Chapter 2 - THE SILVER BRACELET
Luca didn't put the phone down immediately.
He stood in the upstairs hallway, his dark eyes fixed on the empty chair visible through the open dining room doors downstairs.
I clutched my injured hand to my chest.
“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “I shouldn't have said anything. Vanessa will fire me.”
Luca finally turned his gaze back to me.
“Vanessa doesn't run this house, Grace.”
His voice was terrifyingly calm. It was the voice of a man who commanded an empire in the shadows of Chicago, a man who had just realized his enemies were sleeping under his own roof.
Heavy footsteps echoed on the grand staircase.
Vanessa appeared at the top of the landing. Her red silk gown rustled against the marble.
She saw Luca standing outside the guest room, and her perfect smile faltered for a fraction of a second before snapping back into place.
“Darling,” she said smoothly, gliding toward us. “Your guests are waiting for the toast. Whatever this little maid has been crying about, I’m sure Mrs. Carter can handle it.”
Luca didn't move.
“My driver is bringing Ella home.”
Vanessa stopped ten feet away. The diamonds at her throat caught the chandelier light.
“Luca, be reasonable. The child is exhausted. She didn't want to come.”
“Grace tells a different story.”
Vanessa’s eyes shifted to me. The malice in them was so sharp it stole my breath.
“Grace is a liar,” Vanessa stated coldly. “She’s trying to cover up her own incompetence. She broke a plate, she ruined the seating arrangement, and now she’s inventing stories because she knows I was going to let her go tomorrow.”
“Is that so?” Luca stepped closer to his fiancée. “You were going to fire her?”
“She’s clumsy and deceitful.”
“She has my daughter's photograph in her apron,” Luca said quietly. “With a message on the back that Ella wrote today. In this house.”
Vanessa’s pale hands clenched into fists.
She didn't try to deny it anymore. Instead, she lifted her chin, her tone shifting from sweet to icy.
“I am trying to protect you, Luca. We are getting married. We are building an alliance between my father’s family and yours. You cannot have a spoiled, grieving eleven-year-old throwing tantrums at our engagement dinner. I did what a mother should do. I set boundaries.”
“You are not her mother.”
The words cracked through the hallway like a whip.
Vanessa flushed. “I will be in three weeks.”
“No,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You won't.”
Vanessa froze. “What are you saying?”
“I'm saying you can go downstairs, pack your things, and leave my house.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. He was calling off the wedding. Right now. With twenty-eight powerful syndicate members sitting at his dining table.
Vanessa let out a breathless, mocking laugh.
“You can't kick me out, Luca. You know what my family will do.”
“I don't care.”
She stepped closer, dropping all pretense. “You really think this is about me being a wicked stepmother? Look at the bigger picture. I didn't send Ella away today just because she annoyed me.”
Luca’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
“I was protecting her.” Vanessa raised her hand to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
As she did, the sleeve of her gown shifted.
Something caught the light.
I gasped.
Around Vanessa’s wrist was a heavy, intricate silver bracelet.
It wasn't a modern piece of jewelry. It was antique, engraved with delicate roses.
I recognized it immediately. I dusted the master bedroom every Tuesday. That bracelet belonged in the velvet box on Luca’s dresser. It was the bracelet his late wife had worn the night she died.
Luca saw it a second later.
All the color drained from his face.
“Where did you get that?” he demanded, stepping toward her.
Vanessa’s confidence vanished. She covered her wrist with her other hand, taking a quick step backward.
“Your mother gave it to me,” she stammered.
“My mother doesn't have the combination to my safe.”
Before Vanessa could answer, the heavy oak front doors downstairs slammed open.
Cold wind swept into the foyer.
Luca turned, marching to the top of the stairs. I followed closely behind, clutching my throbbing hand.
Down in the entryway stood Luca’s driver, breathing heavily.
Next to him was Ella.
The eleven-year-old girl looked tiny in the massive foyer. Her dark hair was tangled, her eyes red from crying.
But she wasn't wearing her blue dress.
She was wearing a massive, dark wool coat that dragged on the marble floor. A man's coat.
“Ella,” Luca breathed, rushing down the stairs.
He dropped to his knees in front of her, reaching out to pull her into his arms.
Ella violently flinched backward.
She pressed her back against the heavy mahogany door, staring at her father with absolute terror.
“Don't touch me,” the little girl whispered.
Luca froze, his hands trembling in the air. “Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Daddy.”
Ella shook her head wildly. She gripped the edges of the oversized coat.
That was when I saw it.
May you like
The sleeve of the coat was stained with fresh, bright red blood.
And sticking out of the pocket was a silver handgun.
