Chapter 2 - The Silver Rosary
“Lock the doors. Then bring me Maria Santos.”
Roman’s voice didn’t echo in the massive dining room. It didn’t have to. The quiet authority in his tone hit the floor like an anvil.
Before Adriana could even draw a breath to protest, three men in dark suits stepped away from the perimeter of the room. One moved to the heavy mahogany double doors, the deadbolt clicking shut with a sharp, metallic thud. The other two vanished down the hall.
Adriana’s elegant mask began to crack. She placed a hand on her chest, her diamond necklace catching the candlelight. "Roman, you are terrifying our guests over the delusions of a desperate little maid."
"Am I?" Roman asked softly. He still hadn't looked away from me. "Because you seem nervous, Adriana."
"I am insulted!" she snapped, her voice rising an octave. She looked around the table, seeking allies among the politicians and businessmen. Nobody met her eyes. In Roman DeLuca’s house, you didn't place a bet until you knew who was holding the gun.
My hands were shaking under my white apron. I had just accused the future wife of a Philadelphia crime boss of attempted murder. I thought about my mother, wheezing in her armchair in Camden, waiting for the medication I bought with my wages. If I was wrong about the chalky, bitter smell of crushed Zolpidem in the sauce, I wouldn't just lose my job. People who crossed this family had a habit of losing their zip codes.
Ten minutes passed in agonizing silence. Nobody ate. Nobody spoke.
Then, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway. The dining room doors opened.
It was Marco, Roman’s head of security. A man whose face looked like it had been carved out of granite. He walked straight to Roman, ignoring the thirty guests.
"Maria is not in her quarters, Boss," Marco said quietly. "Her bags are still there. Her uniform is in the closet. But she's gone."
Adriana let out a loud, theatrical sigh of relief. "Because I fired her, Roman! I caught her stealing from my vanity yesterday. I told her to pack and leave immediately."
Roman didn't blink. "You fired my mother's private nurse without consulting me?"
"I was protecting this house!" Adriana said, stepping closer to him, playing the devoted fiancé. "She was a thief."
"Is that so?" Marco interrupted. His rough voice made Adriana freeze.
Marco reached into his suit pocket. He didn't pull out a stolen diamond or a stack of cash.
He placed a cheap, tarnished silver rosary on the white tablecloth.
I recognized it immediately. Maria always wore it wrapped around her wrist. She never took it off. She told me it was blessed by the Pope and given to her by her late grandmother.
"I didn't find this in Maria's room," Marco said, his dark eyes locking onto Adriana. "I found it buried in the lining of your cashmere coat, Ms. Moretti. The one hanging in the mudroom."
Adriana’s face lost all its color. "She... she must have dropped it when she was stealing my things."
"Maybe," Roman said. He reached out and picked up the rosary. The silver cross dangled from his fingers.
He turned it over under the chandelier light.
"Then why," Roman said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper, "is the clasp covered in dried blood?"
Adriana took a step back, her heel catching on the rug. The entire room collectively held its breath. The lie was exposed. Maria hadn't just walked away.
But before Roman could give Marco another order, a sound broke the silence.
It wasn't a scream. It wasn't a gunshot.
It was a small, muffled sob.
It was coming from the heavy brass air vent set into the oak wainscoting near the floor.
I dropped to my knees without thinking, ignoring the shocked gasps of the guests. I pulled the heavy brass grate. It was loose.
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Inside the dark, dusty shaft of the ventilation system, a pair of terrified brown eyes looked back at me.
"Uncle Roman?" a tiny, shaking voice whispered from the dark.
