Chapter 5 - THE WATCH THAT NEVER STOPPED
“Vincent wasn't the man who died?”
Dante's voice was dangerously calm.
Margaret gripped her rosary.
“The man buried beside your father was one of Vincent's drivers.”
Dante stared at her.
“You expect me to believe my uncle escaped his own murder?”
“I expect you to listen.”
I looked between them.
“Why would someone pretend to be dead for twenty-six years?”
Margaret answered quietly.
“Because alive, Vincent would have been hunted by two families. Dead, he could rebuild everything he'd lost.”
Dante moved toward the fireplace.
His expression had changed.
The shock was gone.
In its place was the cold determination that had made his name feared throughout New York.
“Marco.”
The bodyguard appeared immediately.
“Boss?”
“Bring me the black leather box from my study.”
Margaret stood.
“Dante, wait.”
He ignored her.
I stepped into his path.
“Stop.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Olivia—”
“No. You don't get to turn into some frightening stranger every time you're angry.”
Mrs. Bennett gasped softly.
Dante stared at me.
Then Orion walked between us and sat down.
I looked at the dog.
“Thank you.”
For several seconds, Dante said nothing.
Finally, he exhaled.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Ask questions before you start blaming people.”
His eyes softened slightly.
“You sound like my mother.”
Margaret smiled sadly.
“She sounds like both of them.”
That made my throat tighten.
Both of them.
Elena.
Evelyn.
Two women who had loved me.
Two women who were gone.
And I had spent my entire life knowing only half the story.
Marco returned with a small black leather box.
Dante placed it on the desk.
Inside was a gold wristwatch.
Its leather strap was worn.
The glass had a tiny crack across the lower edge.
“My father gave me this on my twelfth birthday,” Dante said.
I leaned closer.
“Does it still work?”
“No.”
He lifted it.
“The hands stopped the night he died.”
The watch read 11:17.
Margaret's expression changed.
“That's the time Alessandro was killed.”
Dante nodded.
“The doctors estimated it.”
I examined the watch carefully.
Something about the engraved initials on the back caught my attention.
A.M. to D.M.
A father to his son.
“You said someone wanted this watch,” I told Margaret.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked toward Mrs. Bennett.
The elderly housekeeper hesitated.
“Elena told Evelyn that Alessandro had hidden a record inside something he gave Dante.”
Dante frowned.
“My father was hiding evidence?”
Margaret nodded.
“Late in his life, he realized Vincent was stealing from their partners and using his businesses for crimes Alessandro hadn't authorized.”
I stared.
“Then he wasn't protecting Vincent?”
“No,” Margaret said. “He was preparing to expose him.”
Dante lowered the watch.
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
Margaret's voice broke.
“Because you were twelve.”
“You could have told me when I turned eighteen.”
“Yes.”
“When I became head of this family.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't you?”
Margaret looked toward the window.
“Because by then, I believed telling you would get Olivia killed.”
Silence.
I stepped backward.
“What?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“Vincent discovered the baby had survived. He believed Evelyn had hidden the original financial records with her.”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“Did he threaten her?”
“Yes.”
I remembered something from my childhood.
A winter night.
I was eight.
My mother had packed our belongings into two suitcases.
She'd told me we were going on an adventure.
We'd moved from Connecticut to Pennsylvania before sunrise.
I'd cried because I had to leave my favorite doll behind.
She'd held me in the car and promised we'd buy another.
We never did.
“She was running,” I whispered.
Margaret nodded.
“Every time Vincent came close, Evelyn moved.”
I sat down.
My mother hadn't been restless.
She hadn't been unreliable.
She'd been frightened.
And she'd hidden that fear so I could have a childhood.
“Did you help her?” I asked Margaret.
“Whenever I could.”
“Then why did she struggle so much?”
Margaret's face crumpled.
“Because she wouldn't accept money that could be traced back to this family.”
I looked down at my hands.
The memory of my mother counting coins at our kitchen table suddenly hurt more than anything else.
Dante sat beside me.
Not too close.
Just close enough that I knew he wasn't leaving.
“I'm sorry,” he said.
I shook my head.
“You didn't know.”
“That doesn't change what happened.”
“No,” I whispered. “It doesn't.”
Marco cleared his throat.
“Boss, there's something else.”
Dante looked up.
“What?”
“The old security logs show that someone accessed the family archive three weeks ago.”
“Who?”
Marco hesitated.
“Your cousin, Sebastian.”
Margaret stiffened.
I looked at her.
“Who's Sebastian?”
Dante answered.
“My father's nephew. Vincent's son.”
The room went quiet.
“Does he know his father is alive?” I asked.
Dante's expression hardened.
“I don't know.”
Marco continued.
“Sebastian has been managing several of our legitimate businesses. He recently requested access to the records from 2000.”
Margaret covered her mouth.
“He's looking for the watch.”
Dante stood.
“Then we need to see what's inside it.”
He handed the watch to Mrs. Bennett.
The elderly woman took a magnifying glass from the desk.
For several minutes, she examined the back.
Then she pressed a tiny indentation beneath the engraving.
A narrow panel shifted.
Inside was a small metal cylinder.
Dante removed it carefully.
It contained a miniature roll of photographic film.
I stared.
“What is that?”
Margaret looked stunned.
“Your mother used to photograph financial ledgers. She knew paper copies could disappear.”
Dante held the film toward the light.
Tiny rows of numbers appeared.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
But one image was different.
A photograph of a handwritten note.
Dante retrieved an old film viewer from the study.
When he projected the image onto a white screen, the room fell silent.
The note had been written by Alessandro Moretti.
If anything happens to me, the man responsible is Vincent. He has compromised my security and threatened Elena. My daughter must be protected.
Dante's hands began trembling.
“My father knew.”
Margaret nodded.
“He was going to confront Vincent.”
I looked at the next frame.
It showed a transfer authorization.
A massive payment made from a Moretti business account.
But the signature wasn't Alessandro's.
It was Sebastian's.
Dante frowned.
“Impossible. Sebastian was only seventeen.”
Margaret stared at the date.
Then her face changed.
“The signature was added later.”
I examined the handwriting.
It was fresh compared with the faded surrounding ink.
Someone had altered the record.
“Why?” I whispered.
Dante's expression turned grim.
“To make Sebastian appear responsible for his father's crimes.”
A sound came from the doorway.
We turned.
A handsome man in his early forties stood there, wearing a navy suit.
His face was pale.
“I wondered when you'd find that,” he said.
Dante stepped forward.
“Sebastian.”
The newcomer looked at the watch.
Then at me.
His expression crumpled.
“You look just like her.”
“Who?”
He swallowed.
“Your mother.”
I stood.
“Evelyn?”
Sebastian shook his head.
“Elena.”
He looked directly at Dante.
“I didn't alter those records.”
“Then who did?”
Sebastian's voice trembled.
“My father.”
Dante's eyes narrowed.
“Vincent is alive?”
Sebastian nodded.
“And he's coming back.”
Margaret gripped the desk.
“When?”
Sebastian looked toward the window.
“Tonight.”
Dante took a step closer.
“Why?”
Sebastian stared at me.
“Because he knows Olivia is here.”
I felt Orion press against my leg.
Then Sebastian reached into his coat and withdrew a small folded note.
It had been delivered to his office that morning.
Across the front were five words.
Bring me Elena's daughter alive.
May you like
And beneath them was a final instruction.
“Or I'll tell Dante what Margaret did.”
