Chapter 3 - THE DIRT BENEATH THE WOODEN SWING
“Get a shovel.”
Luca’s voice echoed through the grand foyer.
Marcus immediately turned toward the back doors.
“Luca, stop!” Vanessa rushed forward, grabbing his arm. “This is insane! You’re going to ruin our engagement party over a piece of paper from a stranger?”
Luca didn’t shout. He didn’t pull away.
He just looked down at her hand resting on his sleeve, then slowly lifted his eyes to hers.
“Let go of me.”
Vanessa recoiled as if she’d been burned.
He turned to me. “Hannah. Take my mother into the sitting room. Keep the little girl with you. Do not let anyone else near them.”
“Yes, Mr. Moretti,” I said quickly.
I walked over to the little girl. She looked terrified, clutching the hem of her yellow dress. I knelt down and offered a gentle smile.
“Hi, sweetheart. I’m Hannah. Do you like hot chocolate?”
She nodded slowly.
“Let’s go get some,” I said, taking her small, cold hand.
I guided her and Teresa into the private family room, shutting the heavy oak doors behind us. But through the tall glass windows, I could see the dark outline of the garden.
Rain had begun to fall.
Luca strode across the wet lawn, his black dress shoes sinking into the mud. Frank walked closely behind him, ignoring his walking stick, his face set in grim determination.
They reached the old garden house.
Beside it stood the wooden swing. The one Frank had built thirty years ago.
Marcus arrived with a heavy steel shovel.
Vanessa followed them into the rain, her expensive red gown dragging through the wet grass.
“Luca, this is ridiculous!” she screamed over the thunder. “There is nothing there!”
Luca took the shovel from Marcus.
He drove the blade into the dirt beneath the swing.
Thud.
He pushed his foot down, digging deeper.
Thud.
Vanessa covered her face, stepping backward.
On the fourth strike, the metal blade hit something hard.
Clink.
Luca froze.
He dropped the shovel and dropped to his knees in the mud, tearing the ruined tuxedo jacket off his shoulders. He began digging frantically with his bare hands.
Frank stood silently in the rain, watching.
A few seconds later, Luca pulled a metal box from the earth.
It was an old cigar box. Rust covered the hinges.
Luca wiped the mud from the lid and forced it open.
Inside, wrapped in a plastic bag, were three items.
A stack of cash.
A passport.
And a man’s gold watch.
Luca stared at the watch. I could see the realization hit him even from the window.
It was his father’s watch. The one that had supposedly been stolen the night he died.
Luca stood up slowly, clutching the watch. The rain washed the dirt from his hands.
He walked toward Vanessa.
“My father wore this every day of his life,” Luca said quietly. “He had it on his wrist the night he had his heart attack. The doctors said it went missing in the ambulance.”
Vanessa shook her head, tears streaking her makeup.
“I don't know how that got there, Luca. I swear.”
“Frank,” Luca called out, not breaking eye contact with his fiancée. “Who was the man she brought here three weeks ago?”
Frank stepped forward.
“It was a lawyer, son. I saw the briefcase. He was holding papers with the estate’s seal.”
Luca looked down at the passport in the box.
He pulled it out of the plastic bag and opened it.
It wasn't his father’s passport.
It belonged to Elena Moretti. But it was stamped with a departure date from twenty years ago.
“Why would my father bury my sister’s passport with his own watch?” Luca whispered.
Then, he turned the passport over.
A folded piece of paper slipped out and fluttered to the muddy grass.
Luca picked it up. He unfolded it.
As he read the words, his face drained of all color.
He turned to Vanessa.
“You knew.”
May you like
“Luca, please—”
“You knew my father didn't die of a heart attack.”
