Chapter 6 - THE ROSARY OF TRUTH
The sound of shattering crystal was deafening.
In the dim light of the emergency wall sconces, the dining room was absolute bedlam. Guests were scrambling for the doors. Dante and his security team were fighting their way through the panicked crowd.
Marco roared in pain, clutching his shattered wrist. But he still had the gun in his left hand.
I dropped to my knees and grabbed the leather ledger. My fingers brushed the worn blue fabric of Toby’s baby blanket. My brother Thomas had always kept a piece of it in his pocket for luck.
But it was the gold rosary wrapped inside that made my breath hitch.
I recognized it immediately. It belonged to Teresa. She prayed with it every Sunday in the sunroom.
“Give me the book, Claire!” Marco bellowed, raising the gun again.
Before I could move, a massive shadow eclipsed the emergency lights. Luca tackled his uncle to the floor. The two men crashed into a heavy china cabinet, sending plates and glasses shattering around them.
Vanessa was on her hands and knees, sobbing hysterically, bleeding from where the falling chandelier glass had cut her shoulder.
Teresa wheeled herself forward, completely ignoring the violence. She reached out her trembling hand to me.
“The rosary, Claire,” she urged, her voice cutting through the noise. “Open the cross.”
I stared at the heavy gold crucifix. I pressed my thumb against the center of the cross. A tiny, hidden clasp clicked. The back of the cross popped open.
Inside was a tightly rolled strip of microfilm.
“Thomas didn't just hide the ledger,” Teresa said, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “He knew Marco would eventually find the book. So he took the most damning evidence—the offshore bank codes proving Marco funded the hit—and he hid them in the only thing he knew Marco would never touch. My faith.”
Luca landed a sickening punch to Marco’s jaw. The older man went limp, the gun sliding across the floor. Dante and his men instantly swarmed Marco, pinning him down and securing his arms with zip-ties.
Silence slowly fell over the ruined dining room.
Luca stood up, his chest heaving, his suit torn. He looked at Marco, disgust radiating from his eyes.
“Take him to the basement,” Luca ordered Dante. “And call the federal authorities. Tell them we have a gift for them.”
As Dante dragged a semiconscious Marco out of the room, Luca turned his attention to Vanessa.
She was huddled on the floor, rocking back and forth, clutching her bleeding shoulder.
“Vanessa,” Luca said, his voice void of any warmth. “Who did Marco take?”
Vanessa looked up, her mascara running down her face in thick, black rivers. The glamorous, cruel woman who had humiliated me an hour ago was entirely gone.
“My daughter,” Vanessa choked out, sobbing. “Mia. She’s six years old. Marco found out about Arthur and the cons. He kidnapped Mia three months ago. He told me if I didn't marry you and forge the port documents to him, I’d never see her again.”
She looked at me, her eyes filled with desperate remorse. “I’m sorry, Claire. I had to make him believe I was entirely on his side. I had to throw you out so you wouldn't find out the truth.”
Luca’s expression softened, just a fraction. He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.
“Track Marco’s secondary safe houses,” Luca ordered into the phone. “There’s a six-year-old girl named Mia. I want her found. Now.”
He hung up and looked at me. I was still clutching the ledger and the blue fabric.
“Claire,” Teresa said softly from her wheelchair.
I looked at her.
“Marco lied about one thing,” Teresa said, a small, sad smile touching her lips. “He didn't kill your brother.”
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She reached into the pocket of her cardigan and pulled out a faded, yellowed piece of cardboard.
It was a ferry ticket. Dated eleven years ago. Stamped: DESTINATION - ROME.
