Chapter 8 - THE NECKLACE ON THE FLOOR
The metallic click of the lighter echoed in the bedroom.
Miriam stood by the locked door, the silenced pistol in her right hand, the flame dancing in her left.
“Miriam, stop,” Matteo said, holding his hands up slowly. “Marco is the one who hurt your daughter. We have the ledger. We can destroy him legally. You don't have to do this.”
Miriam laughed. It was a broken, hollow sound.
“Legally? The Bellinis own the police. They own the judges.”
She pointed the gun at Victoria.
“They destroy everything they touch. And you, Matteo, you let them into this house.”
I was terrified, but I noticed something.
Miriam’s hands were shaking violently.
She wasn't a killer. She was a grieving mother pushed to the edge of insanity.
“Miriam, please,” I said softly, taking a tiny step forward. “Think about Leo. He’s at the hospital. If you burn this house down, who will take care of him? You’re his family now.”
Miriam’s eyes darted toward me. For a second, the anger in her face cracked.
“Leo is safe,” she whispered.
“He’s not safe if he loses you,” I pleaded.
Victoria took advantage of the distraction.
She lunged toward her leather duffel bag on the floor, reaching for a weapon of her own.
“No!” Matteo shouted.
Miriam panicked. She swung the gun toward Victoria and fired.
Pffft.
The silenced shot shattered the large vanity mirror behind Victoria, showering the room in glass.
Victoria screamed, diving behind the heavy oak bed frame.
Matteo didn't hesitate. He tackled Miriam to the ground.
The gun clattered across the hardwood floor, sliding under the dresser.
The lighter fell onto the Persian rug, instantly igniting the fringes.
“Claire, put it out!” Matteo yelled, pinning Miriam’s arms.
I scrambled to the bathroom, grabbed a heavy plush towel, soaked it under the faucet, and ran back, smothering the flames before they could spread to the curtains.
Miriam stopped fighting. She just lay on the floor, sobbing hysterically.
Matteo let her go, panting heavily.
He stood up, walking over to where the gun had fallen. He kicked it further under the dresser.
Victoria crawled out from behind the bed, clutching her chest.
She wasn't shot, but she was hyperventilating.
“She’s crazy!” Victoria shrieked, pointing at the crying nurse. “Call the police!”
“Shut up, Victoria,” Matteo growled.
He looked down at Miriam.
“Your daughter was Sarah, wasn't she?” Matteo asked softly.
Miriam nodded, her face buried in her hands.
“I remember her,” Matteo said. “She was kind. She didn't deserve what Marco did to her.”
He knelt beside Miriam.
“But Sarah didn't kill Leo’s parents.”
Miriam looked up, her tear-streaked face contorted in confusion. “What? Yes, she did. Marco told me—”
“Marco lied to you,” Matteo interrupted.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the half-burned photograph Leo had found in the ashes.
He showed it to Miriam.
“Look closely at the woman’s neck in this picture.”
I leaned in.
Around the woman’s neck was a distinct, emerald pendant necklace.
“That’s the Bellini family heirloom,” Matteo said. “Only the matriarch of the family is allowed to wear it. Vanessa never let anyone touch it, not even her assistant.”
Matteo turned to Victoria, who was now backed against the wall.
“Sarah didn't set that fire. Vanessa did.”
Victoria’s face went pale.
“And when Marco found out Vanessa left a witness—little Leo—he killed Sarah and framed her to protect his sister.”
Miriam let out a guttural cry of agony.
“Then Vanessa is dead,” Miriam wailed. “I can't even get justice for my daughter.”
Matteo stood up slowly.
He looked at Victoria.
“But Vanessa isn't dead, is she?”
Victoria froze.
“What are you talking about?” she stammered. “I told you, she died in Switzerland.”
Matteo walked toward her.
“You knew exactly where the emergency transfer papers were kept. You knew the exact combination to the master suite safe.”
He stopped inches from her face.
“And when Miriam pointed that gun at you, you didn't reach for a weapon in your bag.”
Matteo kicked the leather duffel bag over.
Jewelry spilled out.
But nestled among the diamonds was a small, heavy wooden box.
It fell open upon hitting the floor.
Inside the box rested the emerald pendant necklace.
The exact same necklace from the photograph.
Matteo stared into the woman’s eyes.
“You’re not Victoria,” he whispered. “Victoria actually died fifteen years ago.”
He grabbed her arm.
“You’re Vanessa. You faked a twin sister’s revenge plot to escape Marco and pin all your crimes on a ghost.”
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Vanessa’s lips curled into a slow, vicious smile.
“You always were too smart for your own good, Matteo.”
