Chapter 7 - THE ROSARY OF TRUTH
The silence in the dining room was heavier than the shattered crystal on the floor.
I stared at Vanessa, my mind entirely rejecting the words that had just left her mouth.
“You’re lying,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “My father is a good man. He works at a shipping warehouse. He would never...”
“He works at a warehouse now,” Vanessa sneered, pulling herself up from the floor. “But twenty years ago? When your mother was dying of cancer and the hospital bills were piling up? He was desperate.”
I felt physically sick.
It was true that my mother had died when I was seven. It was true that the medical debt had nearly crushed our family. But my father—quiet, hardworking, gentle—a getaway driver for a mafia hit?
Alessandro stood perfectly still, his dark eyes locked on me.
The man who had just praised me for saving Patricia’s life was now looking at me as if I were a stranger. As if I were the enemy.
“Alessandro,” Vanessa continued, sensing the shift in power. “Thomas forced me to hire her. He wanted her close. He said her father was getting anxious, asking questions about the old days. Thomas wanted leverage.”
She pointed at me again.
“She’s leverage, Alessandro. Her father is the only living witness to your father’s murder. Thomas was using her as a hostage to keep the old man quiet.”
I gripped Mia tighter, my tears finally spilling over. “Mr. Vitale, I swear to you, I didn't know. If my father did that... I had no idea.”
Alessandro didn't yell. He didn't pull a weapon.
He walked slowly toward me.
He gently took Mia from my arms. The little girl clung to his neck, burying her face in his shoulder.
“Guards,” Alessandro called out quietly.
Two men in dark suits stepped into the dining room.
“Take Miss Sterling to the east wing,” Alessandro ordered, not taking his eyes off me. “Lock her in a guest room. Confiscate her phone. If she tries to leave, break her legs.”
Vanessa gasped. “Alessandro, I told you the truth! I helped you!”
“You helped yourself,” Alessandro said coldly. “Get her out of my sight.”
The guards grabbed Vanessa by the arms, dragging her away as she screamed and kicked, the red silk gown tearing against the doorframe.
The room was quiet again, save for the sound of Patricia weeping softly in her chair.
Alessandro turned to the head housekeeper, who was standing terrified in the hallway. “Mrs. Carter. Take Mia to her room. Stay with her until I come upstairs.”
Mrs. Carter nodded quickly, taking the little girl from Alessandro’s arms and hurrying up the grand staircase.
Now, it was just Alessandro, Patricia, and me.
Alessandro walked over to the puddle of champagne. He reached down and picked up the heavy hematite rosary I had thrown.
He wiped the wet silver cross on his handkerchief.
Then, he walked over to me and held it out.
I hesitated, then took it with shaking hands.
“Claire,” Alessandro said, his voice devoid of anger, but filled with a terrifying, absolute authority. “I am going to ask you a question. Your life depends on the answer.”
I swallowed hard, looking up into his dark eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“Did you know who I was when you applied for this job?”
“No, sir,” I cried softly. “The agency in Pittsburgh sent me here. They said the pay was double what I was making at the diner. I just wanted to help my dad pay his mortgage.”
Alessandro studied my face for a long time. He was a man who spent his life deciphering lies.
He slowly nodded. “I believe you.”
He turned to Patricia. “Mrs. Bennett. My driver is waiting outside. He will take you home. Your invoice will be paid in full by morning, and your lease will be secured. Nobody will ever threaten your business again.”
Patricia stood up unsteadily. “Thank you, Mr. Vitale. But... what about Claire?”
“Claire is coming with me,” Alessandro said quietly.
“Where?” I asked, my heart pounding.
“To the basement,” Alessandro replied. “To have a conversation with Thomas.”
Five minutes later, I followed Alessandro down the narrow concrete steps into the subterranean level of the mansion.
The basement was cold, lit by harsh fluorescent bulbs.
In the center of the room, Thomas was tied securely to a heavy wooden chair. His face was bruised, and his expensive glasses were gone, but he was conscious.
When he saw Alessandro, he smirked.
“Come to finish the job, Alessandro?” Thomas slurred, his jaw clearly damaged.
Alessandro pulled up a metal folding chair and sat directly in front of the attorney.
“Vanessa told me about the getaway driver,” Alessandro said calmly.
Thomas’s smirk faded slightly. He looked past Alessandro and saw me standing in the shadows near the stairs.
“Ah,” Thomas said. “The loyal daughter. Did she break your heart, Alessandro?”
“Did he do it?” Alessandro asked. “Did William Morgan drive the car?”
Thomas laughed. “William was a coward. He owed money to a loan shark. I bought his debt. I told him to sit in the car and keep the engine running. He didn't even know I had a gun until he heard the shots.”
I felt a sob tear from my throat. My father. My gentle, quiet father.
“Where is the proof, Thomas?” Alessandro asked.
“You think I’d keep proof?” Thomas sneered.
“You kept the watch,” Alessandro reasoned. “You kept the coat. You’re a man who hoards leverage. Where is the proof that William Morgan was there?”
Thomas stared at Alessandro for a long time. Then, he smiled.
“In a safety deposit box at the First City Bank in Pittsburgh,” Thomas confessed. “A signed confession. Security photos from the alley. Everything you need to put her father away forever.”
Thomas leaned forward against his restraints.
“But you’ll never get it, Alessandro. Because it requires a physical claim ticket. A vintage metal token. And only William has it. I gave it to him as insurance, so he would know his life was always in my hands.”
My breath caught in my throat.
Alessandro stood up, his face dark with fury.
But I stepped forward out of the shadows.
“Mr. Vitale,” I whispered.
Alessandro turned to look at me.
I reached into the front pocket of my apron again. My fingers bypassed the heavy rosary, reaching deep into the fabric lining.
May you like
I pulled out a small, faded metal token stamped with the number 402.
“My father gave this to me when I was eighteen,” I said, tears streaming down my face. “He told me to sew it into my apron. He said if anything ever happened to him... this ticket would explain why.”
