The Voice On The Speakerphone

The silence in the kitchen shattered.

“Give that back!” Celeste shrieked, lunging at me with clawed hands.

Adrian moved faster. He stepped between us, catching Celeste’s wrist in mid-air. He didn't grip her hard enough to bruise, but the absolute authority in his stance stopped her completely.

“Step back, Celeste.”

She yanked her arm free, her chest heaving, her perfectly styled hair falling out of place. “She’s a thief, Adrian! She’s digging through my purse!”

Adrian ignored her. He turned to me and held out his hand.

I handed him the faded Polaroid.

My hands were shaking violently. My mind was spinning.

My mother?

My mother had died of an illness when I was twelve. She had told me she worked as a seamstress her whole life. She never once mentioned the city of Chicago, a restaurant, or a man named Nico Moretti.

Adrian stared at the photograph. His dark eyes flicked over the image of his dead brother laughing in the old Halsted Street kitchen. Then his gaze settled on the young woman standing next to him.

“Who is this?” Adrian asked quietly.

“My mother,” I whispered.

Adrian looked at me, a sharp edge of shock cutting through his anger. “Your mother worked for Teresa?”

“I didn't know,” I said, tears burning the backs of my eyes. “I swear to you, Mr. Moretti. She never told me. I thought she was a seamstress.”

Answer one: Celeste wasn't the only girl Nico was involved with at the restaurant. My mother was there, too.

Open two: Why did my mother lie to me about her entire past? And why did Celeste have this photograph hidden in her purse tonight?

Adrian turned his deadly gaze back to his fiancée.

“Why do you have this, Celeste?”

Celeste backed up against the marble island. Her confident, aristocratic mask had completely melted away, leaving a desperate, cornered woman.

“I found it today,” she stammered. “When I was clearing out Teresa’s things. I was going to throw it away. It’s just old garbage.”

“You didn't throw it away,” Adrian pointed out, his voice dangerously even. “You hid it in your bag. Why?”

“Because I didn't want you to see it!” she cried. “I didn't want you to know that your saint of a brother was sleeping with the hired help while he was supposedly dating me!”

Adrian looked at the photograph again.

He traced his thumb over the bottom corner of the Polaroid.

“There’s writing on the back,” he said.

He flipped the image over.

The ink was faded, but Teresa’s sharp, cursive handwriting was unmistakable.

Adrian read the words aloud, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

“Nico and Sarah. The day they told me about the baby. May God protect them from the Romanos.”

The kitchen floor seemed to drop out from beneath my feet.

The baby.

My mother’s name was Sarah.

I am twenty-five years old. Nico died twenty-six years ago.

Wait, no. The timeline rushed through my head. Nico died fourteen years ago.

I was born twenty-five years ago.

That meant I wasn't Nico's daughter. I was already eleven years old when Nico died.

Adrian looked at the date scrawled at the bottom of the photo.

“October 1998.”

Fourteen years ago.

My mother was pregnant fourteen years ago?

My breath caught in my throat. I had a younger sister. A baby who had died shortly after birth, right before my mother packed our bags and fled Chicago in the middle of the night. My mother had always blamed a sudden fever.

“You knew about the baby,” Adrian said, stepping toward Celeste. The absolute devastation in his voice was terrifying. “Nico was leaving you for Sarah. He was starting a family with her.”

Celeste pressed her hands over her face, sobbing. “It was a mistake! Nico was ruined by that cheap waitress. My family is a dynasty, Adrian! I couldn't let him humiliate me by leaving me for trash!”

“So you killed him.”

“No!” Celeste screamed, dropping her hands. Her eyes were wild. “I told you, I was in the passenger seat! We were arguing about the baby! I grabbed the steering wheel. I just wanted him to pull over! I just wanted him to look at me!”

She grabbed Adrian’s suit jacket, weeping hysterically.

“It was an accident, Adrian. I swear on my life, it was an accident. The car spun. It flipped. When I woke up, Nico was gone. He was dead.”

Adrian didn't move. He didn't push her away. He just looked at her with a disgust so profound it seemed to suck the oxygen out of the room.

“You grabbed the wheel,” he said softly. “You killed my brother because he didn't want you. And then you walked away and let my mother spend the rest of her life thinking it was just a tragedy.”

He gently peeled her hands off his jacket.

“And then,” Adrian continued, his voice turning to ice, “you waited ten years, and you came after me.”

Celeste shook her head violently. “No. I love you, Adrian. I truly love you.”

“You love the empire Nico denied you,” Adrian corrected.

He turned to the kitchen doors.

“Daniel.”

The heavy wooden doors swung open immediately. Adrian’s head of security stepped inside, a massive man in a dark suit.

“Yes, Boss.”

“Take Mrs. Romano to the library,” Adrian ordered. “Lock the door. She doesn't make any phone calls. She doesn't speak to anyone. If she tries to leave, break her legs.”

“Adrian, please!” Celeste shrieked as Daniel grabbed her arm, hauling her toward the door. “You can't do this! My father will destroy you!”

“Let him try,” Adrian said.

The doors swung shut, cutting off Celeste’s screams.

Adrian stood in the quiet kitchen. He looked down at the photograph of his brother and my mother.

Then he turned to me.

“Kate,” he said gently.

“Yes, sir.”

He held out the photograph.

“Get your coat. We’re going to the restaurant.”

“Now?” I asked, wiping a tear from my cheek. “Sir, your guests...”

“My guests can eat without me,” Adrian said, his eyes burning with a fierce, dark light. “My mother left me instructions. And right now, I need to know why your mother fled Chicago the night my brother died.”

I nodded, turning toward the staff lockers.

But as I pulled my heavy wool coat from the hook, something fell out of the pocket and clattered onto the tile floor.

It was a heavy, blackened pocket watch.

The glass face was shattered, and the hands were frozen exactly at 11:42.

I stared at it in horror.