Chapter 2 - THE NAME THEY TRIED TO ERASE
“Tell him, Vanessa.”
Mr. Bellini's voice was quiet, but it carried across the entire dining room.
His daughter stood beside the banquet table, her red silk gown trembling against her knees. Forty-six guests watched as Luca Moretti held his eight-year-old son's hand.
Nicholas still had tears on his cheeks.
And I was standing beside him with a bloody napkin wrapped around my finger.
“Tell him whose name is inside that mitten,” Mr. Bellini repeated.
Vanessa looked at her father.
“You promised you wouldn't do this.”
Something in her voice made me turn.
She wasn't only frightened of Luca.
She was frightened of her own father.
Luca noticed it too.
“Everyone except Mr. Keller and the Bellinis can leave.”
Nobody moved at first.
Then Luca's longtime security chief, Marco DeSantis, stepped forward.
“Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is over.”
Chairs scraped against the marble floor.
Guests hurried toward the entrance, whispering behind their hands.
I started to lead Nicholas away, but he tightened his grip on my fingers.
“Daddy, can Miss Emily stay?”
Luca looked at me.
“Yes. She's staying.”
Vanessa opened her mouth.
Luca raised one hand.
“Don't.”
When the last guest disappeared, Adrian Keller placed the white envelope on the table.
“Mr. Moretti, before anyone gives you another explanation, I suggest we locate the second mitten.”
Luca turned toward Vanessa.
“Where is it?”
She wiped her cheeks.
“In my dressing room.”
“Bring it here.”
“No.”
Her answer startled everyone.
Vanessa straightened her shoulders.
“I'll bring it down myself. But I won't let my father touch it.”
Mr. Bellini gave a humorless laugh.
“Don't embarrass yourself further.”
Vanessa looked at him.
“You've done enough embarrassing for both of us.”
For the first time that evening, I saw something other than cruelty in her expression.
Resentment.
Old, exhausted resentment.
Luca nodded toward Marco.
“Go with her.”
They left together.
Nicholas pressed himself against my side.
“Miss Emily?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Is Mommy in trouble?”
I knelt beside him.
“No, honey.”
“Then why is everybody mad?”
I looked toward Luca.
His face softened.
“Because some grown-ups made mistakes, buddy. And we're going to find out what happened.”
Nicholas considered that.
“Are you mad at me?”
Luca's expression crumpled.
“Never for keeping something your mother gave you.”
He hugged his son.
I turned away, giving them a moment.
Adrian cleared his throat.
“There is something else you should understand, Mr. Moretti. Amelia did not establish the Swiss arrangement to move money out of your family.”
“Then why?”
“To prevent someone from moving money in your son's name.”
Mr. Bellini shifted in his chair.
Luca noticed.
“Explain.”
Adrian placed a small leather notebook on the table.
“Your father established a family trust before his death. Under its original terms, certain assets were reserved for his direct descendants.”
“I know.”
“Apparently, someone amended the beneficiary schedule.”
Luca frowned.
“That's impossible without trustee approval.”
“Correct.”
Adrian glanced at Mr. Bellini.
“And that is precisely why your wife became concerned.”
Mr. Bellini stood.
“This conversation is becoming ridiculous.”
“Sit down,” Luca said.
The older man stared at him.
For a moment, I expected an argument.
Instead, he slowly lowered himself into his chair.
Adrian continued.
“Amelia discovered a second beneficiary had once been listed under the family's records. By the time Nicholas was born, that person had disappeared from the official schedule.”
Luca's jaw tightened.
“A beneficiary who wasn't supposed to exist?”
“Not necessarily.”
Adrian chose his words carefully.
“A beneficiary someone wished to conceal.”
I looked at the little red mitten in Nicholas's hands.
A dead mother had trusted an ordinary piece of winter clothing more than the powerful adults around her.
That thought frightened me.
Vanessa returned ten minutes later.
Marco walked beside her.
She carried a narrow cedar box.
Inside lay a second red mitten.
The white snowflakes were slightly faded.
Near the wrist were two embroidered letters.
N.M.
Nicholas gasped.
“Mommy's other mitten!”
He reached for it.
Vanessa pulled the box closer to herself.
“Please don't.”
Luca's eyes hardened.
“Give it to him.”
Vanessa hesitated.
Then she set the box down.
Nicholas took the mitten and held both together.
For a moment, the secrets surrounding us seemed to disappear.
He was simply a little boy reunited with something his mother had made.
“Now they're together,” he whispered.
My eyes burned.
Luca crouched beside him.
“Would you like Emily to check the little pocket?”
Nicholas nodded.
I carefully examined the second mitten.
There was a blue stitch near the lining.
Exactly like the first.
But when I pressed the fabric between my fingers, something felt wrong.
The pocket was empty.
I looked at Luca.
“Sir, somebody already opened this.”
Vanessa lowered her head.
“I did.”
“When?” Luca asked.
“Last winter.”
“You told me you donated it.”
“I lied.”
Luca looked at the faded wool.
“Why?”
Vanessa's voice broke.
“Because when I found what was inside, I thought my father had already taken care of it.”
Mr. Bellini's face hardened.
“Vanessa.”
She turned toward him.
“No. You don't get to tell me what to say anymore.”
I examined the seam again.
It had been repaired with ordinary red cotton thread rather than wool.
Vanessa had opened it carefully, then tried to hide the evidence.
“What did you find?” Luca demanded.
“A brass identification token.”
“Where is it?”
Vanessa opened the little clasp on her evening purse.
She took out a narrow silver chain.
A tiny brass disk hung from it.
She placed it in Luca's palm.
One side bore an engraved snowflake.
The other carried a name.
Luca stared.
Then he read it aloud.
“Clara Moretti.”
Nobody spoke.
He looked at Adrian.
“Who's Clara?”
Adrian's face tightened.
“That is the question your wife brought to Zurich.”
Luca turned toward Mr. Bellini.
“Do you know that name?”
The older man folded his hands.
“I knew a child named Clara many years ago.”
“What child?”
“A ward of your father's household.”
Luca shook his head.
“My father never had a ward.”
“Not officially.”
Nicholas looked up.
“Daddy, is Clara a kid?”
Luca nodded slowly.
“I think she was, buddy.”
“Was she lonely?”
Nobody answered.
Then Mr. Bellini spoke.
“Clara was seven years old when she was removed from the Moretti estate.”
Luca stared at him.
“Removed by whom?”
Mr. Bellini looked toward Adrian.
“Your father signed the order.”
The words struck Luca like a blow.
“My father would never abandon a child.”
Mr. Bellini's expression remained unreadable.
“Men do difficult things to protect their families.”
Luca stepped closer.
“What did you do to her?”
The older man said nothing.
Adrian opened his notebook.
“Mr. Moretti, Amelia asked me to preserve an original photograph. She believed it would explain why Clara's name had been erased.”
He removed a photograph from a protective sleeve.
It showed the same winter scene Nicholas had carried in his jacket.
Amelia.
Nicholas.
The crooked snowman.
But this version was wider.
Standing beside Amelia was a young woman wearing a gray wool coat.
She had dark hair, thoughtful eyes, and a small silver locket around her neck.
Luca went pale.
He stared at her face.
Then whispered, “I know her.”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
Luca looked toward me.
And for reasons I didn't understand, his expression filled with confusion.
“Emily,” he said, “where did you get that necklace?”
My hand moved instinctively to the small silver locket beneath my uniform collar.
The one my mother had given me when I turned eighteen.
Before I could answer, Mr. Bellini rose from his chair.
He looked at the locket.
Then at my face.
May you like
And whispered three words that turned my blood cold.
“That's Clara's necklace.”
