Chapter 3 - THE TORN PHOTOGRAPH
The rain hammered against the tin roof of the maintenance garage, but inside, the silence was deafening.
Luca stared at the five-year-old boy, the silver pocket watch still clutched in his trembling hand.
“Before the car crash,” Luca repeated, his voice completely hollow.
Six years ago, Luca’s fiancée, Elena, had died in a horrific car accident on a rainy highway outside of Chicago. The police had ruled it a tragic loss of control. The car had burst into flames, and the medical examiner had told Luca that Elena had died instantly.
She had been six months pregnant.
Luca had buried an empty casket. He had spent years in a spiral of grief, building his empire with a cold, ruthless efficiency because he had nothing left to lose.
Until now.
“Daniel,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he stood up.
“Yes, sir.”
“Bring the car around to the front door. We’re moving him inside.”
Luca didn’t wait for his men. He bent down and gently wrapped the little boy in the oversized coat, lifting him carefully into his arms.
The boy buried his face in Luca’s neck, his small fingers twisting into the lapel of Luca’s expensive suit.
Bruno let out a sharp bark and limped out of the garage right beside them.
I followed, my mind racing.
If this boy was Luca’s son—if Elena had survived the crash long enough to give birth, or if she had been taken before the crash happened—then Vanessa didn’t just lock a stray child in the garage.
She had locked away the heir to the Moretti empire.
We hurried back into the mansion through the service entrance, avoiding the dining room where the guests were still trapped.
Luca bypassed the grand staircase and carried the boy directly into his private study.
It was a massive room lined with mahogany bookshelves, a roaring fireplace, and a deep leather sofa.
Luca laid the boy gently on the sofa.
“Emma, stay with him,” Luca ordered. “Lock the door behind me. Do not let anyone in except me or Daniel.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
Luca’s dark eyes were pure, lethal obsidian.
“I have twenty-six guests to dismiss,” Luca said. “And a fiancée to question.”
The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut. I turned the brass lock.
The study was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire.
The little boy sat up on the sofa, pulling his knees to his chest. Bruno immediately jumped onto the expensive leather cushions—something no one but Luca was allowed to allow—and curled his heavy gray body around the child.
“You’re safe now,” I told the boy softly, sitting on the edge of the coffee table. “My name is Emma. Do you want some water? Or something to eat?”
The boy shook his head.
He looked around the massive, wealthy study, his eyes darting to the towering bookshelves and the heavy velvet curtains.
“Are you hiding from the bad lady?” the boy asked.
“You mean Vanessa? The lady in the red dress?”
He nodded, his small hands gripping Bruno’s fur.
“She isn’t going to hurt you anymore,” I promised him. “Mr. Moretti—the man who carried you—he’s very strong. He won’t let her near you.”
The boy studied my face.
Children who have been abused possess an unnatural ability to read adults. They know who is safe and who is performing.
He must have seen something in my eyes that he trusted, because he slowly unzipped the oversized coat.
“I’m Leo,” he whispered.
“Hi, Leo,” I smiled gently. “That’s a very brave name.”
Leo reached his hand inside the lining of the coat.
“My mommy told me to keep this hidden,” Leo said softly. “She said if I ever found the man with the lion watch, I had to give it to him.”
He pulled his hand out.
He was holding a torn piece of glossy paper.
It was half of a photograph.
I reached out and took it carefully.
My stomach dropped into my shoes.
It was a photograph of Vanessa Bellini. But she wasn’t wearing designer clothes, and she didn’t look like the polished socialite currently standing in the dining room.
She was standing in a hospital room, wearing a nurse’s uniform.
And she was handing a newborn baby wrapped in a blue blanket to a tall, shadowy man whose face was cut out of the torn image.
On the back of the photograph, written in frantic, shaky handwriting, were three words:
She took him.
Before I could process what I was holding, the handle of the study door violently rattled.
“Emma!”
It was Vanessa’s voice. Shrill. Panicked.
“Emma, open this door right now! I know you’re in there with that filthy brat!”
Bruno sprang to his feet on the sofa, standing between Leo and the door, unleashing a deep, terrifying snarl that shook the floorboards.
I stood up, slipping the torn photograph into the deep pocket of my housekeeper’s dress.
“Go away, Vanessa!” I shouted back. “Mr. Moretti told me to keep the door locked!”
“You ignorant little maid!” Vanessa screamed through the wood. “You have no idea what you’ve just done! Open the door before he kills us both!”
She wasn’t talking about Luca.
I realized it with a sudden, chilling clarity.
Vanessa wasn’t the mastermind. She was terrified of someone else.
Then, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway.
“Vanessa.”
Luca’s voice. Cold as ice.
A sharp gasp from Vanessa, followed by the sound of a body being shoved hard against the wall.
“Luca, please!” Vanessa begged, her voice cracking. “I can explain! I was protecting you!”
“Open the door, Emma,” Luca commanded.
I ran to the door and unlocked it.
Luca stood in the hallway, his hand wrapped tightly around Vanessa’s throat, pinning her against the mahogany paneling. The engagement guests were nowhere to be seen. The mansion was dead silent.
Luca pushed Vanessa into the study and slammed the door behind him.
She stumbled onto the Persian rug, clutching her throat, her beautiful red gown torn at the shoulder.
Luca didn’t look at her. He looked at Leo, then at me.
“Is he okay?” Luca asked.
“He’s okay,” I said. “His name is Leo.”
Luca’s jaw tightened. He slowly turned toward Vanessa.
“You knew,” Luca whispered, the betrayal burning in his eyes. “For six years, you knew my son was alive. You told me Elena died on impact. You held my hand at her funeral.”
Vanessa backed away on her hands and knees, sobbing.
“I didn’t know at first, Luca! I swear! I only found out three months ago!”
She pointed a shaking finger at me.
“Ask her!” Vanessa shrieked. “Ask your precious little maid what I was protecting you from! She’s the one who found the driver at the gate!”
I frowned, taking a step back. “What are you talking about?”
Vanessa laughed—a high, hysterical sound.
“The driver who came to collect the dog and the boy tonight,” Vanessa sneered. “Did Daniel catch him, Luca? Did you see his face?”
Luca’s expression darkened. “Daniel has him in the basement.”
“Then go down there and ask him who hired him!” Vanessa yelled.
May you like
She looked directly at me.
“Ask him why he was carrying an airplane ticket to Switzerland in his pocket,” Vanessa said, her eyes gleaming with a sick triumph. “An airplane ticket with your name on it, Emma.”
