Chapter 2 - THE SILVER POCKET WATCH
“Vanessa, don't say another word. He knows.”
The voice crackling through the tiny speaker wasn't a distorted, anonymous threat. It was crisp. Familiar.
It belonged to Julian.
Julian Moretti. Luca’s cousin, his second-in-command, and the man who was currently supposed to be managing the estate’s perimeter security.
The silence that fell over the dining room was absolute. Thirty wealthy guests sat frozen in their high-backed chairs, their expensive champagne warming in their crystal glasses. The soft string quartet playing in the corner had abruptly stopped, the cellist’s bow hovering mid-air.
Luca didn't shout. He didn't slam his fist on the table.
He simply reached down and crushed the small black transmitter beneath the heel of his leather shoe. The plastic cracked. The red light died.
He looked at the two security guards stationed by the heavy oak doors.
“Lock them,” Luca said. His voice was terrifyingly calm. “Nobody leaves this room.”
The mechanical thud of the deadbolts engaging sounded like a vault sealing shut.
Panic rippled through the guests. A woman near the end of the table gasped, clutching her diamond necklace. A prominent state senator started to stand, his face flushed with indignation, but a single, flat stare from Luca kept him rooted to his chair.
I stood near the head of the table, my hands still hovering near the back of the replacement chair. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I was a housekeeper. I was supposed to be invisible. I was supposed to clear plates and polish silver, not stand in the epicenter of a mafia family’s civil war.
Vanessa was breathing fast, the red silk of her gown rising and falling rapidly. The arrogant, untouchable fiancée from two minutes ago was completely gone.
“Luca,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Julian forced me. He said if I didn't plant the microphone, he would tell you about—”
“Empty your purse,” Luca interrupted.
Vanessa blinked, tears welling in her perfectly mascaraed eyes. “What?”
“Empty. Your. Purse.”
Vanessa’s hands shook violently as she reached for the small, beaded clutch resting beside her plate. She unclasped it and upended it onto the pristine white tablecloth.
A tube of red lipstick rolled away. A compact mirror. A silk handkerchief.
And a heavy, antique silver pocket watch.
The moment the watch hit the table, the atmosphere in the room shifted from tense to lethal.
I recognized that watch. Every member of the household staff recognized it. It had belonged to Luca’s grandfather. It was a Moretti family heirloom, passed down only to the reigning head of the family. Luca had kept it locked in his private study.
“Julian’s watch,” Luca said softly. He picked it up. The silver casing caught the light of the crystal chandeliers. “He traded this to you. A promise of power.”
“He said you were weak, Luca!” Vanessa cried out, the fear morphing into a desperate, cornered anger. “He said you were trying to take the family legitimate! You’re giving away our territories. You’re liquidating the offshore accounts. Julian promised me that if I helped him monitor your private meeting tonight, we would take over the Chicago syndicate together.”
Luca turned the silver watch over in his large hand. “Julian promised you my empire because of a microphone?”
Vanessa swallowed hard. “He didn't just want to hear the meeting. He needed to know where you were moving the asset.”
The word hung in the air.
The asset.
I watched Luca’s jaw tighten. It was a minuscule movement, but for a man who controlled his emotions like a machine, it was the equivalent of a scream.
“You told him,” Luca said. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
“I had to!” Vanessa sobbed, stepping back as Luca took a slow step toward her. “He knew I was the one who tipped off the feds about the warehouse last year. He was blackmailing me! But I didn't tell him where the asset is, I swear. I only told him it was somewhere inside this house.”
That was the answer to the first mystery. The bug wasn't for blackmail. It was a hunting tool. Julian was looking for something Luca had hidden.
But a massive, terrifying question immediately ripped open.
What kind of asset was so valuable that Luca’s own blood would betray him for it?
Luca didn't look at Vanessa anymore. He looked at his head of security.
“Is the east wing secure?” Luca asked sharply.
The guard pressed a hand to his earpiece. His face went pale. “Sir. Julian’s men have breached the kitchen entrance. They’re moving toward the private stairwell.”
Luca dropped the silver pocket watch. It hit a china plate, shattering it.
“Grace,” Luca said, turning to me. His dark eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time, I saw genuine, unadulterated fear in them. “You clean the third floor. You know the service corridors.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Yes, sir.”
“Can you get to the east wing nursery without crossing the main hallway?”
My blood ran cold.
The east wing nursery.
For eight months, that section of the house had been strictly off-limits to everyone except Luca and a private, live-in nanny. The door was always locked. I was only allowed in to clean on Sunday mornings while the room was empty. I thought it was just a staging room for Luca’s future children with Vanessa.
But sometimes, when I dusted the baseboards, I found small, colorful things kicked under the heavy mahogany dresser. A stray wooden block. A broken blue crayon.
There was a child living in this house. A child Vanessa called an 'asset.'
“I can use the laundry chute access panels,” I said, my voice shaking but surprisingly clear. “It leads directly behind the nursery walls.”
“Show me,” Luca commanded.
He didn't wait for his guards. He didn't say another word to his fiancée or his guests. He grabbed his suit jacket, reached behind his back, and drew a sleek, black handgun from his waistband.
Vanessa screamed as the weapon appeared. The guests scrambled backward, chairs tipping over onto the hardwood floor.
“If she moves,” Luca told his guards, pointing at Vanessa, “shoot her.”
He grabbed my arm. His grip was iron-hard but strangely grounding. “We have three minutes before Julian reaches that door, Grace. Move.”
I ran.
I pushed past the heavy dining room doors, my sensible black work shoes slipping slightly on the polished marble foyer. Luca was right behind me.
As we reached the dark, narrow service corridor behind the kitchen, the sound of heavy boots and shouting echoed from the floor below us. Julian’s men were already inside.
“Mr. Moretti,” I gasped, pulling open a heavy wooden panel disguised as wainscoting. “Who is in that room?”
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Luca ducked into the dark, dusty crawlspace behind me. The smell of old wood and copper pipes filled the suffocating air.
“My nephew,” Luca whispered, his voice rough with a protective fury I had never heard before. “His name is Leo. And if Julian finds him, he’s going to kill him.”
