his thumb. "They silenced him. The sniper is in the east woods."
"Mr. Vescari, your son," I said, panic rising in my throat. "The photo."
Matteo’s eyes darkened. "Leo is in the west wing. Come with me."
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"Me? Why me?"
"Because Andrew was the only one who controlled the security roster," Matteo said grimly, pulling a handgun from an ankle holster. "Which means right now, you are the only person in this house I know for a fact isn't working for the men trying to kill me."
