Chapter 2 - THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE EMERALD DRESS
I stood frozen in the center of the dining room.
The silence was so absolute I could hear the rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Moretti mansion. Forty guests held their breath.
Luca didn’t take his eyes off Vanessa. The gentle, patient man I had watched from the shadows of the kitchen was gone. In his place stood the head of the Chicago syndicate. Cold. Calculating. Lethal.
“What did you want from my father, Vanessa?” Luca asked. His voice was barely a whisper, yet it echoed off the crystal chandeliers.
Vanessa’s hands trembled, but her chin remained high. She was terrified, yet there was a desperate defiance in her eyes. She reached into the folds of her emerald-green gown and pulled out a small, silver evening clutch.
Her fingers struggled with the clasp. When it popped open, she didn’t pull out a gun, or a contract, or a legal document.
She pulled out a faded, creased photograph.
She threw it onto the mahogany table. It slid across the polished wood, stopping inches from Luca’s hand.
“Look at it,” Vanessa choked out, tears finally spilling over her mascara. “Look at what your father took from me before I ever knew you existed.”
Luca slowly reached for the photograph.
I took a half-step backward, my hands gripping the handle of the coffee pot so tightly my knuckles turned white.
Answer One: Vanessa hadn’t sought out Luca by accident. She had targeted him because of a past grievance with his father.
Luca picked up the picture. I watched his jaw tighten. The color drained from his face entirely.
“Where did you get this?” Luca demanded, his voice cracking.
“From the orphanage,” Vanessa whispered. “Twenty years ago.”
I couldn’t help myself. I leaned slightly to my left to see the image in his hand. It was an old Polaroid. It showed a young woman, no older than eighteen, holding a newborn baby wrapped in a blue blanket. The woman had Vanessa’s sharp jawline and blonde hair.
“You had a child,” Luca said, staring at the photo.
“I had a son,” Vanessa corrected, her voice breaking. “And your father bought the orphanage where I was forced to leave him. When I finally saved enough money to go back and claim him, your father had already transferred him. He sold my baby to another family to settle a debt.”
Gasps rippled through the guests.
Open Two: If Antonio Moretti gave away Vanessa’s child, who did he give the boy to? And why did Vanessa think marrying Luca would help her find him?
“I begged him,” Vanessa sobbed, the polished socialite facade completely shattered. “I went to the hospice. I offered to disappear forever. All he had to do was tell me the name of the family who took my son. But he refused. He said the Moretti family never undoes a deal. So I told him I would take the only thing he had left. You.”
Luca set the photograph down. The betrayal in his eyes was profound. The woman he had loved, the woman he was supposed to marry tomorrow, had built their entire relationship on a foundation of vengeance.
“You used me,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
“I needed your resources!” Vanessa cried, reaching for his arm. “I needed the syndicate’s network to find my boy! Please, Luca, you have to understand. I’m a mother!”
Luca stepped back, letting her hand fall to her side. “Get out.”
Vanessa froze. “Luca, please—”
“Get out of my house,” Luca commanded. “Before I forget that you were a grieving mother, and only remember that you let my father die alone.”
Two of Luca’s security men stepped forward from the shadows. They didn’t touch her, but their presence was a clear threat. Vanessa looked at the armed men, then at Luca, and finally at me. The hatred in her eyes was venomous.
She grabbed the photograph and ran from the room.
The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind her, echoing like a gunshot.
The guests began murmuring nervously, picking up their coats, desperate to escape the fallout. Luca stood perfectly still, staring at the empty space where his fiancée had been.
Then, he turned to me.
“Caroline,” he said softly.
I flinched, clutching the coffee pot. “Yes, sir?”
He walked toward me, ignoring the fleeing guests. He stopped mere inches away, his dark eyes searching my face.
“My father made you promise to tell me about her,” Luca said. “But he wouldn’t have just given you a warning. He was too calculated for that. If he knew Vanessa was coming for me, he would have left an insurance policy.”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry.
“Did he give you anything else?” Luca asked.
I looked down at my worn, black maid’s shoes. My mother had always told me to stay out of rich people’s wars. But Antonio Moretti had been a dying old man holding my hand, begging me to protect his son.
I reached into the deep pocket of my white apron.
My fingers closed around cold, heavy metal.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, pulling my hand out.
I opened my palm. Resting against my skin was a thick, antique brass key.
“He said this opens a safety deposit box at the First National Bank,” I said. “He told me not to give it to you until Vanessa’s true face was revealed.”
Luca stared at the key, his breathing shallow. He reached out and gently took it from my hand. His fingers brushed mine, warm and calloused.
“Pack a bag, Caroline,” Luca said, his eyes locking onto mine.
I blinked in confusion. “Sir?”
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“You’re the only person who heard his last words. You’re the only one who knows the truth,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Vanessa won’t leave this city without her revenge. And right now, you are the biggest target on her back. We are leaving.”
TITLE: The Steel Vault
