Chapter 3 - THE STOLEN SKETCHES AND A DEAD MAN'S WATCH
I rushed back into the dining room, my heart pounding against my ribs.
The atmosphere was suffocating. Vanessa had returned, wrapped in a plush white guest robe, standing at the edge of the room with her arms crossed, glaring at her mother. Helen was weeping silently into a napkin.
Luca stood exactly where I had left him, his hands resting on the table beside the ruined red gown.
"I have it, Mr. Moretti," I said, my voice shaking slightly as I approached the table.
I set the heavy black leather portfolio down. The silver pocket watch was still hidden in my palm. I wasn't sure if I should mention it yet, so I slipped it quietly into my apron pocket.
Luca didn't look at Vanessa. He looked at Helen.
"Mrs. Bellini," Luca said gently. "Your daughter has spent the last three months telling my investors that she is a visionary designer. She claimed she spent nights awake, creating the blueprints for a revolutionary bridal line."
He unzipped the leather portfolio.
Inside were dozens of beautiful, hand-drawn fashion sketches. The lines were delicate, the shading immaculate, the notes written in elegant cursive in the margins.
"Vanessa," Luca said, turning to his fiancée. "Describe the third dress in this portfolio. The emerald one."
Vanessa froze. Her eyes darted wildly around the room. "Luca, I... I have drawn so many, I can't possibly remember one specific piece without looking—"
"It has a sweetheart neckline," Helen whispered.
Everyone turned to the sixty-two-year-old seamstress.
Helen wiped her eyes, staring blankly at the table. "A sweetheart neckline with a drop waist. The skirt requires twelve yards of silk organza. The bodice is structured with French boning, and the back features twenty-two covered buttons. I... I noted in the margin that the buttons must be spaced exactly half an inch apart to avoid pulling the fabric."
Luca slowly turned the portfolio toward the guests.
It was exactly as Helen described. Down to the handwritten note in the margin.
"I drew that when Vanessa was in high school," Helen said, her voice trembling. "She used to love watching me sketch at the kitchen table. She took all my old drawing books when she moved out. She said she wanted them for sentimental reasons."
Vanessa’s face turned bright red. "She's lying! She's a bitter old woman who wants to steal my credit!"
"Enough."
Luca’s voice cracked through the room like a whip. Vanessa instantly snapped her mouth shut.
"You didn't design a single garment," Luca said, disgust dripping from every word. "You stole your mother's lifelong dreams, passed them off as your own to impress my family, and then you used my name to steal her shop so you could build a showroom on her broken back."
He closed the portfolio.
"The engagement is over, Vanessa. Pack your things. You will be out of this house by midnight."
Vanessa let out a ragged gasp. "Luca, you can't! You love me!"
"I loved a woman who didn't exist," he replied coldly. "Megan, please escort Miss Vanessa upstairs."
I stepped forward. "Yes, sir."
But as I moved, the fabric of my apron caught on the edge of the dining chair.
The heavy silver pocket watch slipped from my pocket.
It hit the marble floor with a sharp, echoing CRACK.
The metal lid popped open. The shattered glass face gleamed under the chandeliers.
Luca froze.
The breath completely left his body.
He didn't move for three full seconds. Then, slowly, as if in a trance, the powerful mafia boss walked around the table and knelt on the floor. He picked up the tarnished silver watch with trembling fingers.
He stared at the crest. The wolf and the rose.
He turned it over and looked at the dried, dark rust on the casing.
When he finally looked up, his eyes were entirely different. The calm, calculated businessman was gone. The dangerous, ruthless underworld boss had surfaced.
"Where did this come from?" Luca asked. His voice was barely a whisper, but it made the hair on my arms stand up.
I swallowed hard. "It fell out of a jewelry box on Miss Vanessa's desk, sir. When I grabbed the portfolio. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry—"
Luca didn't care about me. He stood up and walked slowly toward Vanessa.
Vanessa was backing away, genuine terror in her eyes. "Luca... Luca, what is it? It's just junk!"
"Junk?" Luca breathed. "This watch belonged to my father, Lorenzo Moretti."
A shockwave ripped through the older guests at the table. A few of the men, who I knew were Luca's "associates," stood up immediately, their hands instinctively moving toward their jackets.
"My father was wearing this watch thirty years ago," Luca continued, taking another step toward a trembling Vanessa. "On the night he was ambushed in an alley on the South Side. He was bleeding to death."
Vanessa pressed her back against the wall. "I... I bought it at an antique store! In Paris! I swear!"
"You're lying," Luca growled, the restraint finally breaking. "My father gave this watch to the man who found him in that alley. The man who dragged him inside, hid him from the hitmen, and stitched his wounds closed with a needle and thread, saving his life."
Luca stepped inches from Vanessa's face.
"My family has spent thirty years looking for the man who saved my father's life, to repay the debt. And you are telling me you found his watch in an antique store in Paris?"
"I did!" Vanessa sobbed. "I did!"
"She's lying."
The soft voice came from the table.
Luca turned.
Helen was standing. She wasn't crying anymore. She was staring at the silver watch in Luca's hand with wide, disbelieving eyes.
"Mrs. Bellini?" Luca asked, his voice softening instantly.
Helen walked forward. She reached out with a shaking hand and traced the wolf and the rose on the silver lid.
"That watch didn't come from Paris," Helen whispered, a tear slipping down her wrinkled cheek. "It sat in a cigar box under my bed for twenty-five years."
Luca went completely still. "What?"
Helen looked up into his eyes.
"That watch belonged to my late husband," she said. "Arthur Bellini. He was a tailor on the South Side."
The room spun.
Luca Moretti, the most feared man in Chicago, slowly sank to his knees in front of the sixty-two-year-old seamstress.
"Your husband..." Luca whispered.
"He came home covered in blood one night," Helen cried. "He told me he helped a stranger. He never told me his name. He just gave me this watch and told me to hide it forever."
Luca bowed his head, grasping Helen's hand.
May you like
But Vanessa let out a wicked, desperate laugh.
"Oh, please!" Vanessa shrieked from the wall. "Are we supposed to believe my pathetic father was a hero? Don't make me laugh, Mother. Tell him the truth about Dad! Tell him what you've been hiding in the shop!"
Related Stories
