Chapter 2 - The Broken Melody
Vincent’s hand hovered over the white swan music box.
The silence in the therapy room was so absolute I could hear the rain lashing against the Lake Forest estate’s tall windows.
Dominic Vesceri, the man who had stood at Vincent’s right hand for two decades, took another step forward. His polished Italian shoes barely made a sound on the hardwood floor.
“Vincent, listen to me,” Dominic said, his voice slick with a forced calm. “The child is traumatized. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. Sofia’s death broke her mind.”
Isabella shrank back into her chair. Her small fingers dug into the pale blue fabric of her dress.
My four-year-old daughter, Ellie, tugged hard on my apron.
“Mommy, the bad man is lying,” Ellie whispered loudly.
Dominic’s eyes snapped toward my little girl. For a fraction of a second, the mask slipped. I saw raw, unfiltered malice in the attorney’s eyes. It was a look that promised violence.
I immediately stepped in front of Ellie, shielding her with my body.
“Get out,” Vincent commanded.
He didn’t yell. He didn’t have to. The six highly paid specialists scrambled toward the heavy oak doors, leaving the suitcase of cash untouched.
Within seconds, only Vincent, Dominic, the bodyguards, the children, and I remained in the room.
“Vincent,” Dominic pleaded, raising his hands. “Sofia kept secrets. Things that will break your heart. I moved that box into Isabella’s room to protect her from them.”
Vincent didn’t look at him. His eyes were locked on the music box.
“Bella,” Vincent whispered, kneeling before his seven-year-old daughter. “Can Daddy open it?”
Isabella hesitated. She looked at Dominic, her chest heaving with silent, terrified breaths. Then, she looked at me.
I gave her a tiny, reassuring nod.
Isabella gently pushed the white swan toward her father.
Vincent unlatched the brass clasp. He lifted the lid. The velvet interior was empty, save for the small mechanical gears that played the tune.
Dominic let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like relief.
“You see?” Dominic said, his posture relaxing. “It’s just a toy, Vincent. The girls are just—”
“It’s heavy,” Vincent interrupted.
He ran his thick, calloused fingers along the bottom of the velvet lining. He pressed the center.
A sharp click echoed in the room.
It was a false bottom.
Vincent lifted a thin wooden panel. Underneath lay two objects.
One was a heavy, silver pocket watch. The glass face was completely shattered, the hands frozen precisely at 9:14.
The exact time the police said Sofia’s car had plunged off the rain-soaked cliff in Winnetka.
The second object was a beautifully embroidered baby’s bib.
White linen. Blue stitching.
Vincent pulled the bib out with a trembling hand. He stared at it, the color draining from his face.
“I don’t understand,” Vincent choked out. “We weren’t… she wasn’t pregnant.”
“She was leaving you,” Dominic said quickly. His voice was laced with a venomous kind of pity. “I tried to spare you, Vincent. Sofia was having an affair. She was pregnant with another man’s child. She was running away that night.”
My stomach turned. It was a perfect, devastating lie. I could see it taking root in Vincent’s grief-stricken mind. The ultimate betrayal.
Vincent looked at the crushed pocket watch. He turned it over in his massive hand.
“An affair,” Vincent repeated, his voice hollow.
“Yes,” Dominic said gently, stepping closer. “She was a traitor, my friend. Let me take the children out. Let me handle this.”
But Vincent wasn’t looking at Dominic. He was wiping a thumb across the back of the silver watch.
“If she was having an affair,” Vincent whispered, “why does the man’s watch have your initials engraved on it, Dominic?”
Dominic froze.
Vincent turned the watch around. Engraved in elegant cursive were the letters: D.V.
It wasn’t just a watch. It was a trophy.
Before Dominic could speak, Isabella reached out and touched her father’s arm. Her voice, unused for eleven months, cracked like dry leaves.
May you like
“He chased Mommy’s car,” Isabella whispered.
Dominic lunged for the girl.
