Chapter 3 - The Photograph Hidden In The Lining
The foyer spun.
My breath caught in my throat.
Vanessa wanted to kill me?
I was a maid. I dusted her imported vases. I stayed out of her way. I couldn't afford to buy new shoes, let alone make enemies in the Chicago mafia.
"Emma?" Luca let go of Vanessa as if her skin burned him. He took two steps toward me. "Are you alright?"
I couldn't speak. I just stared at the open elevator shaft.
If I hadn't felt that tiny jerk beneath my shoe...
Vanessa backed toward the front door. "This is insane. I'm calling my lawyer."
"Marco." Luca’s voice cracked like a whip.
The heavy-set security man blocked the double doors. "Nobody leaves, Miss Bellini."
Luca picked up the heavy silver bracelet from the tray. He looked from it to Vanessa, then to me.
"Why would she want you dead?" he asked me.
I shook my head, my hands trembling. "I don't know, sir. I've never done anything to her."
"Liar," Vanessa hissed, dropping her victim act completely. Her eyes were venomous. "You've been watching me for months. Snooping in my things."
"I clean your rooms, ma'am," I said quietly. "That's my job."
"You found the coat!" she yelled.
The foyer fell silent again.
Luca turned to her. "What coat?"
Vanessa clamped her mouth shut, realizing her mistake.
My mind raced. Last week, I had been organizing the winter storage closet. I had found an old, child-sized winter coat hidden in a garment bag labeled for dry cleaning. It smelled like cedar and cheap laundry detergent.
Not the kind of detergent used in this mansion. The kind my family bought at the discount store.
I had simply moved it to another rack. I thought nothing of it.
"The boy's coat," I said aloud.
Luca froze. "What boy?"
Vanessa tried to run. Marco caught her by the arm, easily holding her in place as she thrashed.
Luca stepped right into her personal space. The dangerous, quiet authority of his reputation finally surfaced.
"Vanessa. What. Boy."
She laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. "You think you're so smart, Luca. You think you rule this city. But you don't even know what's hidden in your own house."
Luca looked at Marco. "Take her to the study. Do not let her use a phone."
As Marco dragged Vanessa away, the guests began murmuring nervously.
Luca turned to his closest men. "Clear the house. The party is over."
Within ten minutes, the mansion was empty except for security, the technician, Luca, and me.
Luca walked over to Vanessa's discarded evening purse, resting on the hall table. He dumped the contents onto the marble.
Lipstick. A compact. A set of keys.
And a small, worn leather wallet.
He opened the wallet. His hands paused.
I stood a few feet away, clutching my uniform apron.
Luca pulled at the lining of the wallet. He heard a tearing sound.
From between the leather seams, he slid out a small, crinkled photograph.
He stared at it for a long time. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked.
Slowly, he handed the photograph to me.
I looked down.
It was a picture of a little boy, maybe six years old. He had dark, messy hair and serious eyes.
He was wearing the coat I had found in the closet.
But that wasn't what made the blood drain from my face.
Behind the boy in the photo, out of focus, was a man holding a wrench.
My father.
"Do you know this child?" Luca asked, his voice rough.
I looked up at him. "No. But I know where the picture was taken."
Luca stepped closer. "Where?"
"In my father's garage. Six years ago."
Luca looked back down at the photo, his jaw clenched so tight it looked carved from stone.
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"That boy," Luca whispered, "has my eyes."
TITLE: The Boy Who Drew The Ocean
