Chapter 6 - THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE WATCH
The metallic click of the handgun echoing in the dining room stopped time.
Patricia Bennett went entirely rigid. She sat perfectly still in her chair, the bandaged fingers of her right hand trembling violently against her knee.
“Thomas,” Alessandro said.
His voice wasn't loud. It wasn't panicked. It was the calm, terrifying tone of a man who had navigated violence his entire life.
“Put the gun down.”
Thomas smiled, adjusting his grip on the weapon. He kept the barrel trained squarely on Patricia’s chest.
“Call off your men, Alessandro,” Thomas instructed. “Tell the guards at the front gate to open the perimeter. I am going to walk out to my car, and I am going to drive away.”
“And then what?” Alessandro asked, slowly stepping laterally, trying to draw Thomas’s eyeline away from the seamstress. “You think you can hide from me? I will hunt you to the ends of the earth.”
“I have accounts in places you’ve never heard of,” Thomas replied smoothly. “Your uncle and I made sure of that.”
I stood near the grand archway, clutching Mia to my chest. The little girl buried her face in my shoulder, whimpering quietly.
I needed to get her out of the room. But any sudden movement might cause Thomas to pull the trigger.
I looked at Patricia. The fifty-six-year-old woman was weeping silently, her eyes pleading with me to stay back.
Vanessa was still pressed against the velvet drapes, sobbing hysterically. “Thomas, take me with you! He’ll kill me!”
Thomas didn't even look at her. “You’re a liability, Vanessa. You couldn't even empty a coat without a child seeing you.”
Alessandro took another slow step to the left.
“You aren't leaving this room, Thomas,” Alessandro said.
“Don't test me, Alessandro. I put a bullet in your father’s chest. I will not hesitate to shoot a seamstress.”
I felt a heavy weight in the pocket of my white maid’s apron.
It was my father’s rosary.
He had given it to me when I moved to Philadelphia, telling me it had been blessed by the priest back in Pittsburgh. It was made of heavy, solid hematite beads and a thick silver cross. I carried it every day for comfort.
I looked at Thomas. He was standing near the polished hardwood edge of the dining room rug.
If I could just distract him for one second. One single second.
I slowly reached my free hand into my apron pocket. I wrapped my fingers around the heavy silver cross.
“Mr. Vitale,” I said aloud, my voice intentionally shaking to sound terrified.
Thomas’s eyes darted toward me for a fraction of a second.
In that exact moment, I whipped the heavy rosary across the room, aiming directly at the crystal champagne tower sitting on the serving cart next to Thomas.
The heavy hematite beads struck the bottom glasses with a violent CRASH.
Crystal shattered. Champagne exploded outward. The massive tower collapsed in a chaotic cascade of breaking glass.
Thomas flinched, instinctively raising his free arm to shield his face from the flying shards.
That was all Alessandro needed.
The mafia boss moved with terrifying speed. He crossed the ten feet between them in a blur of motion, tackling Thomas waist-high.
The gun fired wildly toward the ceiling, shattering a crystal chandelier. Sparks rained down on the dining table.
Alessandro drove Thomas into the hardwood floor. He pinned the attorney’s gun arm under his knee and delivered a brutal, sickening punch to Thomas’s jaw.
Thomas went limp instantly.
The gun skittered across the floor, stopping near Patricia’s feet.
Patricia let out a loud, shuddering sob and kicked the weapon away.
Alessandro didn't stop. He grabbed Thomas by the collar of his expensive suit, hauling the unconscious man halfway off the floor, his fist raised to strike again.
“Daddy, no!” Mia cried out from my arms.
Alessandro froze.
He looked over his shoulder. He saw his six-year-old daughter watching him, terrified of the violence.
Alessandro slowly lowered his fist. He took a deep, ragged breath, regaining his composure. He dropped Thomas back onto the floor.
Within seconds, four armed estate guards rushed into the dining room, their weapons drawn.
“Secure him,” Alessandro ordered, adjusting his suit jacket. “Take him to the basement. Tie him to a chair. Do not let him wake up comfortably.”
The guards dragged the unconscious attorney out of the room.
Alessandro turned to Patricia. He knelt beside her chair, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Are you hurt, Mrs. Bennett?”
Patricia shook her head, crying tears of sheer relief. “No, sir. I’m okay.”
Alessandro stood up and looked at me.
“Claire,” he said, his voice thick with gratitude. “You saved her life.”
I swallowed hard, my hands still shaking. “I just... I threw my rosary.”
I looked at the floor near the shattered champagne glasses. My father’s heavy hematite rosary lay in the puddle of wine, the silver cross unbroken.
Vanessa suddenly let out a sharp, bitter laugh from the corner of the room.
We all turned to look at her.
She was sliding down the velvet drapes, sitting on the floor, looking completely unhinged.
“You think you’re a hero, Claire?” Vanessa sneered, wiping her ruined makeup.
“Shut up, Vanessa,” Alessandro warned.
“No!” Vanessa laughed again, a desperate, ugly sound. “She thinks she’s so noble! Throwing her daddy’s little rosary to save the day!”
Vanessa pointed a shaking finger at me.
“Do you know why I hired her, Alessandro? Do you think it was an accident that a girl from Pittsburgh ended up cleaning your mansion?”
My stomach plummeted.
“What are you talking about?” I whispered.
Vanessa smiled. “Thomas didn't act alone the night he killed your father, Alessandro. He had a driver. A young warehouse worker from Pittsburgh who needed cash to pay for his sick wife’s medical bills.”
The room began to spin.
“No,” I breathed.
May you like
Vanessa locked eyes with me.
“Your precious father drove the getaway car, Claire. You aren't a hero. You’re the daughter of a murderer.”
