Chapter 2 - THE POCKET WATCH
Grace’s small finger remained perfectly still, pointing past Vanessa, past the elaborate floral centerpiece, directly at the man sitting to Luca’s right. Marcus Rossi. Luca’s underboss. His oldest friend. The man who had been the best man at his wedding to Catherine. The dining room plunged into a suffocating silence. Even the clinking of ice in water glasses seemed to stop. Marcus let out a soft, sympathetic sigh. He placed his linen napkin on the table and offered Grace a gentle, uncle-like smile. “Gracie, sweetheart,” Marcus said, his voice smooth and calming. “You’re confused. It’s past your bedtime. You’re having those bad dreams again.” He looked at Luca, his eyes full of brotherly concern. “She’s overwhelmed, Luca. The crowd, the noise. You know how her imagination gets when she’s stressed.” Luca didn’t look at Marcus. His dark eyes were locked on his nine-year-old daughter. “Grace,” Luca said, his voice low and steady. “What do you mean?” Grace’s hand trembled, but she didn’t lower it. She stepped closer to my legs, her small fingers wrapping into the fabric of my uniform skirt. “He was there, Daddy,” she whispered, her voice carrying through the breathless room. “On the stairs with Mommy. Before she fell.” “That’s enough!” Vanessa snapped, stepping forward. “Luca, are you really going to let a child ruin this dinner with her delusions? Marcus was in the study with you when Catherine fell. We all know that.” “I was,” Marcus agreed softly. “Luca, you know I was.” Luca finally turned his head to look at Marcus. The trust between these two men spanned two decades. They had bled together, fought together, built an empire together. “I remember you walking into the study, Marcus,” Luca said slowly. “I remember you pouring us a drink. I don’t remember where you were in the five minutes before that.” Marcus’s sympathetic smile faltered just a fraction. “Luca. It’s me.” Eleanor, sitting quietly at the table, suddenly leaned forward. Her clouded eyes sharpened. “If it wasn’t him, Luca, then why did my daughter have his pocket watch in her hand when the paramedics arrived?” The temperature in the room plummeted. I sucked in a breath. I had read the police reports when I first took this job, trying to understand the tragedy that haunted this house. There had been no mention of a watch. Luca stood up slowly. “What watch, Eleanor?” “The gold one,” the old woman said, her voice shaking with years of suppressed grief. “The one with the initials M.R. on the back. A paramedic handed it to Vanessa before the police got inside. I saw it from the hallway.” Every eye in the room snapped to Vanessa. Vanessa’s face lost all its color. She backed up a step, her red silk gown swishing against the hardwood floor. “She’s crazy,” Vanessa stammered, her eyes darting around the room. “She’s a grieving, senile old woman!” Luca walked around the table. He stopped right in front of his fiancée. “Vanessa,” Luca said quietly. “Open your purse.” “Luca, please—” “Open the purse, Vanessa.” Her hands shook violently as she reached for the small designer clutch resting on the table. But before she could touch it, Marcus stood up. “Leave her alone, Luca,” Marcus said, his tone dropping its friendly warmth. “She’s trying to protect you.” “Protect me from what?” Luca demanded. Marcus reached into his own tailored suit jacket. My heart slammed against my ribs. I thought he was reaching for a weapon. I instinctively stepped in front of Grace. But Marcus didn’t pull a gun. He pulled out a small, folded piece of paper and tossed it onto the dining table. “From the truth,” Marcus said coldly. “Catherine didn’t fall, Luca. And I didn’t push her. But she wasn’t the loyal wife you thought she was.” Luca stared at the paper. He reached out and unfolded it. It was a plane ticket. Issued for the night Catherine died. But as Luca read the name on the passenger line, all the color drained from his face. Because it didn’t say Catherine Moretti. It said Emily Carter. My name.
