Chapter 3 - THE DRAWING IN THE COAT
“Stop her,” Luca ordered quietly.
Two security men stepped in front of the grand staircase, blocking Vanessa’s path.
Vanessa turned around, cornered against the marble banister. “Luca, this is insane! You’re listening to ghosts and housekeepers while our guests are watching!”
“Guests can leave,” Luca said, not raising his voice.
Within two minutes, the dining room cleared. The heavy mahogany double doors shut behind the last tuxedoed investor. Only Luca, Vanessa, Margaret Dawson, and Emma remained in the cavernous foyer.
Emma took a step backward, intending to slip through the service corridor.
“Emma,” Luca said.
She stopped. “Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Stay.”
Vanessa scoffed. “You want the cleaning girl here for family business?”
“Emma was the only person in this house who showed Margaret decency tonight,” Luca said coldly. He walked slowly toward the stairs, holding the locket and the folded drawing. “Now answer the question, Vanessa. Who is Leo?”
“I don’t know any Leo!” Vanessa cried. “Grace was delusional in her final weeks! Cancer does that to people! She hallucinated!”
“Grace was lucid until her final twelve hours,” Margaret said, her voice steady and stern. “And she was terrified.”
Luca unfolded the small, yellowed piece of paper that had been wrapped around the locket.
It was a child’s drawing. Crayons on construction paper. A tall man with dark hair, a smiling woman in a yellow dress, and a tiny boy standing between them holding a wooden toy horse. In the corner, written in clumsy six-year-old handwriting, was the name: *Leo*.
Luca’s hands began to tremble.
“Grace couldn't carry a child,” Luca murmured, staring at the drawing. “The doctors said the treatments made it impossible. We tried for five years.”
“She couldn’t carry your child, Luca,” Margaret said gently. “But eight years ago, three months before she died, a young woman arrived at the hospice clinic. Her name was Clara Bellini.”
Luca jerked his head up. “Clara? Your younger sister?”
Vanessa’s face transformed from panic to venomous fury. “Shut your mouth, Margaret!”
“Clara was nineteen,” Margaret continued, ignoring Vanessa completely. “She had been cast out by the Bellini family because she was pregnant and refused to name the father. She came to Grace for help because Grace was known for her charity clinic.”
Luca’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. “Clara had a child? Where is Clara now?”
“Clara died in a hit-and-run six years ago,” Margaret said softly. “And her son, Leo, was placed into private guardianship. Funded by an anonymous trust.”
Vanessa let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “There! It has nothing to do with me! Clara made her own mistakes. My family washed their hands of her years ago!”
Luca walked right up to Vanessa. He towered over her, his eyes dark with a grief that had suddenly turned sharp and lethal.
“Then why did Grace write *Find Leo before Vanessa does*?” Luca asked.
Vanessa crossed her arms, trying to regain her posture. “Grace hated me. She always knew you and I had history before you married her. She was petty, Luca. Even on her deathbed.”
Margaret reached into her navy coat again. This time, she didn't pull out a paper. She pulled out an old silver wrist watch with a cracked glass face.
Luca stared at the watch. His eyes widened.
“That was Clara’s,” Vanessa blurted out before she could catch herself.
Margaret looked at Vanessa with piercing clarity.
“No, Ms. Bellini,” Margaret said. “This watch was found in the car that struck Clara on Route 47 six years ago. The driver fled the scene. But the police never found who owned this watch because it was registered under a private shell company.”
Margaret turned the watch over.
Engraved on the back were two initials: *V. B.*
Luca’s breath left him in a ragged gasp.
Vanessa’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
Then, Emma’s phone buzzed in her apron pocket. The vibration was loud in the dead silence.
Luca didn't look away from Vanessa. “Answer it, Emma.”
Emma pulled out her phone. It was Mrs. Gable, the night nurse at her father’s rehabilitation facility.
Emma answered, pressing it to her ear. “Hello?”
May you like
“Emma?” Mrs. Gable’s voice was strained, breathless. “There’s a little boy here. He was dropped off at our front desk twenty minutes ago with a duffel bag and your father’s name on a tag. He says his name is Leo.”
***
