Chapter 3 - THE SILVER WATCH
I stared at the silver watch in Elena’s palm, my mind violently rejecting the words she had just spoken.
Your wife never made it into that car.
Isabella had died three years ago on a rainy Tuesday in November. The police report stated her sedan had skidded off a slick mountain road, plunging into a ravine and bursting into flames. The fire had been so intense that dental records were required for identification. I had buried a closed casket. I had spent three years mourning a ghost.
I reached out and took the heavy silver watch. The intricate engraving of the Moretti family crest was etched into the back. It was real.
“What do you mean she never made it into the car?” I demanded, my voice dangerously low. I glanced at Lily, who was busy fixing her rabbit’s ears on the sofa, completely unaware of the earthquake shattering her father’s world.
Elena took a step back, wrapping her arms around herself. “Please, Mr. Moretti. You have to understand... I didn't come here just for a job.”
“Who are you?” I asked, stepping toward her, the intimidation tactics of my underworld life bleeding into my tone. “And how do you have my dead wife's possession?”
Elena’s chin trembled, but she didn't look away. “My real name isn't Elena Rossi. It’s Elena Silva. Isabella was my older sister.”
The room spun.
I gripped the edge of my mahogany desk to steady myself. Isabella had mentioned a younger sister years ago—a teenager who had been estranged from the family, sent away to a boarding school in Europe by their strict parents. Isabella had lost contact with her shortly before we met.
I looked closely at Elena’s face. The bone structure. The almond shape of her dark eyes. The stubborn set of her jaw. God, how had I not seen it? She looked just like Isabella.
“If you are her sister,” I said slowly, trying to maintain my grip on reality, “why did you infiltrate my house as a maid?”
“Because your mother threatened to kill me if I ever came near the girls,” Elena said, the words spilling out like a broken dam. “Two years ago, your mother found out I was living in Chicago. Her men showed up at my apartment. They told me if I ever contacted you, or tried to claim any right to my nieces, I would disappear.”
I felt a cold, murderous rage begin to spread through my veins. My mother had always hated Isabella, viewing her as lower-class, an unworthy addition to the Moretti empire. But to threaten her family?
“I stayed away because I was terrified,” Elena cried quietly. “But then I saw a tabloid article about Sofia. About her paralysis. And I couldn't stay away anymore. I applied through the agency. I altered my background check. I just wanted to see them. To help them.”
I rubbed my face, the silver watch heavy and cold in my hand.
“You said Isabella wasn't in the car,” I pushed, dragging us back to the most terrifying revelation. “Explain.”
Elena pointed to the watch. “Press the latch on the top. Not the main button. The small one on the side.”
I frowned. I had owned that watch for a decade before giving it to Isabella, and I never knew it had a secondary latch. I pressed my thumbnail into a tiny groove on the silver casing.
With a soft click, the back plate of the watch popped open.
It wasn't a solid piece of metal. It was a hidden compartment. Inside, folded into a tiny, tight square, was a piece of yellowed paper.
My hands shook as I pulled it out and unfolded it.
It was a handwritten note. The handwriting was frantic, rushed, but undeniably Isabella’s graceful cursive.
Adrian. If you are reading this, I am already gone. Your mother knows about the accounts. She knows I found the ledger. She is going to take the girls. I am running tonight. I’m taking the train to Montreal. Do not look for me until you have secured the ledger from the safe deposit box. She will kill me to keep the money. I love you.
I read the words three times. The air in the room felt too thick to breathe.
“I found it hidden under the floorboards in the nursery two days ago,” Elena whispered. “I was cleaning under the crib and noticed the wood was loose. Your mother must have realized Isabella hid something in that room before she vanished.”
“She didn't vanish,” I said, my voice hollow. “A body was pulled from that car. Dental records confirmed it.”
Elena looked at me, her dark eyes filled with a sorrow so deep it mirrored my own. “Mr. Moretti... your mother controls the police chief. She controls the medical examiner. You know this. If Isabella ran away that night, whose body did they put in that car to convince you she was dead?”
A sickening wave of nausea washed over me.
My mother had faked my wife’s death. She had murdered someone else to cover the tracks. And Isabella... Isabella could still be alive, running, terrified, thinking I had abandoned her.
Or worse, my mother’s men had caught her before she reached the train.
Before I could speak, the heavy oak doors of my study burst open.
My head of security, Marco, stood in the doorway. He looked panicked—an expression I had never seen on his scarred face in fifteen years of service.
“Boss,” Marco said, breathless. “We have a problem.”
“I told you to escort my mother off the property,” I snapped, shoving the note and watch into my pocket.
“She’s gone,” Marco said. “But she didn't leave alone, sir.”
My heart stopped. I spun around, looking at the leather sofa.
Lily was still there, quietly petting her rabbit.
I pushed past Marco and sprinted down the hallway, taking the stairs three at a time. I tore down the second-floor corridor and slammed open the nursery door.
The room was perfectly clean. The toys were put away. The blue medical walker sat empty in the corner.
May you like
Sofia’s crib was empty.
My mother had taken my paralyzed daughter.
