The Watch Beneath the Floorboards

Vanessa’s face turned the color of ash.

She stared at the diamond bracelet, her lips parting, but no sound came out.

“I asked you a question,” Luca repeated, his voice dangerously low. “My mother died twelve years ago. This bracelet was placed on her wrist in the casket. I saw it myself.”

Vanessa took a step back, her composure shattering.

“Luca, darling, let me explain—”

“No,” Luca cut her off. “I’m done with your explanations. You tried to force George to lie. You tried to throw my staff onto the street. And now you’re holding jewelry that was buried in my family’s mausoleum.”

He tossed the velvet box onto the bed.

“How did you get it?”

Vanessa’s eyes darted toward the door, realizing she was trapped. Her polished veneer finally cracked, revealing the desperate woman beneath.

“Your father gave it to me!” she shouted.

Luca went completely still.

“My father?”

“Yes!” Vanessa sneered, crossing her arms. “Six months before he died. He didn’t bury her with the real one, Luca. He couldn’t afford to. He sold the real one to my father to cover his gambling debts, and buried your mother with a fake.”

The room fell dead silent.

I stood near the doorway, wishing I could disappear into the wallpaper. This was a family secret I was never meant to hear.

Luca stared at her, absorbing the blow.

“My father didn’t gamble.”

“You didn’t know him at all,” Vanessa laughed bitterly. “He was bleeding the syndicate dry. My father bailed him out. That’s why you’re marrying me, Luca. Not for love. Because my family owns yours.”

She reached into her designer purse and pulled out a thick, folded piece of paper.

She threw it at Luca’s chest. It fluttered to the floor.

“Look at it,” she demanded.

Luca didn’t move.

I knelt down and picked it up. My hands shook as I unfolded it.

It wasn’t a legal document.

It was a child’s drawing. Crayon on faded construction paper.

It showed a stick figure of a boy standing next to a large brick house. Underneath the house, the boy had drawn a black box. Above it, in clumsy, childish handwriting, were the words: Luca’s secret hiding spot.

I looked up at Luca.

He was staring at the drawing, his breath hitching.

“I drew this when I was seven,” he whispered.

Vanessa smirked. “Your father used your childhood hiding spot to stash the collateral. The gatehouse, Luca. The real ledger. The proof of what he owed my family.”

She zipped her duffel bag aggressively.

“I wasn’t renovating the cottage. I was collecting what you owe us. Because if I don’t bring that ledger to my father by midnight, he’s going to bankrupt Moretti Enterprises and put you in federal prison.”

She slung the bag over her shoulder.

“So fire your little maid. Call off the wedding. It doesn’t matter. You’ve already lost.”

She walked past Luca, intentionally bumping his shoulder, and headed for the door.

She stopped right in front of me, her dark eyes filled with venom.

“You should have just kept your collar buttoned, Julia,” she hissed.

She walked out, her heels clicking down the marble hallway.

I looked at Luca. He was staring at the crayon drawing in my hand.

“She’s lying,” he said quietly.

“About the gambling?” I asked.

“About the hiding spot.”

He looked at me, a sudden, sharp clarity in his eyes.