Chapter 3 - THE WIDOW’S ROSARY
The silenced gunshot sounded like a sharp clap of hands.
Wood splintered right next to my ear.
I screamed and dropped to the floor.
Before the driver could fire a second shot, Luca moved.
He didn't shoot.
He crossed the room in two massive strides, grabbed the driver’s wrist, and twisted it violently upward.
The pistol clattered to the floor.
Luca slammed the man against the doorframe.
The heavy thud rattled the cottage windows.
“Who do you work for?” Luca roared, pressing his forearm against the man’s throat.
The driver choked, his eyes wide.
“Bellini!” he gasped. “I work for her father!”
Luca’s expression turned to stone.
He dragged the man into the room and threw him onto the floor.
He pointed his gun at the man’s chest.
“Why did you shoot at her?” Luca demanded, nodding toward me. “She’s a maid. She has nothing to do with this.”
The driver coughed, rubbing his throat.
He looked at me, then at Luca.
He started to laugh.
A wet, ugly sound.
“A maid?” The driver smiled, blood on his teeth. “Is that what she told you? Ask her what her husband’s real name was.”
The room went dead silent.
Luca slowly turned his head.
He looked at me.
Rose clutched her cane, her blue eyes wide with shock.
“Rachel?” Luca said. His voice wasn’t angry. It was terrifyingly calm. “What is he talking about?”
My hands were shaking so violently I could barely push myself up from the floor.
I looked at the brass key in Luca’s hand.
Then I looked at the driver.
“My husband’s name was David Moore,” I whispered, tears spilling hot down my cheeks.
“Tell him his maiden name,” the driver taunted.
I closed my eyes.
“David… Bellini.”
Luca froze.
The gun in his hand didn't waver, but his entire body went rigid.
“Bellini?” Luca repeated.
“He was Vanessa’s cousin,” I sobbed, wrapping my arms around my stomach. “But he left the family. He wanted nothing to do with the cartel, the violence, the lies. We changed our last name. We moved away. We tried to be normal.”
“Until three years ago,” the driver sneered.
“Yes,” I cried. “Until three years ago.”
I looked at Luca.
“My husband was a mechanic. One night, Vanessa came to our shop. She told David that if he didn't fix a specific car, she would make sure our son never made it to high school.”
Luca’s jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
“What car did he fix, Rachel?”
I looked at the floor.
“It wasn’t about fixing it. She made him cut the brake lines.”
Rose gasped and covered her mouth.
“Whose car?” Luca asked, though by the look in his eyes, he already knew.
“I didn't know whose it was!” I pleaded. “David didn't know either! But the next day, we saw the news. A tragic accident on Route 9. A woman’s car went through the guardrail.”
Isabella Moretti.
Luca’s mother.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
I waited for Luca to raise the gun.
To shoot me.
To banish me.
I had harbored the secret of his mother’s murder for three years.
But Luca didn't look at me.
He looked at the driver.
“So Vanessa killed my mother.”
“Your mother was getting in the way,” the driver spat. “She found out Don Bellini was buying up the city’s judges. She had proof. She put it in a vault.”
“And the key,” Luca said, looking at the brass object in his hand. “She left it with Rose.”
“David figured it out,” I said, wiping my face. “A month after the crash, he found a rosary in Vanessa’s coat pocket. A silver rosary with a broken cross.”
Rose inhaled sharply.
“Isabella’s rosary,” the old woman whispered. “She never took it off.”
“David realized Vanessa was at the crash site,” I said. “He told her he was going to the police. Two days later, my husband was killed in a hit-and-run.”
I looked up at Luca.
“That’s why I’m here. That’s why I took the maid job. I’ve been looking for proof to put Vanessa away for killing my husband. But she recognized me today when I grabbed the suitcase. She knew I found the key.”
Luca lowered his gun.
He didn't shoot me.
Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy silver chain.
A rosary.
With a broken cross.
“Vanessa gave this to me last week,” Luca said softly. “She said she bought it at an antique auction in Rome. A wedding gift.”
My breath caught.
“She wears the broken cross on a bracelet,” I whispered.
Luca’s eyes darkened to absolute black.
He looked at the driver.
“You’re going to stay on that floor.”
He stepped over the man, grabbed my arm gently but firmly, and pulled me to my feet.
“Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
Luca looked toward the main house, where thirty guests were still drinking his champagne.
“To the Mercantile Bank.”
“But the bank is closed,” I said. “It’s past ten o’clock.”
Luca pushed open the splintered cottage door.
“Not for me, it isn’t.”
Before we could step off the porch, a small, terrified voice called out from the dark garden.
“Mommy?”
I froze.
My heart stopped beating.
May you like
Standing in the shadows of the maple tree, clutching a worn teddy bear, was my seven-year-old daughter, Lily.
And standing right behind her, with a manicured hand resting tightly on Lily’s shoulder, was Vanessa Bellini.
