The Signature in Blue Ink

The sunroom doors exploded off their hinges.

A dozen men in heavy tactical gear poured into the room, assault rifles raised.

But they weren’t police.

They wore the crest of the Moretti syndicate. The loyalist captains had arrived.

At the front of the pack was Gino, Luca’s head of security, his face dark with fury.

“Drop the weapons!” Gino roared, leveling a shotgun at Marco’s guards.

The three guards looked at the dozen rifles aimed at their chests. They didn’t hesitate. They dropped their pistols to the marble floor and put their hands on their heads.

Marco stood frozen, his eyes darting from the hidden camera in the clock to the loyalists flooding the room. The power of attorney document was still crumpled in his fist.

“This is a misunderstanding,” Marco stammered, raising his hands, the diamond bracelet catching the light one last time. “Gino, listen to me. Luca is sick. He’s out of his mind—”

“Shut up,” Gino growled.

He walked forward and delivered a brutal strike to Marco’s stomach with the butt of his shotgun. Marco collapsed to his knees, gasping for air.

Luca stood up from the wheelchair.

He didn’t look sick. He didn’t look tired. He looked like the king he had been for twenty years.

He walked over to me and offered his hand.

I took it. He pulled me up, his eyes checking my bleeding lip.

“Are you alright, Claire?” he asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” I breathed, wiping my mouth.

Luca turned to Gino. “Where is Julia?”

“Safe, Boss,” Gino said. “We intercepted Marco’s men in the cellar. She’s upstairs in her room.”

The relief that washed over Luca’s face was profound. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, letting the terror go.

Then he looked down at Marco.

Marco was on his knees, clutching his ribs, looking up at his older brother with pure hatred.

“You think you’ve won?” Marco spat blood onto the marble. “The board won’t follow Julia! A woman can’t lead this family! When you die, they’ll tear each other apart!”

“That’s not your concern anymore,” Luca said coldly.

He reached down and unclasped the diamond bracelet from Marco’s wrist. He slid it into his pocket.

“Gino,” Luca commanded. “Take him to the warehouse. The board will vote on his punishment tonight.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gino dragged Marco out of the room by his collar. The guards were zip-tied and hauled away.

Within minutes, the sunroom was quiet again.

I leaned against the table, my adrenaline finally crashing. My knees felt weak.

Luca pulled out a chair for me.

“Sit down, Claire.”

I sat. I looked at the shattered doors, the blood on the floor, the red ledger on the table.

“Is it over?” I asked.

“For Marco, yes.” Luca picked up the forged power of attorney document and threw it into the fireplace. He struck a match and watched the paper turn to ash.

“What happens now?” I asked.

Luca turned to me. The firelight flickered across his face.

“Now, I finish what Anna started.”

He walked over to the hidden bookshelf passage and reached inside. He pulled out a small, ornate wooden box.

He placed it on the table in front of me.

“When my father died, he left two things,” Luca said. “He left the company to Julia. And he left this.”

He opened the box.

Inside lay a heavy, antique gold pocket watch.

The casing was scratched, but it was beautiful.

“I thought it was just a keepsake,” Luca said softly. “But Anna left a letter with her lawyer, to be delivered to me only if Marco was ever dealt with.”

Luca pressed a hidden latch on the side of the pocket watch.

The back casing sprang open.

It wasn’t a watch. It was a locket.

Inside was a tiny, faded photograph of a little boy.

He had messy blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

I stared at the picture. “Who is that?”

Luca looked at the photograph, his eyes heavy with an emotion I couldn’t quite read.