Chapter 2 - THE SILVER POCKET WATCH
Luca did not lower his weapon.
He simply shifted his weight, his leather shoes grinding against the shattered crystal on the ballroom floor.
The air in the room tasted of sulfur and expensive perfume. Women were still weeping quietly in the corners, shielded by the bodies of their husbands. The dead lieutenant lay mere feet away, a stark reminder that this was no longer a wedding. It was an execution.
Luca turned his head just enough to see over his shoulder.
Standing there, perfectly calm amid the chaos, was Marcus.
Marcus. The man who had taught Luca how to shoot. The man who had stood by Luca’s father for twenty years. The head of the Moretti family security.
Marcus wasn’t holding a gun. He was holding a remote control. The same remote that had just hijacked the ballroom’s massive screens.
“Drop the gun, Luca,” Marcus said. His voice was gravelly, worn down by decades of shouting orders and smoking cheap cigars.
Luca felt the floor tilt beneath him. Betrayal from an enemy was expected. Betrayal from blood was a tragedy. But betrayal from Marcus? That was a death sentence.
“You,” Luca whispered, the word tearing at his throat. “You made that video. You brought Victor into my house.”
“I said drop it,” Marcus repeated, taking a step forward. “Or the next bullet doesn’t hit a lieutenant. It hits the bride.”
Isabella gasped, her hands shaking so violently that the small silver pistol she held nearly slipped from her grip. She wasn’t aiming at Luca anymore. She was aiming at Marcus.
“He’s lying, Luca!” Isabella cried out, her wedding dress stained with soot and the blood of the fallen guard. “Marcus was the one who forced me to meet Victor! He orchestrated all of this!”
Luca looked back and forth between his mentor and his bride. His mind raced, calculating the angles, the shadows, the sheer impossibility of the moment.
“Why?” Luca demanded, his gun still leveled at Isabella, though his eyes darted to Marcus. “Fifteen years of loyalty, Marcus. You practically raised me. And you sell me out to Victor Salerno?”
Marcus sighed heavily. He reached into his tailored tuxedo jacket.
Every remaining security guard in the room raised their weapons, aiming at Marcus. But the old man didn't pull out a weapon.
He pulled out a heavy, antique silver pocket watch.
Luca recognized it immediately. It had belonged to Luca’s grandfather. Marcus had been gifted it on the day Luca’s father took control of the family.
“I didn’t sell you out to Victor,” Marcus said quietly. He popped the latch on the watch. A soft, rhythmic ticking echoed in the breathless silence of the ballroom. “I made a deal with Victor to save you.”
Luca’s brow furrowed. “To save me from what?”
“From her,” Marcus pointed a thick, scarred finger at Isabella. “Do you really think a woman like that falls in love with a man like you by accident? Do you think she just happened to walk into your restaurant three years ago?”
Isabella sobbed, shaking her head. “Luca, don’t listen to him. Please.”
“She’s a Salerno, Luca,” Marcus said, his voice echoing off the marble pillars.
The words hit Luca like a physical blow. The air rushed out of his lungs.
“What did you just say?” Luca whispered.
“Her mother was Victor’s sister,” Marcus continued, his eyes cold and hard. “Isabella is Victor’s niece. She was planted in your life to destroy this family from the inside. The video? The 11:47 timestamp? That was her plan for tomorrow night. I just sped up the timeline to show you the truth before you put a ring on her finger.”
Luca turned to Isabella. Her face was ashen. The absolute terror in her eyes wasn't the fear of a hostage. It was the fear of a spy who had just been unmasked.
“Is it true?” Luca asked. His voice was completely devoid of emotion. That terrified Isabella more than anything else.
“Luca, I can explain—”
“Is. It. True.”
“Yes!” she screamed, the tears finally breaking free. “Yes, Victor is my uncle. But I didn’t want to do this! I swear to God, Luca, I love you! I tried to stop him!”
“By holding a gun to my chest?” Luca asked, taking a step toward her.
“I wasn’t going to shoot you!” Isabella sobbed. “I pulled the gun to protect you from Marcus!”
Marcus chuckled. A dark, humorless sound. “Look at her, Luca. She’s spinning webs even as the house burns down. Finish it. Shoot her, and let’s secure the perimeter.”
Luca stood frozen between the two people he trusted most in the world. His mentor. His bride. Both were liars. Both had guns pointed in his direction, metaphorically or literally.
He looked at Marcus. Then he looked at the silver pocket watch in Marcus’s hand.
Something was wrong.
Marcus was meticulous. He never acted without a backup plan, without layered security. If Marcus truly wanted to save Luca, he wouldn't have killed a loyal lieutenant to make a point. He wouldn't have let Victor’s niece get this close to the altar.
“If you knew she was a Salerno,” Luca said slowly, lowering his gun by a fraction of an inch, “why didn't you tell me three years ago?”
Marcus’s jaw tightened. Just for a second. But Luca saw it.
“I only found out this week,” Marcus lied.
Luca knew it was a lie because Marcus’s thumb twitched against the silver casing of the watch. A nervous tell Marcus had possessed for twenty years.
“You’ve known all along,” Luca said, realization washing over him like ice water. “You let her in.”
Before Marcus could respond, the heavy wooden doors of the ballroom crashed open.
Three men in tactical gear stormed in, wielding automatic rifles. They didn't wear police uniforms. They didn't wear Moretti family colors. They wore solid black.
“Kill the boss!” one of them shouted.
The room erupted into absolute madness.
Luca lunged forward, tackling Isabella to the ground just as a hail of bullets shredded the marble pillar behind them. Crystal rained down from the shattered chandeliers, glittering like diamonds in the smoke.
Marcus didn't shoot at the intruders. Instead, the old man turned and sprinted toward the kitchen doors, abandoning Luca entirely.
“Cover us!” Luca roared to his remaining men. He grabbed Isabella by the wrist, dragging her across the floor, sliding in the blood of his fallen lieutenant.
They scrambled behind the long, overturned catering table. The deafening roar of gunfire echoed through the massive space. Luca popped up, firing twice, dropping one of the masked men.
He looked down at Isabella. She was curled into a ball, clutching the silver pistol to her chest, her pristine wedding gown ruined beyond recognition.
“We have to move!” Luca shouted over the noise. “The service elevator is ten yards away!”
He pulled her to her feet, shoving her ahead of him as his men provided covering fire. They burst through the heavy double doors into the quiet, sterile hallway of the service corridor.
Luca slammed his fist onto the elevator button.
“He set us up,” Luca breathed, reloading his weapon with trembling hands. “Marcus brought them here to kill us both.”
Isabella leaned against the wall, sliding down to the floor, gasping for air.
Then, Luca noticed something on the floor near the kitchen entrance.
In his haste to escape, Marcus had dropped the antique silver pocket watch. The latch was broken, the cover sprung wide open.
Luca walked over and picked it up. He expected to see the familiar face of the clock.
Instead, the glass face had been removed.
Tucked inside the circular casing was a small, worn photograph.
Luca stared at the picture, his heart stopping in his chest.
It wasn't a picture of Marcus’s late wife. It wasn't a picture of Victor Salerno.
It was a photograph of the young, trembling waitress who had interrupted the wedding. The girl who had handed Luca the envelope.
May you like
On the back of the photograph, in Marcus’s unmistakable handwriting, were four words:
Keep my daughter safe.
