Chapter 4 - THE MECHANIC'S WARNING
My blood ran cold.
Matteo’s grip tightened on my shoulder. “You’re a nanny, Mara. A glorified babysitter. Don’t start playing detective, or Dante won’t be able to protect you.”
He released me, giving me a patronizing pat on the cheek, and walked past me toward the kitchen.
I stood frozen, my heart pounding against my ribs. Matteo knew. He knew Elena hadn’t died by accident, and he was bragging about it.
I grabbed the silver watch and ran back upstairs.
I bypassed the nursery and went straight to Dante’s study. The door was open. Dante was standing by the window, staring out into the dark, rainy driveway.
“Dante,” I gasped, rushing in. I placed the silver watch on his mahogany desk. “I found this in Celine’s coat pocket.”
Dante turned, his eyes narrowing at the heirloom. “I noticed it was missing yesterday. She was stealing from me.”
“Look at the back,” I urged.
Dante picked it up, reading the scratched words: Check the garage.
His expression hardened. “The garage is where we keep the vintage fleet. It’s where Elena’s car was serviced the morning she died.”
“Matteo just threatened me in the hallway,” I blurted out. “He said the last woman who asked questions ended up in a ditch.”
Dante’s entire body went rigid. The betrayal of his fiancée was one thing; the betrayal of his own blood was a death sentence.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
“No. I’m coming with you. Lucy is safe in the locked nursery.”
Dante looked at me, seeing the fierce determination in my eyes, and gave a sharp nod.
We walked through the pouring rain to the detached, five-car garage at the edge of the estate. Dante bypassed the security keypad, using a physical skeleton key to roll up the heavy door.
The garage was dark, smelling of oil and old leather.
Dante flicked on the overhead fluorescents.
Sitting in the center bay, covered by a tarp, was a car. But it wasn't one of Dante’s vintage Ferraris.
Dante grabbed the tarp and yanked it back.
It was Elena’s car. The one that was supposedly totaled and scrapped fifteen months ago. The front end was completely smashed, the windshield shattered, the frame twisted in a horrific display of violence.
“Why is this here?” Dante whispered, his voice cracking. “Matteo told me he had it crushed at the junkyard.”
I walked closer to the wrecked vehicle, my stomach churning. I looked inside the shattered driver’s side window.
Resting on the bloody, ruined driver’s seat was an object.
I reached in, cutting my wrist slightly on the glass, and pulled it out.
It was a small, worn child’s drawing. Lucy’s drawing. A picture of a house with a yellow sun.
But it wasn't the front of the drawing that made my breath hitch.
It was the back.
Written in dark, dried blood, were two letters: M.C.
“Dante,” I breathed, handing him the drawing.
Dante stared at the bloody letters. “Matteo and Celine,” he realized, the horror washing over his face.
May you like
Before the weight of the betrayal could fully settle, the heavy garage door slammed shut behind us, plunging us into total darkness.
And from the shadows, the metallic click of a handgun being cocked echoed off the concrete walls.
