Chapter 2 - The Boy in the Photograph
“Who did you take in there with you?” Luca’s voice was barely a whisper. But in the dead silence of the billiard room, it sounded like a gunshot. Vanessa backed away from the dark blue door. Her red satin engagement gown suddenly looked ridiculous. Like a costume for a play that had just been canceled. “Nobody,” she stammered. “Luca, I swear. I only went in for a second.” “You’re lying.” Luca didn’t yell. He didn’t have to. The quiet fury in his eyes was terrifying enough. He looked at the fresh scratches around the brass lock. Someone had forced a tool in there, trying to pick it before realizing they needed the onyx button key. “You couldn’t open it alone,” Luca said smoothly. “You brought someone in to break the lock.” Vanessa’s eyes darted toward the hallway. Just for a second. But I saw it. And so did Luca. He signaled to his head of security, Marco, who was standing by the double doors. “Lock the perimeter,” Luca ordered. “Nobody leaves the estate. Not the guests. Not the staff.” Then, he pushed the blue door open. The hinges groaned. A wave of cold, stale air washed over us. It smelled of dried lavender and old paper. Luca stepped inside. I followed instinctively, my heart hammering against my ribs. Mr. Ferraro remained in the doorway, his trembling hands gripping his wooden cane. He wouldn’t cross the threshold. I reached out and clicked the wall switch. A small crystal chandelier flickered to life. And the breath left my lungs. It wasn’t a vault. It wasn’t a mafia planning room. It was a nursery. The walls were covered in faded blue wallpaper with tiny silver stars. A beautifully carved wooden crib sat in the center. A rocking chair rested in the corner. And covering almost every inch of the floor were toys. Wooden trains. A rocking horse. Books. Perfectly preserved. Untouched for decades. Luca stood completely frozen. “I don’t understand,” he whispered. He walked slowly toward the crib. He reached out, his large hand brushing against the dusty white blanket draped over the railing. “I’m an only child,” Luca said. “My mother died when I was born. My father never remarried.” “He didn’t,” Mr. Ferraro said softly from the doorway. “But he loved someone else.” Luca turned sharply. “Who?” The tailor looked down. “Antonio made me swear on my life I would never say her name. He said the family would kill her.” Luca looked around the room, his chest rising and falling heavily. Then his eyes stopped on the small wooden dresser. One of the drawers was pulled open. It was empty. But resting on top of the dresser was a small, silver-framed photograph. The glass was cracked. Luca picked it up. I stepped closer, close enough to see the image. It was a picture of Antonio Moretti. He looked younger, happier, standing in a sunny garden. He was holding a little boy. The boy had dark hair, bright eyes, and was clutching a small wooden train. But the child wasn’t Luca. I knew exactly what Luca looked like as a child. There were portraits of him all over the main house. This boy was different. He was older. And standing next to Antonio was a woman. Her face had been violently scratched out. Ruined by the sharp edge of a blade. “Vanessa,” Luca said, his voice dropping an octave. She stood in the doorway, trembling. “I didn’t do that,” she cried. “I swear!” Luca held up the photograph. “Who is this boy? Do I have a brother?” Vanessa shook her head frantically. “I don’t know! I didn’t know this room was a nursery!” “Then what were you looking for?” She clamped her mouth shut. Luca took a step toward her. “Tell me right now, or the engagement is over.” Vanessa burst into tears. “My father’s ledger!” she sobbed. “My father told me before he died that Antonio took his ledger! He said it was hidden in the blue room. It has all our offshore accounts. If I don’t find it, my family goes bankrupt!” Luca stared at her. “You tore open my father’s last suit. You broke into a secret room. You lied to me. Over money?” “It’s millions, Luca!” Luca looked at the picture. Then at the empty drawer. “You said you brought someone in here to break the lock.” Vanessa swallowed. “Yes.” “Who?” She looked at the floor. “Marcus.” Her brother. Marcus Bellini. The man who was supposed to be Luca’s new underboss. “Where is Marcus now?” Luca asked quietly. Vanessa wiped her eyes. “He took the ledger. He left through the service entrance an hour ago.” Luca’s jaw tightened. But before he could speak, Mr. Ferraro tapped his cane against the floor. “Vanessa,” the old man said gently. “You are lying again.” She glared at him. “I am not!” Mr. Ferraro pointed his cane at the empty drawer. “Antonio didn’t hide a ledger in this room.” Luca looked at him. “What did he hide?” The tailor met Luca’s eyes. “He hid the boy’s birth certificate.” The room went dead silent. I looked at the scratched-out face of the woman in the photograph. Then I noticed something. Around the woman’s neck was a distinct, silver locket. Shaped like a teardrop. With a small sapphire in the center. My blood turned to ice. I reached up, my hand touching the cold metal resting against my own collarbone. I had worn it every day since I was a child. My mother gave it to me before she passed away. Luca saw my movement. He looked at my hand. Then at my neck. He recognized the locket. “Emma,” Luca whispered. He took a step toward me. “Where did you get that?”
