Chapter 3 - THE SILVER WATCH
Marcus stared at the silver watch on the carpet.
The rampant lion crest etched into the metal was unmistakable.
The Moretti Family.
But there were no Morettis left. Vincent had ensured that half a decade ago when they tried to burn out his legitimate shipping businesses.
“Get him downstairs,” Marcus told Dr. Morales, his voice dangerously quiet.
Lena nodded. With the help of a returning guard, they carefully hoisted Vincent onto a stretcher.
Adeline stood up, her small face fiercely determined.
“I go too,” she announced.
“No, Addie,” Marcus said gently. “You stay with me.”
“Uncle Vin said keep eyes,” Adeline argued, stomping one tiny sneaker. “Mama said help.”
Marcus sighed. It was impossible to argue with a two-year-old who possessed the stubbornness of a Castellano, even if she wasn’t one.
“Fine. You come with me to the east hallway. We need to find your Mama.”
Adeline’s eyes brightened slightly. “Mama playing hide?”
“Something like that,” Marcus murmured.
He scooped the child up. She was surprisingly light, her small arms wrapping around his neck, the green alligator bumping against his shoulder.
Marcus walked briskly down the grand staircase, bypassing the medical suite, and headed straight for the east wing.
The hallway was a wide, sunlit corridor lined with antique vases and expensive paintings.
Usually, it was immaculate.
Today, it was a crime scene.
Camille’s wooden cleaning cart was overturned. Bottles of glass cleaner and polish had spilled across the imported hardwood, mixing with bright, smeared streaks of crimson blood.
Marcus set Adeline down near a large marble pillar, shielding her from the worst of the sight.
“Stay right here, bug,” he instructed.
He stepped closer to the cart.
The struggle had been violent. The heavy drapes were torn from their rods.
But there was no body.
“Where did the blood come from?” Marcus muttered.
He crouched down, examining the smeared red trails. They didn't lead toward the nearest exit. They led deeper into the estate. Toward Vincent's private living quarters.
Why would an attacker drag a maid deeper into the house?
“Marcus,” a guard called out, pointing toward the baseboard.
Marcus stood and looked.
Tucked neatly behind a fallen bottle of bleach was a heavy iron key.
Marcus felt his blood run cold.
It was the master key to the estate’s underground vault. Only three people had a copy. Vincent, Marcus, and the estate manager.
Camille had no reason to have it.
Unless she was the one who stole it.
Marcus pulled his radio. “Check the vault. Now.”
He turned back to look at the overturned cart. He noticed something he had missed before.
A small, folded piece of paper, half-soaked in glass cleaner.
He picked it up and carefully unfolded it.
It was a printed photograph.
It showed Camille. She looked younger, her hair longer, smiling brilliantly.
But it was the man standing next to her that made Marcus stop breathing.
It wasn't Camille's late, working-class husband.
It was Dominic Castellano. Vincent’s exiled, disgraced older brother. The man who had allied with the Morettis five years ago.
And in the photo, Camille was holding a newborn baby.
“Addie,” Marcus whispered, turning to look at the toddler.
Adeline was no longer standing by the pillar.
She had wandered a few feet away and was staring at the floor, pointing her stuffed alligator at the base of the wall.
“Bad man dropped it,” Adeline said simply.
Marcus rushed over.
Lying on the floor, perfectly intact, was a heavy velvet coat.
A man’s coat.
May you like
But it wasn't black, like Vincent had said. It was dark crimson.
And sticking out of the pocket was a loaded silver revolver.
