Chapter 3 - THE INSCRIPTION ON THE SILVER ROSARY
My heart stopped.
I stared at the silver rosary in Luca’s large palm. The hallway felt suddenly freezing, the air too thin to breathe.
“No,” I whispered, stumbling back a step. “No, that’s a mistake.”
My husband, David, had been killed in a hit-and-run three years ago. The police never found the driver. They only found a silver rosary snagged on the bumper of David's crushed sedan—a detail they had kept from the public, a detail Helen and I only knew because the detective pitied us.
“How do you know about that?” I choked out, tears spilling hot and fast down my cheeks.
Luca’s dark eyes were heavy with a sorrow I had never seen in him. “Because the police didn't find the driver, Lily. My men did. It was an enforcer for a rival family.”
He turned the cross over, pointing to a tiny, jagged scratch on the side.
“This was his. He disappeared the night of the crash before I could make him pay. If Clara Bellini dropped this today...” Luca’s jaw tightened until a muscle ticked beneath his skin.
Helen gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Vanessa’s family. They were the ones who ordered the hit on David?”
The revelation hit me like a physical blow. Vanessa hadn't just crushed my hand in a jewelry box. Her family had destroyed my entire life. They had taken my husband. They had left my six-year-old son, Leo, without a father.
But why? David was just an accountant.
“Why would they want David dead?” I cried, my injured fingers throbbing in time with my racing heart.
“That is exactly what we are going to find out,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly calm.
He didn't yell. He didn't punch a wall. The Mafia boss simply went completely still, and somehow, that was much worse.
“Helen, go to my private study. Lock the door. Do not open it for anyone but me,” Luca ordered.
“What about Lily?” Helen asked, crying.
Luca looked at me. “Lily is coming with me to Vanessa’s dressing room.”
The walk up the grand staircase felt like a march to an execution. Below us, the dinner party was still in full swing. We could hear the clinking of crystal glasses and the smooth jazz playing from the ballroom. Vanessa was down there, smiling, accepting congratulations, wearing a diamond necklace I had fastened with a broken hand.
When we reached the master suite, Luca bypassed his own bedroom and kicked open the heavy oak door to Vanessa’s dressing room.
The lights were on. The air smelled of her expensive, cloying vanilla perfume.
“Start searching,” Luca commanded. “If Clara was in here, they left a trail.”
Despite the pain in my hand, I began pulling open velvet drawers. I found silk scarves, designer sunglasses, and stacks of unopened cosmetics.
“She moved the wooden jewelry box downstairs this morning,” Luca murmured, tearing through Vanessa’s vanity. “Why? To hide Helen’s ring? No. To hide something bigger.”
I knelt on the plush carpet, using my good left hand to slide open the bottom drawer of a massive mahogany armoire.
It was stuffed with designer handbags. But underneath a red leather clutch, I saw a sliver of white paper.
I pulled it out.
It was a train ticket.
“Mr. Moretti,” I called out.
He crossed the room in two strides, taking the ticket from my hand.
“Union Station to Montreal,” Luca read aloud. “Departing tonight at 11:30 PM.”
I looked at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was 10:45 PM.
“Vanessa is running away,” I realized, my voice trembling. “She’s leaving tonight. During her own engagement party.”
“She’s not running from me,” Luca said, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the ticket. “If she wanted to escape me, she wouldn't throw a party with twenty-eight witnesses. She’s using the party as an alibi.”
Suddenly, the heavy mahogany door of the dressing room clicked shut behind us.
The lock turned with a sharp, final snap.
Luca dropped the ticket and lunged for the door, twisting the brass handle. It was deadbolted from the outside.
“Daniel!” Luca barked into his phone, but the screen was completely black. A jammer.
We were trapped.
And then, I saw it.
Tucked into the very back of the armoire drawer, hidden beneath where the train ticket had been, was a piece of crumpled paper.
I reached for it, my breath catching in my throat. I smoothed it out on my lap with my uninjured hand.
All the blood rushed out of my head.
It was a child’s drawing.
Done in bright blue crayon. It was a picture of a house, a dog, and a little boy holding a woman’s hand. In the corner, written in clumsy, jagged letters, was the name: LEO.
“Lily?” Luca asked, noticing my sudden paralysis. “What is it?”
I couldn't speak. I just held up the drawing.
Luca frowned. “A child’s picture?”
“It’s my son’s,” I choked out, a wave of primal terror washing over me. “Mr. Moretti, this is my son’s drawing. He drew this at my kitchen table two days ago.”
Luca went completely still.
Vanessa hadn't just hired me by accident. She hadn't just tortured me today for fun. She had been inside my apartment. She had been watching my six-year-old child.
“Where is Leo right now?” Luca demanded, his voice suddenly frantic.
“He’s at home,” I sobbed, panic clawing at my throat. “With the babysitter. Oh my god, she has my baby.”
Before Luca could answer, a small, black speaker hidden in the ceiling crackled to life.
May you like
Vanessa’s sweet, venomous voice drifted down into the locked room.
“Did you really think you could outsmart me, Luca?” she purred through the intercom. “Check the bottom of the drawing, Lily. I left a little note for you.”
