Chapter 6 - THE VINTAGE WATCH
The ticking of the silver pocket watch sounded like a time bomb counting down in the quiet library.
Anthony stared at the heavy metallic object sitting amidst the spilled lipstick and credit cards on his desk. He reached out slowly, as if the watch might burn his skin. His massive fingers dwarfed the delicate silver casing as he picked it up.
He looked at the open face of the watch.
There, tucked neatly behind the glass on the left side of the casing, was a small, faded photograph.
I watched Anthony’s face carefully. I expected to see shock, or perhaps the violent rage that had consumed him minutes earlier. Instead, I saw complete, utterly devastating confusion.
“I don’t understand,” Anthony murmured, his brow heavily furrowed.
I stepped closer, keeping one hand firmly on Sophie’s shoulder. I peered over Anthony’s arm to look at the tiny photograph.
It was an old Polaroid, likely taken twenty years ago. It showed two teenage girls sitting on the steps of a run-down, brick apartment building. They were laughing, leaning their heads together.
One of the girls was unmistakably a young Elena. Her bright, warm smile and golden hair were identical to the woman Anthony had married.
But the girl sitting next to her, wearing cheap clothes and scowling slightly at the camera, was Isabella.
“You knew her when you were teenagers?” Anthony asked, his voice hollow. “You grew up together?”
Isabella let out a sharp, bitter laugh. It wasn’t a sound of humor; it was the sound of a wound that had festered for two decades.
“We didn't just grow up together, Anthony,” Isabella spat, crossing her arms over her chest. “We shared a bedroom. We shared clothes. We shared everything, until the day the rich, perfect Romano family decided they wanted to adopt a sweet little blonde girl, but didn't want the dark-haired, angry teenager that came with her.”
My breath caught in my throat.
“You’re… you’re sisters?” I whispered.
“Half-sisters,” Isabella corrected, her eyes burning with a jealous hatred so deep it made me shudder. “Same deadbeat mother, different fathers. When our mother went to prison, we were put in the system. I protected Elena. I fought for her. But when the wealthy foster family came looking for a child, they only wanted the pretty, polite one. They took Elena and gave her a perfect life. Private schools, expensive clothes, and eventually, a billionaire mafia boss husband.”
Isabella took a step toward Anthony, pointing an accusatory finger at his chest.
“She got everything, Anthony! And I got left behind in the dirt! I aged out of the system with nothing. I worked in diners. I scraped by. While my precious sister lived in a mansion and pretended I didn't exist!”
Anthony shook his head, struggling to process the lie he had lived for years.
“Elena told me she was an only child,” he said softly.
“Because she was ashamed of me!” Isabella screamed. “She didn't want her high-class mafia husband to know she had a trashy, poor sister! But I found her, Anthony. Three years after you got married, I found her. I went to Victor. I knew he managed your money. I told him who I was. I told him I wanted what was owed to me.”
“So you and Victor blackmailed her,” I said, disgust dripping from my voice.
“Victor was a greedy pig,” Isabella sneered. “He realized Elena was terrified of you finding out she had lied to you. He realized she was hiding money to try and pay me off. So Victor started demanding more. He bled her dry, Anthony. He took millions from her secret accounts.”
Isabella pointed down at the train ticket still sitting on the desk.
“Elena finally snapped,” Isabella continued. “She realized Victor was never going to stop. She realized you were going to find out the money was missing, and you would kill her for stealing from the family. So she packed her bags. She put Sophie in the car. She was going to take the midnight train and disappear.”
Anthony closed his eyes, a tear slipping down his scarred cheek. His wife hadn't been running from him because she hated him. She had been running because she was terrified of the mess her sister had created.
“But Victor found out she was leaving,” Anthony said, opening his eyes. They were completely devoid of warmth. “And he couldn't let his cash cow run away.”
“Victor forced me into his car that night,” Isabella said, her voice dropping into a desperate plea. “He drove after her. He rammed her car off the icy road into the ravine. I swear to God, Anthony, I tried to help her! I walked down that hill! But Victor grabbed me! He told me if I pulled her out of the wreckage, he would throw me in the burning car with her!”
Isabella grabbed the edge of the desk, leaning closer to Anthony.
“Victor killed her, Anthony! Not me! And I avenged her! A month later, I shot Victor in the back of the head and threw his gun in the river. I avenged my sister!”
Anthony stared at her. The silence in the room was suffocating.
“You didn't shoot Victor to avenge your sister,” Anthony said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “You shot Victor so you could keep all the blackmail money for yourself. And when that money ran out… you came after me. You fabricated a fake meeting at a charity gala. You seduced a grieving widower. You planned to marry me, take half my empire, and finally steal the life Elena had.”
Isabella didn't deny it. She just stared at him, her chest heaving.
“And you tried to poison my daughter tonight,” Anthony said, taking a slow step toward her. “Because Sophie remembered your face from the crash site. You realized she was getting older, her memories were getting clearer, and it was only a matter of time before she recognized the woman in the green coat.”
“She’s a brat!” Isabella hissed, dropping all pretense of innocence. “She’s exactly like her mother! Spoiled, entitled, getting everything handed to her while I get nothing!”
Anthony reached toward his waistband. I saw the dark metal of his holstered pistol.
“You are going to walk out the front door of this house,” Anthony said, his voice echoing with the finality of a judge passing a death sentence. “My men will put you in a car. And you are going to disappear. Forever.”
Isabella backed away, realizing that the mob boss had finally awoken.
But instead of begging, Isabella smiled. A cold, wicked, triumphant smile.
“I don’t think so, Anthony,” she purred.
Without warning, Isabella reached behind her neck. She unclasped the heavy, thick gold necklace she always wore—the one Anthony had bought her for their engagement.
She held the heavy gold pendant up in the air.
“You think Victor was acting alone?” Isabella laughed. “Victor owed a lot of money to the Russian syndicate on the south side, Anthony. Millions. Money he lost gambling. Money he tried to pay back by blackmailing your wife. When I killed Victor, the Russians came looking for their money. And I told them exactly where to find it.”
Isabella twisted the gold pendant. There was a sharp click.
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“This isn’t just jewelry, Anthony,” Isabella whispered. “It’s a GPS panic button. And the men Victor owed money to? They’ve been waiting a mile down the road for me to give the signal.”
Before Anthony could draw his weapon, the deafening sound of automatic gunfire erupted from the front gates of the estate, shattering the silence of the night.
