Chapter 4 - The Diamond on the Traitor’s Wrist
The diamonds caught the light, throwing tiny prisms across the sunroom floor.
I stood behind Luca’s wheelchair, holding a blood pressure cuff, my face entirely neutral. But my stomach plummeted.
A man doesn’t wear his murdered sister-in-law’s jewelry as a fashion statement. He wears it as a trophy.
“Marco,” Luca muttered. His voice was perfectly pitched—weak, slightly raspy, the sound of a man struggling to wake up. “You’re here early.”
“I came as soon as I could, brother.” Marco pulled up a chair, sitting uncomfortably close. He patted Luca’s knee. “Dr. Harris called me last night. He said you had a terrible episode. Memory loss. Confusion. He’s very worried, Luca.”
I watched Luca’s hands resting under the blanket. His knuckles were white.
“Harris worries too much,” Luca slurred slightly.
“He’s looking out for the family. We all are.” Marco turned his sharp gaze to me. “You’re the new nurse. Claire, is it?”
“Yes, Mr. Moretti.”
“How was he last night, Claire? Honestly.”
I adjusted my stethoscope around my neck, playing the part of the compliant, naive caregiver.
“He was disoriented, sir. He didn’t know what day it was. The doctor had to increase his sedatives.”
Marco’s smile widened by a fraction of an inch. It was a terrifying thing to witness—pure, unadulterated triumph masked as brotherly concern.
“It breaks my heart to see you like this, Luca,” Marco sighed, leaning back. “You’ve carried this family for twenty years. But the captains are getting restless. They hear the whispers. They know you’re not yourself.”
“I’m fine,” Luca whispered weakly.
“You’re not. And before the board decides to replace you by force, I think we need to make a transition.” Marco reached into his tailored jacket and pulled out a thick, cream-colored envelope.
He placed it on the breakfast tray, right next to the teacup.
“What is that?” Luca asked.
“Power of attorney,” Marco said smoothly. “Medical and financial. It transfers the voting rights of the company to me. Just temporarily, of course. Until you’re well.”
Luca stared at the envelope.
“And if I don’t sign?”
Marco’s warm smile completely vanished. The mask slipped, revealing the ruthless shark underneath.
“Then I call a meeting of the board tonight. I present Dr. Harris’s medical records—which I already have—proving you are mentally unfit. The board votes you out. And Julia…” Marco paused, letting the threat hang in the air. “Julia loses her protection.”
Under the blanket, Luca’s chest hitched. He was playing the part perfectly, but the rage radiating from him was palpable.
“You wouldn’t hurt Julia,” Luca rasped.
“I love my niece,” Marco said coldly. “But business is business.”
Luca slowly reached a trembling hand out from under the blanket. He touched the edge of the envelope.
“I need a pen,” Luca whispered.
“Of course.” Marco reached into his pocket and handed Luca a heavy, gold-plated fountain pen.
Luca took it. He uncapped it with shaking fingers.
He lowered the pen to the paper.
“Wait,” I said sharply.
Marco’s head snapped toward me, his eyes lethal. “Excuse me?”
I stepped forward, grabbing the blood pressure cuff.
“Mr. Moretti’s heart rate is erratic. He hasn’t taken his morning medication. He cannot sign legal documents while under the influence of last night’s sedatives. It invalidates the signature.”
Marco stood up, towering over me.
“Back off, nurse. This is family business.”
“I’m a medical professional,” I lied smoothly, keeping my ground. “If you want this document to hold up in court, he needs to be lucid. Give him twenty minutes to drink his tea and let the morning pills kick in.”
Marco glared at me. He looked at Luca, who had slumped back in the wheelchair, dropping the pen.
“Fine,” Marco spat. He tapped his finger against the diamond bracelet on his wrist. “Twenty minutes. I’ll wait in the study.”
He turned and strode out of the sunroom, slamming the heavy wooden doors behind him.
The moment the latch clicked, the illusion vanished.
Luca threw the blanket off his lap and stood up perfectly straight. The fog was gone.
“Good call, Claire,” he said quietly, his eyes dark with fury.
“He’s wearing her bracelet,” I whispered.
“I saw it.” Luca walked over to the breakfast tray and picked up the gold fountain pen Marco had given him.
He stared at it for a long time.
“Luca, what are you doing?” Julia asked, slipping out from the adjoining library where she had been listening.
“This pen,” Luca said, his voice void of all emotion. “It belonged to my father. Marco took it the night the old man died.”
He looked up at Julia.
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