Chapter 3 - THE SCARRED MAN
The shattered silver pocket watch swung gently from its chain, catching the light of the crystal chandeliers.
The dining room descended into absolute, suffocating panic. The wealthy guests, realizing they were suddenly trapped in the middle of a mafia blood feud, began pushing their chairs back. Crystal wine glasses tipped over, spilling dark red stains across the pristine white tablecloth.
“Everyone, out,” Lorenzo commanded, not taking his eyes off the bloody watch.
The guests didn’t need to be told twice. Within seconds, the room emptied, leaving only Lorenzo, Aunt Eleanor, Bianca, little Leo, Martha, and me. The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut, echoing like a vault locking into place.
“Lorenzo,” Bianca said, her voice trembling. She took a step toward him, holding her hands out pleadingly. “Darling, this is horrible, but it has nothing to do with me. I didn’t know that box was buried there.”
“Don’t touch me,” Lorenzo snapped, holding up a hand to stop her.
He turned to Martha. The eighty-year-old gardener was gripping my arm so tightly I could feel her nails digging into my skin.
“Martha,” Lorenzo said, his voice softer, pleading for the truth. “My mother died of a supposed heart attack in that garden twenty years ago. The police found no foul play. Why was Dante Marino’s bloody watch buried under your cottage?”
Answer One. The garden wasn’t just a memorial for Lorenzo’s mother. It was a crime scene.
Martha swallowed hard, tears pooling in her faded, wrinkled eyes. “Because she didn’t die of a heart attack, Mr. Lorenzo. She was attacked. I saw it happen.”
The room went dead silent.
“You saw it?” Lorenzo choked out, stepping closer. “And you never told my father? You never told me?”
“Your mother made me swear on my husband’s grave!” Martha wept, her whole body trembling. I wrapped both my arms around her frail shoulders, supporting her weight. “Dante Marino confronted her in the garden. He wanted the deeds to the offshore accounts. She fought back. She struck him with her gardening shears—that’s how his watch broke and got covered in his blood. But he pushed her. She hit her head on the stone fountain.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police?” Aunt Eleanor cried out, pressing a hand to her mouth.
“Because Dante Marino didn’t come over the wall alone that night,” Martha said, her voice dropping to a terrified whisper. “He had help from inside this house. Someone opened the gate for him. Your mother lived just long enough to bury the watch and the lockbox, to hide the proof. She told me to protect the cottages, because the true deeds were hidden beneath the floorboards.”
Open Two. If someone inside the Bellini estate opened the gates for the Marino family twenty years ago, who was the traitor? And does Bianca know about the deeds hidden under the cottages today?
Lorenzo’s jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth would shatter. He looked at the demolition blueprints still resting on the table.
“You weren’t building a road to optimize property value,” Lorenzo said, turning his lethal gaze onto Bianca. “You ordered my mother’s roses destroyed and the cottages bulldozed to find the offshore deeds. You were going to hand them over to the Marinos.”
“No!” Bianca shrieked, tears ruining her perfectly applied makeup. “Lorenzo, that is insane! I have no connection to the Marinos! I grew up in Paris! You did a background check on me yourself! This old woman is lying to save her job!”
Reversal.
Bianca’s defense was solid. Lorenzo had spent thousands of dollars vetting Bianca before he proposed. She was the daughter of a legitimate French businessman. She had no criminal record, no ties to the Italian syndicates, no reason to betray him.
Lorenzo looked torn. The paranoia of his former life was battling the logic of his new one.
“Daddy?”
Little Leo tugged on his father’s pant leg. The seven-year-old boy looked up, his large, innocent eyes blinking in the harsh light.
“What is it, Leo?” Lorenzo asked.
“If Bianca doesn’t know the Marinos,” Leo asked, pointing his small finger at his stepmother-to-be. “Then why does she have Mommy’s diamond bracelet?”
The temperature in the room plummeted.
Bianca’s hands flew to her neck, then to her bare wrists, panic flashing in her dark eyes.
“What are you talking about, Leo?” Lorenzo asked, dropping to one knee to look his son in the eye.
“Mommy’s diamond bracelet,” Leo repeated firmly. “The one with the little blue sapphire in the middle. You told me it was locked in the safe since Mommy died. But I saw it in Bianca’s purse this morning.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. Lorenzo’s first wife, Sofia, had died in a tragic car accident three years ago. The sapphire and diamond bracelet was a Bellini family heirloom, passed down for generations.
“Leo, you have an active imagination,” Bianca laughed, though the sound was shrill and panicked. “I don’t have Sofia’s bracelet. I would never touch her things.”
“Claire,” Lorenzo said, standing up. “Bring me Bianca’s purse from the coatroom. Now.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I gently guided Martha to a chair, letting her sit down. I practically ran to the coatroom off the grand foyer. My hands shook as I grabbed Bianca’s expensive, red leather designer handbag.
When I returned to the dining room, Lorenzo took the bag from me.
“Lorenzo, you are violating my privacy!” Bianca yelled, lunging for the bag.
Lorenzo effortlessly sidestepped her, unzipped the purse, and dumped its contents onto the mahogany dining table. Lipstick, a compact mirror, a silk scarf, and a set of car keys clattered against the wood.
And right in the center of the pile, shimmering under the chandelier, was a heavy diamond bracelet with a brilliant blue sapphire in the center.
Aunt Eleanor gasped. “Sofia’s bracelet.”
Lorenzo stared at the jewelry. The betrayal etched into his face was devastating to witness.
“You stole from my dead wife,” Lorenzo whispered.
“I didn’t steal it!” Bianca cried, backing away. “Leo gave it to me! He gave it to me as a gift for the wedding! The boy is just confused!”
Everyone looked at the seven-year-old boy.
Leo shook his head slowly. He wasn’t crying. He looked remarkably calm, possessing a chilling echo of his father’s stoicism.
“I didn’t give it to you,” Leo said, his young voice echoing in the silent room. “I saw you take it from the safe in Mommy’s old room. You put it in a brown envelope. And you gave it to the man with the scar on his face.”
Bianca stopped breathing.
“What man with a scar?” Lorenzo demanded.
May you like
Leo looked up at his father.
“The man who waits by the east perimeter wall at night. The man Bianca kisses when you’re asleep.”
