Chapter 2 - THE VELVET BOX
The silence in the dining room was absolute. Twenty-six guests, some of the most feared and powerful men in the city, sat frozen.
Gabriel’s dark eyes locked onto Camille.
“You threw boiling tea at my daughter?” His voice didn't rise, but the lethal quiet in it made the crystal glasses on the table seem to vibrate.
Camille’s face drained of color. “Gabriel, she’s a maid. She’s lying to protect herself because she was clumsy—”
“Sophie isn’t a maid,” Gabriel interrupted, his gaze shifting to his six-year-old daughter. “Sophie, did Camille throw the tea?”
Sophie squeezed my hand tight. “Yes. Because I found her blue box.”
Camille lunged forward, her chair scraping violently against the marble floor. “Sophie, be quiet!”
Two of Gabriel’s guards at the doors instantly took a step into the room. Gabriel didn’t even look at them. He simply raised one hand, and they stopped.
“What blue box?” Gabriel asked his daughter.
“The velvet one in her closet,” Sophie whispered, looking down. “I was looking for my crayons. She told me never to touch it, but it fell. Then the tea happened.”
Camille’s chest heaved. She tried to smile, a brittle, desperate thing. “Gabriel, it’s just old jewelry. The girl is exhausted, and Elise is manipulating her to get back at me for correcting her uniform.”
Gabriel stood up. He unbuttoned his suit jacket. “Dinner is over.”
The guests didn't need to be told twice. Within three minutes, the dining room was empty of outsiders. The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut, leaving only Gabriel, Camille, Sophie, and me in the cavernous space.
“Get the box,” Gabriel said to one of his men standing outside.
“Gabriel, please!” Camille’s voice pitched into a panic. “This is our engagement dinner. You’re going to let a housemaid ruin—”
“If that box only holds jewelry, I will apologize,” Gabriel said, turning to me. “Elise, take Sophie to her room.”
I nodded, wrapping my arm around the little girl’s shoulders. As we reached the grand staircase, the guard came down holding a small, faded blue velvet box. It looked incredibly old.
I took Sophie to her room, helping her out of the pale-blue dress and into her pajamas. She climbed into bed, her small hands pulling the duvet up to her chin.
“Is Elise going to have to leave?” Sophie asked, her lower lip trembling.
“No, sweetheart,” I said, brushing her dark curls back. “You were very brave today. I’m right here.”
An hour passed. The house was frighteningly quiet. Finally, the door creaked open. Gabriel stepped inside. He looked exhausted, his tie pulled loose. He walked over to the bed, kissed Sophie’s forehead, and waited until she closed her eyes.
Then he looked at me and gestured toward the hallway.
I followed him into his private study. On his massive oak desk sat the blue velvet box. It was open.
“Camille is gone,” Gabriel said flatly. “She packed a single bag and my men escorted her off the property.”
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. “I’m sorry, Mr. Romano. I should have told you four months ago.”
“Why didn't you?”
“She said she would have me blacklisted from every agency. And I couldn’t leave Sophie.”
Gabriel looked at my scarred wrist. A deep, agonizing guilt flashed in his eyes. “You took a boiling pot of tea for my daughter, Elise. You will never have to worry about your wages or your position again.”
He turned the velvet box toward me.
“I need to know if you’ve ever seen what’s inside this,” he said.
I looked down. Resting on the faded silk lining was a heavy, silver pocket watch. It was badly dented, the glass face shattered, its hands frozen at 11:42.
“No, sir. I haven’t.”
“I gave this watch to my wife, Elena, on our wedding day,” Gabriel said, his voice cracking. “She was wearing it the night she died in the car accident three years ago. The police said it was destroyed in the fire.”
A cold chill washed over me. “If it was lost in the fire… how did Camille have it?”
Gabriel picked up the watch. He turned it over. The back casing was loose. He popped it open with his thumb.
“Because Camille didn't just have the watch,” Gabriel whispered.
May you like
He pulled a small, folded piece of paper from inside the casing and laid it on the desk. It was a dry-cleaning receipt. The name printed at the top wasn’t Camille’s.
It was Marco Vane. Gabriel’s own brother.
