Chapter 2 - THE SILVER LOCKET
The morning after the engagement dinner, the Moretti mansion felt like a tomb.
The caterers had cleared the white roses and crystal glasses before dawn, leaving the grand ballroom hollow and echoing.
I walked through the quiet corridors, carrying a tray of fresh coffee toward Luca’s study.
My hands were still unsteady.
Last night, I had crossed a line no employee of a Chicago crime boss ever crossed. I had spoken out of turn. I had publicly humiliated his fiancée.
And yet, Luca hadn’t fired me.
When I reached the study doors, they were slightly ajar.
Luca sat behind his massive mahogany desk, still wearing his dress shirt from the night before. His tie was gone. The top buttons were undone, revealing the edge of the dark ink on his collarbone.
He was staring at the velvet box containing Vanessa’s discarded engagement ring.
I knocked softly.
"Come in, Claire." His voice was gravelly, thick with exhaustion.
I set the coffee on his desk.
"How is she?" he asked, not looking up from the ring.
"Still sleeping, sir. She was exhausted."
Luca finally looked at me. The shadows beneath his eyes were heavy. "You took a massive risk last night. If you were wrong about what Vanessa was doing…"
"I wasn't wrong," I said quietly.
"I know." He rubbed his temples. "I spent the last six months letting that woman into my home. Into my daughter's life. I should have seen it."
"She was careful, Mr. Moretti. She only corrected Isabella when you weren't looking."
Luca stood up and walked to the window, looking out over the sprawling estate. "Vanessa is gone. Her things are being packed by the staff. I want no trace of her left in this house by noon."
"Understood."
I turned to leave, but he spoke again.
"Claire."
I stopped.
"Thank you." The words were quiet, almost reluctant. "For protecting her."
I nodded once and slipped out of the room.
My first task was the guest suite where Vanessa had been staying. Two maids were already stripping the bed. The closets were half-empty.
I began clearing the vanity. Expensive perfumes. Designer makeup brushes.
But as I reached for a stack of silk scarves, something metallic clattered to the floor.
I bent down to retrieve it.
It was a small, heavy silver locket. It looked incredibly old, tarnished around the edges, with a strange crest engraved on the front—a hawk with its wings spread.
It didn't look like anything Vanessa would own. She preferred diamonds and modern gold.
I pressed the small clasp on the side.
The locket sprang open.
Inside was a tiny, faded photograph.
My breath caught in my throat.
It was a picture of a baby, no more than a few months old, wrapped in a hospital blanket. But it was the woman holding the baby that made the blood drain from my face.
It wasn't Vanessa.
It was Isabella’s late mother, Elena.
I had seen paintings of her in the east wing. The same dark eyes. The same gentle smile.
But Elena Moretti had died in a car accident when Isabella was barely a year old.
Why did Vanessa have a hidden locket with Elena's picture?
"Claire?"
I spun around.
Isabella was standing in the doorway, clutching her favorite stuffed bear. She looked at the locket in my hand.
Her eyes widened.
She dropped the bear.
May you like
Her hands flew up, trembling as she signed frantically:
Where did you get that? The bad man took that when Mommy died.
