Chapter 7 - THE HEIRLOOM NECKLACE
I didn't have a choice. Keeping Matteo behind my back, I slowly stood up and stepped out from behind the bags into the dim light of the pantry. Vanessa kept the silver handgun leveled precisely at my chest. The two hitmen stood nervously to the side, realizing their boss was completely unhinged. “Hand him over, Hannah,” Vanessa said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “You’ve played the hero long enough. It’s time for the maid to go back to scrubbing floors.” “You’re not going to get away with this, Vanessa,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I needed to stall. If Luca realized Vanessa had left the bedroom, he would be hunting for her. “There are forty guests in the dining room. Your father is trapped. You have no leverage.” “I have the boy,” Vanessa sneered, gesturing with the gun. “That is all the leverage I need. Now move.” She stepped closer, the kitchen lighting catching the heavy jewels around her neck. As she moved, a large, brilliant diamond pendant swung from a thick gold chain resting against her collarbone. I stared at the necklace. I had seen it before. Not on Vanessa. I had seen it in the massive oil painting hanging above the grand staircase—the portrait of Catherine Moretti. The necklace was a custom family heirloom. “Where did you get that necklace?” I asked, my voice suddenly sharp. Vanessa paused, her hand flying instinctively to the diamond at her throat. “It was a gift from my father.” “You’re lying,” I said, the horrific truth dawning on me. “That’s Catherine’s necklace. She never took it off. It wasn't found in the wreckage.” Vanessa’s eyes flashed with sudden, violent panic. “Shut up!” “You didn't just order your father to run her off the road,” I continued, raising my voice so it echoed out of the pantry. “You were in the car with him, weren't you, Vanessa? You went down into the ravine after the crash. You physically took that necklace off Catherine’s body.” “I SAID SHUT UP!” Vanessa screamed, pulling the hammer back on the gun. “I took what belonged to me! She was weak! She was going to give the Moretti empire away! I earned this!” “You earned nothing.” The voice was terrifyingly calm. It came from the shadows directly behind Vanessa. Vanessa spun around, raising her gun. But she was too late. Luca Moretti stepped out of the darkness of the kitchen corridor. He didn't have his gun drawn. He didn't need it. In one fluid, blindingly fast motion, Marco—who had flanked the kitchen from the service stairs—stepped behind Vanessa, grabbed her wrist, and twisted it violently upward. Vanessa shrieked as the silver handgun clattered to the tile floor. The two hitmen immediately dropped their weapons and raised their hands in surrender as a dozen of Luca’s armed guards flooded the kitchen, pinning them to the floor. Vanessa struggled frantically against Marco’s grip, her perfect hair falling into her face, her red gown tearing at the seam. “Luca, wait! Please!” Vanessa begged, her arrogance vanishing into pathetic desperation as she stared at the man she had tried to manipulate. Luca didn't look at her. He didn't even acknowledge she was speaking. His eyes were fixed entirely on the small, shivering boy standing behind my legs. Luca slowly walked into the pantry. The imposing, lethal syndicate boss disappeared. He dropped to his knees on the hard tile floor, ignoring the dirt and flour. Matteo peeked out from behind my apron, clutching the child's drawing to his chest. He looked at the tall man with tears streaming down his face. “Matteo,” Luca whispered, his voice breaking completely. He reached out a trembling hand. Matteo looked at me. I gave him a gentle, encouraging nod. The little boy took a hesitant step forward, then dropped the drawing and ran into his father’s arms. Luca caught him, burying his face in his son’s dark hair, letting out a raw, agonizing sob that echoed through the silent kitchen. Four years of mourning, of empty nurseries and broken promises, washed away in a single embrace.
