Chapter 2 - The Name She Buried Thirty Years Ago
The silence in Luca's study was so absolute I could hear the antique grandfather clock ticking in the hallway.
Luca stared at the phone in his hand.
The blood had completely drained from his face.
"Mama Maria." His voice was barely a whisper. "What do you mean, the man she was supposed to marry?"
Through the speaker, the old woman’s breathing was ragged.
"Your brother, Luca. She was supposed to marry Antonio."
My stomach dropped.
Antonio Moretti had died in a tragic boating accident twenty-two years ago. I knew the story because every employee was forbidden from mentioning his name.
Luca gripped the edge of his mahogany desk.
His knuckles turned white.
"That's impossible. Antonio was engaged to a woman named Clara. She left him two weeks before he died."
Maria sobbed.
"Clara wasn't her real name, sweetheart. And she didn't just leave him. She vanished."
Luca went completely still.
"Vanessa is Clara?"
"I recognized her voice the moment she walked into the estate last month," Maria wept. "She changed her hair. Her nose. She speaks with that refined accent now. But a woman who practically lived in this house for two years? I could never forget her."
Luca looked toward the heavy oak doors of his study.
Down the hall, the engagement dinner was still happening.
His fiancée was sitting at the head of the table, sipping a four-hundred-dollar wine, laughing with the Chicago elite.
"Why didn't you tell me immediately?" Luca's voice trembled with a quiet, terrifying anger.
"Because I didn't have proof. And she warned me."
"When did she warn you?"
"The night of your mother's death."
Maria’s voice dropped to a terrified whisper.
"Your mother figured it out, Luca. She found a photograph. She called Clara to her bedroom to confront her. I was standing in the hallway. I heard Clara tell your mother that if she ever breathed a word to you, she would destroy this family."
Luca closed his eyes.
"Two hours later," Maria choked out, "your mother had her fatal heart attack. And Clara was the one who handed her the medicine glass."
The room spun.
I clamped a hand over my mouth.
Luca didn't shout. He didn't throw anything.
He just stood up, his face a mask of absolute ice.
"Daniel," Luca said to his head of security, who was still on the line.
"Yes, boss."
"Take three cars. Go to the St. Agnes Retirement Residence. Bring Maria home. Tonight."
"Consider it done."
Luca hung up.
He turned to me.
I was shaking again, and this time, it wasn't from the cold fountain water.
"Rachel."
"Yes, sir."
"You are going to walk back into that dining room."
My heart hammered against my ribs.
"Sir?"
"You will pour the coffee. You will serve the dessert. You will act as if nothing is wrong."
I swallowed hard. "What are you going to do?"
He walked toward a hidden wall safe behind his bookshelf.
"I am going to find out what my fiancée is keeping in the guest house."
He opened the safe and pulled out a heavy iron key.
Then he looked at me.
"Do exactly as I say. If Vanessa looks at you, smile. Do not let her know that the game is over."
I nodded.
I left the study, my legs feeling like lead, and pushed through the swinging doors into the dining room.
Vanessa was holding court.
She looked radiant in her red silk gown.
"Oh, the wedding will be in Tuscany, of course," she was telling a senator's wife. "Luca insists on giving me the world."
She glanced at me as I poured her coffee.
Her eyes were cold, calculating, and entirely devoid of the warmth she was projecting to the table.
"Careful with the cream, Rachel," she murmured. "We wouldn't want another clumsy accident."
"No, ma'am," I said quietly.
I moved to the next guest.
But as I reached the end of the table, I noticed something resting on the floor near Vanessa’s chair.
It had fallen from her velvet clutch.
A small, silver object.
I knelt down, pretending to pick up a dropped napkin, and scooped it into my apron pocket.
When I got back to the kitchen, I pulled it out.
It was an antique silver locket.
The clasp was broken, hanging open by a fraction of an inch.
I carefully pried it apart.
Inside wasn't a picture of Luca.
It was a tiny, faded photograph of a little boy with dark hair and striking green eyes.
And folded behind the picture was a perfectly preserved train ticket.
Dated for tomorrow morning.
A one-way trip to Montreal.
She wasn't planning on marrying Luca.
She was planning to run.
But before I could process what I was holding, the kitchen door swung open.
Vanessa stood there.
The smile was gone from her face.
And she was staring directly at my apron pocket.
May you like
"Give it to me," she said, her voice dropping to a vicious whisper.
TITLE: The Boy in the Silver Locket
