Chapter 7 - THE GOLD ROSARY
“No!” Marion screamed, the sound tearing from her throat with the raw, primal agony of a wounded animal. She dropped to her knees on the plush carpet, her hands frantically gathering the scattered custody papers.
“Grandma, why are you crying?” Lily asked, her small voice trembling. The child’s innocent smile vanished, replaced by sudden, overwhelming confusion. She tried to step around Camille’s long trench coat, but Camille’s grip on her small hand tightened like a vice.
“Let her go,” Luca ordered, his voice echoing with the commanding, lethal authority he had inherited from his father. He took two long strides across the room, closing the distance between himself and the woman he had intended to marry just hours ago.
Camille didn’t flinch. She looked up at Luca, her eyes entirely devoid of the warmth she had faked for two years.
“Don’t play the hero, Luca,” Camille sneered. “Your family doesn't rescue children. You ruin them. You watched me cry about my missing father for two years, knowing exactly who you were sleeping next to.”
“I didn’t know!” Luca yelled, the heartbreak finally fracturing his anger. “I didn’t know who you were! I loved you, Camille. I would have given you anything.”
“I don’t want anything from you!” Camille shouted back, her composure finally cracking. A single, furious tear tracked down her cheek. “I want my father back! I want my mother back! But I can’t have them, so I’m taking the only thing Marion has left.”
I couldn’t stand it anymore. My loyalty to Marion superseded my fear of this wealthy, broken family.
I stepped forward, moving quietly but quickly around the edge of the room until I was only a few feet away from Camille’s right side.
“Camille,” I said, keeping my voice as calm and steady as possible. “Look at Lily.”
Camille’s eyes snapped to me, her jaw clenched. “Stay out of this, maid.”
“Look at her,” I insisted, pointing to the eight-year-old girl.
Lily was terrified. Big, heavy tears were rolling down her cheeks. She was shrinking back against the doorframe, trying desperately to pull her small hand out of Camille’s iron grip.
“You were six years old when the FBI took your father,” I said softly, holding Camille’s gaze. “You remember how terrified you were. You remember how much it hurt when strangers took you away from the only family you had left.”
Camille’s breath hitched. Her grip on Lily’s hand wavered for a fraction of a second.
“You are doing the exact same thing to her,” I pushed, stepping one inch closer. “You are becoming the monster you spent thirty years trying to destroy. Is this what Arthur would want? Would your father want you to terrorize a little girl?”
“Shut up!” Camille screamed, her voice cracking with raw, unadulterated pain. “You don’t know anything about my father!”
She ripped her free hand into her trench coat pocket. For a terrifying second, I thought she was going to pull a weapon.
Instead, she pulled out a delicate, shimmering object and threw it violently across the room.
The object hit Antonio squarely in the chest and fell to the carpet.
It was a solid gold rosary.
Antonio stared down at the beads, his face crumbling. It was his late wife’s rosary. The one Elena had been holding when she died in the car crash.
“My mother was holding that when the police found her body,” Camille spat, the venom returning to her voice. “Your precious Elena gave it to her the night she brought the diamonds. Elena begged my mother to pray for your family’s corrupted souls. My mother held it when she swallowed a bottle of pills because she couldn't afford to feed me.”
Camille looked at Antonio with absolute, burning hatred. “I didn’t just take the confession tonight, Antonio. I took every memory of your wife from that safe. I am going to erase your family from the earth, just like you erased mine.”
She yanked Lily toward the hallway. “We’re leaving.”
“No!” Marion sobbed, scrambling to her feet.
But before Camille could cross the threshold, Luca moved. He didn't yell. He didn't threaten. He simply reached out and placed his large hand firmly over Camille’s wrist, the one holding Lily.
“Let her go,” Luca said softly. “Or I will break your arm.”
Camille looked up at him, shocked by the sheer, quiet violence in his eyes. Luca Moretti was a civilized man, but in that moment, he was his father’s son.
Slowly, Camille’s fingers uncurled.
Lily ripped her hand away and sprinted across the room, burying her face in Marion’s skirts, sobbing uncontrollably. Marion collapsed over her granddaughter, wrapping her arms around the child like a human shield.
Camille stood in the doorway, suddenly looking very small and very alone. The leverage she had counted on was gone. She was just a woman standing in a house full of people she hated, holding nothing but a stolen confession.
“It doesn't matter,” Camille whispered, taking a step back into the hallway. “I still have Marco’s confession. I’m going straight to the federal prosecutor. I will drag your family’s name through the mud for the next decade. You will lose the company, Luca. You will lose everything.”
She turned on her heel and began to walk briskly toward the grand staircase.
“Camille, wait!” Antonio called out, his voice suddenly strong and clear.
Camille didn't stop. She reached the top of the stairs, her hand gripping the mahogany railing.
Antonio walked swiftly out of the master suite, moving with a desperate energy I hadn't seen from him all night. He reached the hallway just as Camille took the first step down.
“You only have half the story!” Antonio shouted down the stairs.
Camille paused, looking back over her shoulder with a sneer. “I have Marco’s handwriting. That’s all the story I need.”
“No, it isn't,” Antonio said, his chest heaving. He wasn't looking at Camille anymore. He was looking at his son.
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Antonio reached into his inner suit pocket and pulled out a small, worn leather notebook. It was bound in cracking brown leather, tied shut with a faded silk ribbon.
“You read the confession Marco wrote,” Antonio said, his voice echoing in the cavernous foyer. “But you didn't read Elena’s diary.”
