Chapter 2 - THE SILVER WATCH
~1,100 words
Isabella stopped ten feet away from Luca, the dead man lying on the marble floor between them.
The restaurant was completely silent. Even the wealthy politicians and ruthless cartel bosses held their breath. The only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioning and the frantic beating of the waitress’s heart as she stood frozen beside Luca.
Luca did not raise his weapon. He didn't have to. Three of his bodyguards had already leveled their handguns at Isabella’s chest.
“Stand down,” Luca commanded, his voice low and dangerous.
The guards hesitated. They had just watched a man die from a poisoned drink meant for their boss. But they obeyed, slowly lowering their weapons.
Isabella’s hands were shaking violently as she reached into her black designer handbag. Her beautiful face, usually glowing with confidence, was pale and streaked with tears.
“Luca, please,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You have to understand.”
“I asked you a question, Isabella,” Luca said, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “Why did you need him dead?”
“I didn’t kill him!” she cried out. She pulled her hand from her purse. She wasn't holding a weapon.
She was holding a small, faded velvet pouch.
She took a step forward and tossed it. The pouch slid across the polished marble floor, stopping inches from the dead man’s outstretched hand.
“He gave me that three nights ago,” Isabella sobbed. “That’s why I met with him. That’s why I let him near you.”
Luca stared at the pouch. He gestured to one of his men, who carefully picked it up, untied the drawstrings, and tipped the contents into Luca’s waiting palm.
A heavy object fell into his hand.
Luca’s breath caught in his throat. The world around him seemed to stop spinning.
It was a tarnished silver pocket watch. The casing was scratched, and the glass face was cracked in the exact shape of a spiderweb. The hands were frozen at 11:42.
It was the exact time Luca’s father had been murdered twenty years ago.
This was his father’s watch. The watch that was stolen off his bleeding body in the alleyway. The watch Luca had spent two decades and millions of dollars trying to find.
“How did you get this?” Luca demanded, the calmness in his voice far more terrifying than if he had shouted.
“He contacted me a week ago,” Isabella wept, pointing at the dead man. “He said he knew who killed your father. He said he had the watch as proof. He wanted two million dollars, or he would sell the watch to the Rossi family and destroy the evidence.”
Luca looked down at the dead man. The man he thought was a loyal new recruit.
“So you paid him?” Luca asked.
“I was going to,” Isabella said, stepping closer, ignoring the blood pooling near her designer heels. “I met him three nights ago to verify the watch. I wanted to give it to you as a wedding gift, Luca. I wanted to give you peace. But he changed the deal. He said he wanted a position in your inner circle first, to guarantee his safety. That’s why I convinced you to hire him.”
Luca closed his eyes. The betrayal stung, but the love in Isabella’s motives twisted the knife deeper. She had compromised his security, but she had done it out of love.
But if Isabella didn’t poison him… who did?
“He was lying to you,” a quiet, trembling voice said.
Everyone turned.
The waitress. She was staring down at the dead man’s face. She had finally stepped out of the shadows, her apron stained with spilled champagne, her eyes wide with a horrific recognition.
Luca turned to her. “What did you say?”
“He didn’t know who killed your father, Mr. Moretti,” the waitress whispered, tears spilling over her cheeks. “He was a con artist. A thief. He used that watch to manipulate her.”
Isabella frowned, wiping her eyes. “Who are you? How could you possibly know that?”
The waitress slowly dropped to her knees beside the dead man. Her hand hovered over his face, trembling so hard she could barely keep it straight.
“Because his name isn’t Marco,” the waitress sobbed, her voice breaking into a million pieces. “His name is David. And he’s my husband.”
A collective gasp echoed through the remaining guards. Luca stepped forward, his mind racing.
“Your husband?” Luca asked. “The man who infiltrated my crew was married to a waitress in my restaurant?”
“He left me three years ago,” she cried, clutching her chest. “He vanished in the middle of the night. He was drowning in gambling debts. He stole every penny we had. But that wasn’t the worst part.”
She looked up at Luca, her eyes filled with a mother’s primal agony.
“He took my baby,” she whispered. “He took my three-year-old little girl from her bed. I’ve spent every day since trying to find him. I took a job here because I heard a rumor he was running scams in this neighborhood. When I saw him tonight… I was going to confront him. I was going to beg him to tell me where Mia is.”
Luca looked at the dead man, then at the devastated mother on the floor.
The pieces were falling into place. David had scammed Isabella to get close to Luca. Someone on the balcony had poisoned the drink, aiming for David, not Luca.
Suddenly, Luca’s phone vibrated in his pocket again.
He pulled it out.
The mysterious sender had messaged him once more.
HE WAS KILLED BEFORE HE COULD REVEAL THE TRUTH ABOUT THE CHILD.
Luca frowned. Another message appeared immediately.
LOOK INSIDE HIS LEFT COAT POCKET.
Luca knelt beside the body. He ignored the gasps of his guards as he reached into the dead man’s suit jacket. His fingers brushed against something hard and metallic.
He pulled it out.
It was a small, intricately carved wooden music box.
The waitress let out a blood-curdling scream. “That’s Mia’s! That’s my daughter’s music box! Where is she?!”
Luca opened the lid. The music didn’t play. Instead, inside the velvet-lined box, there was a single, crumpled Polaroid photograph.
Luca unfolded it.
It was a picture of a little girl, about six years old, with dark curls and terrified green eyes. She was tied to a wooden chair in what looked like an abandoned warehouse. Holding a gun to the child’s head was a man wearing a very specific, heavy gold ring on his index finger.
Luca’s blood turned to ice.
He didn’t need to see the man’s face. He knew that gold ring. He had bought it ten years ago.
It belonged to Vincent. Luca’s most trusted friend. The underboss of his entire criminal empire.
Before Luca could speak, Isabella leaned over his shoulder and saw the photograph.
All the color drained from Isabella’s face. She let out a choking gasp and fell to her knees, grabbing the photograph from Luca’s hand.
“No,” Isabella whispered, her entire body shaking with violent sobs. “No, no, no!”
The waitress stared at her in confusion. “Why are you crying? That’s my daughter!”
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Isabella looked up, her eyes wide with a terrifying, earth-shattering secret.
“No, she isn’t,” Isabella whispered. “That’s my daughter.”
