Chapter 2 - THE MAN AT THE DINNER TABLE
“Daddy... he said you were next.”
Those five words changed everything inside Luca Moretti's mansion.
For six months, his seven-year-old son had barely made a sound.
Now Oliver stood trembling beside the dining table, staring at the man who had promised to become his grandfather.
Richard Bellini.
Sixty-two years old. Silver-haired. Impeccably dressed.
One of Chicago's most respected businessmen.
And the father of the woman Luca was supposed to marry in eleven days.
Richard slowly placed his wineglass on the table.
“Luca,” he said quietly, “surely you aren't going to believe a frightened child over your own family.”
Luca didn't answer.
He was staring at Oliver.
The little boy had begun backing toward me, one small hand gripping my apron.
I crouched beside him.
“It's okay, sweetheart. I'm right here.”
Richard gave a humorless laugh.
“You see? That housekeeper has filled his head with nonsense.”
Something changed in Luca's expression.
“Don't speak about Emily.”
Richard raised an eyebrow.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Across the table, Vanessa Bellini stood completely motionless.
Her beautiful red silk gown suddenly seemed too bright against her pale face.
“Luca,” she whispered, “please. Daddy didn't mean—”
“Sit down, Vanessa.”
She sat.
Not because he shouted.
Because he didn't.
Luca turned toward Daniel, his senior security officer.
“Take Mr. Bellini into the library. Two men with him. Nobody touches him unless he tries to leave.”
Richard's smile disappeared.
“You're making a serious mistake.”
“Then you can explain it to the police.”
Richard looked toward the dining room doors.
For one brief second, I saw something beneath his expensive manners.
Fear.
Not of Luca.
Of someone else.
He glanced toward the far end of the table, where the head of household security, Anthony Russo, stood beside the wall.
Anthony lowered his eyes.
It lasted less than a second.
But Oliver saw it too.
His fingers tightened around mine.
Daniel escorted Richard from the dining room.
Vanessa hurried after them, but Luca stopped her.
“Not you.”
“Luca, he's my father!”
“And Oliver is my son.”
Her face crumpled.
For the first time that evening, she seemed to understand what she had lost.
Luca turned toward the remaining guests.
“Dinner is over. My security team will escort you to the front reception room until the police arrive.”
Nobody argued.
The orchestra remained silent.
Crystal glasses stood untouched.
Forty-six guests who had arrived expecting an engagement celebration now avoided one another's eyes.
I helped Oliver down from his chair.
His legs were shaking.
“Can we go upstairs?” I asked.
Luca looked at me.
For a moment, I expected another order.
Instead, he said, “Emily, please stay.”
That one word surprised me.
Please.
I had worked in this house for eleven months.
Luca had always been polite, but distant.
He knew which employees were dependable. He remembered birthdays. He paid well.
But he rarely entered his son's world.
Not since Oliver's mother, Sofia Moretti, had died two years earlier.
Sofia had been killed in a car accident on a rainy November evening.
Afterward, Luca buried himself in business.
Oliver buried himself in silence.
And Vanessa gradually took charge of the household.
Now Luca knelt in front of his son.
“Buddy, I'm sorry.”
Oliver looked at the floor.
“I should have listened.”
The little boy didn't move.
Luca swallowed.
“I thought you were getting better because you stopped crying.”
Oliver slowly raised his eyes.
“I was scared.”
His voice was barely audible.
But Luca heard him.
He pulled his son into his arms.
“I know. I'm here now.”
Oliver clung to his father's jacket.
Watching them, I felt an ache beneath my ribs.
I thought about my own father, who had died when I was sixteen.
He had never been wealthy.
He repaired elevators in downtown Chicago.
But whenever I was frightened, he put down whatever he was doing and listened.
That was what Oliver needed.
Not another expensive toy.
Not another specialist.
Someone who would listen.
Daniel returned carrying a leather evidence pouch.
“The recorder is secured, Boss. Detectives are coming.”
“Marcus?”
“On his way to the hospital. He asked for you.”
Luca glanced toward Oliver.
Then at me.
“Can you stay with him?”
“Of course.”
Before Luca could leave, Oliver grabbed his sleeve.
“Daddy.”
Luca crouched again.
“Yeah, buddy?”
Oliver pointed toward the grandfather clock beside the dining room entrance.
It had belonged to Sofia.
An enormous walnut clock with brass hands and a painted moon above the numbers.
“Mommy's clock.”
Luca's expression softened.
“What about it?”
Oliver tapped four times against Luca's wrist.
Then twice.
Then four.
Luca nodded.
“I understand the signal.”
But Oliver shook his head.
He pointed at the clock again.
Then held up three fingers.
I looked at the face.
The hands showed 9:17.
Three decorative brass stars were mounted beneath the moon.
“Are you telling us to look at the stars?” I asked.
Oliver nodded.
Luca approached the clock.
He examined the three stars.
The middle one was slightly crooked.
He pressed it.
Nothing happened.
Then he turned it clockwise.
A soft click came from inside the wooden casing.
The lower panel opened.
Luca stared.
“That's impossible.”
Behind the panel was a narrow compartment lined with faded blue velvet.
Inside lay a small silver pocket watch.
Its chain was broken.
Luca lifted it carefully.
“My father's watch.”
He sounded stunned.
His father, Antonio Moretti, had died twelve years earlier.
Luca opened the watch.
The hands had stopped at 4:24.
Four.
Two.
Four.
Daniel leaned closer.
“Boss, that can't be a coincidence.”
Luca turned the watch over.
Something had been scratched into the metal.
Three letters.
S. M. R.
I noticed Oliver watching his father instead of the watch.
“Sweetheart,” I asked gently, “did Mommy show you this?”
He shook his head.
“Marcus.”
“Marcus showed you?”
Oliver nodded.
Luca looked confused.
“Why would Marcus have my father's watch?”
Then Daniel's phone vibrated.
He answered, listened, and turned pale.
“Boss, the hospital just called.”
Luca straightened.
“Is Marcus all right?”
“He's conscious.”
“Then what?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Marcus told the detective that Richard Bellini didn't plan any of this.”
Luca stared at him.
“What?”
“He says Bellini was following orders.”
“Whose orders?”
Daniel looked toward the silver watch.
“Marcus said the person responsible knows what happened to your father twelve years ago.”
Luca's face lost all color.
“My father died of a heart attack.”
Daniel said nothing.
Then Oliver reached into my apron pocket.
He pulled out a folded square of paper I'd never noticed.
A child's drawing.
Three stick figures stood beneath a grandfather clock.
One was a little boy.
One wore a red dress.
And the third figure had a black square where its face should have been.
Above them, in Oliver's uneven handwriting, were five words.
HE WAS THERE WHEN MOMMY DIED.
Luca gripped the drawing.
“Oliver,” he whispered, “who is this man?”
The little boy looked toward the hallway.
May you like
Then pointed directly at Anthony Russo.
And Anthony, who had protected the Moretti family for seventeen years, slowly reached inside his jacket.
