Chapter 3 - THE BRUISED FACE IN THE SILVER LOCKET
The realization hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Isabella was alive. Or, at the very least, she had survived the crash.
Dominic collapsed onto the bottom step of the grand staircase, the silver locket dangling from his trembling fingers. A man who controlled New York’s underworld, completely undone by a piece of jewelry.
Sophie looked up at me, her large brown eyes full of questions. “Rebecca? Why is Daddy crying?”
“He just misses your mommy very much, sweetie,” I whispered, smoothing her dark hair.
Dominic suddenly looked up, his eyes locking onto Sophie. “Piccolina. You said your mommy was scared because of a silver box. What did the box look like?”
Sophie stepped out from behind me, clutching the repaired navy-blue coat. “It was little. Like the one you keep your special watches in. Mommy put it in the piano.”
Dominic stood up so fast he knocked over a vase. It shattered across the marble, but he didn't care. He practically sprinted toward the music room down the hall.
I took Sophie’s hand, carefully navigating her around the broken glass, and followed him.
The music room was dark and rarely used. In the center sat Isabella’s grand piano. Dominic was already on his knees, running his hands underneath the heavy wooden frame, searching the hidden crevices.
“Nothing,” he grunted, panic rising in his chest. “There’s nothing here.”
I looked at the piano. I had dusted this room every Tuesday for six weeks. I knew every inch of this furniture. “Mr. Moretti,” I said softly. “When I clean the keys, the middle C always sticks. It never sounds quite right.”
Dominic stopped. He stood up, walked to the keyboard, and pressed the middle C. It made a dull, muted thud.
He gripped the ivory key and pulled upward. The entire octave section of the keyboard was a loose panel. It lifted away in his hands.
Sitting in the hollow cavity was a small, tarnished silver box.
Dominic pulled it out. There was a tiny padlock on the front, but it was already broken. He opened the lid.
Inside lay a heavy gold rosary and a folded ledger page.
Dominic picked up the rosary. He rubbed his thumb over the gold cross, his expression shifting from grief to absolute horror.
“This... this isn't Isabella’s,” he whispered.
“Whose is it?” I asked.
“It belongs to Marco,” Dominic said slowly. “My head of security. The man who identified Isabella’s body at the crash site.”
A cold chill ran down my spine. Marco was the one who had sworn to Dominic that his wife was dead. Marco was the one who controlled all the surveillance in the house.
Suddenly, I noticed something else in the box. Beneath the ledger page was a child’s drawing. It was folded into a tight square. I gently reached out and opened it.
It was a crayon drawing by Sophie. It showed her mommy holding her hand. But in the background, a man with a gold cross necklace was handing a bag of money to Victoria.
Before I could speak, the heavy oak doors of the music room clicked shut.
The lock turned from the outside.
Dominic spun around. Standing on the other side of the glass doors was Marco. His face was devoid of emotion. In his hand, he held a suppressed pistol, aimed directly through the glass at Dominic’s chest.
“I’m sorry, Boss,” Marco’s voice echoed through the intercom panel on the wall. “But Victoria was right. The maid and the kid found too much.”
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Marco raised the gun.
TITLE: "THE SHOT THAT SHATTERED THE MUSIC ROOM"
