Chapter 3 - THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE COAT
“Ask your mother.”
The words remained on the wall long after security had cleared the ballroom.
Sophia couldn't move.
Damiano noticed.
“You know what that means.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
“My mother died when I was twelve.”
Damiano studied her.
“What was her name?”
“Margaret Hayes.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Margaret Hayes?”
Sophia looked at him.
“You know her?”
He didn't answer.
That frightened her more than a yes would have.
Damiano turned toward Vincent.
“You knew Sophia's mother?”
Vincent's expression became guarded.
“Not well.”
“That isn't what your face says.”
Before Vincent could respond, Emma spoke.
“Mommy, you're squeezing my hand.”
Sophia immediately loosened her grip.
“Sorry, sweetheart.”
Damiano noticed the little girl's eyes.
She was trying not to cry.
He lowered himself beside her.
“Emma.”
She looked at him.
“Do you remember the man from the hallway?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say anything?”
Emma shook her head.
“But he dropped something.”
“What?”
“A picture.”
Damiano's expression changed.
“Where?”
Emma pointed toward the corridor.
They found it beneath a console table.
It was an old photograph.
Four people stood in front of a lakeside cabin.
A younger Vincent.
A younger Damiano's father, Marco.
A woman Sophia recognized immediately.
Margaret Hayes.
And a fourth person whose face had been scratched out.
Sophia's knees weakened.
“My mother.”
Damiano took the photograph.
On the back was a date.
October 17, 1998.
Sophia stared at it.
“My mother was supposed to be in Boston that week.”
Vincent looked at the date.
“She wasn't.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
Vincent's eyes dropped.
“Because your mother asked us not to.”
Sophia's voice cracked.
“Asked who?”
Vincent looked at Damiano.
“Your father.”
Damiano stared at the photograph.
“My father knew Margaret?”
“He knew her very well.”
Sophia felt betrayed.
“My mother spent her entire life telling me she worked as a housekeeper for your family.”
Vincent said nothing.
“She lied to me.”
“No,” Vincent said quietly.
“She protected you.”
Sophia turned.
“From what?”
Vincent hesitated.
“From the truth about that night.”
Damiano stepped between them.
“What night?”
Vincent looked at him.
“The night Marco Moretti was supposed to die.”
Sophia's stomach dropped.
Damiano's father hadn't died naturally.
He had been murdered.
Everyone knew that.
But the killer had never been identified.
Damiano had spent years believing one of the rival families had ordered it.
Vincent continued.
“Marco discovered someone inside the family was selling information.”
“Who?” Damiano asked.
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
Vincent's eyes hardened.
“I expect you to believe that I wasn't the only person trying to keep Marco alive.”
Sophia looked at the photograph again.
There was something beneath Margaret's hand.
A small object.
A child's drawing.
She recognized the shape immediately.
“A bracelet.”
Damiano looked closer.
His face changed.
It was Elena Moretti's bracelet.
The same bracelet Isabella had been wearing.
Sophia whispered, “Why would my mother have it?”
Vincent answered.
“Because Elena gave it to her.”
“Why?”
“Because Elena knew she was going to die.”
The room went silent.
Damiano's breathing became heavier.
“My mother knew?”
Vincent nodded.
“She believed Marco's killer would come for her next.”
“Then why didn't she leave?”
“She did.”
Damiano's eyes narrowed.
“What?”
Vincent looked toward Sophia.
“She left with Margaret.”
Sophia's heart stopped.
“Where?”
Vincent shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Damiano grabbed his coat.
“Then we'll find out.”
He turned toward Sophia.
“You're coming with me.”
She stared.
“Why?”
“Because your mother was involved in this.”
“I don't want to be involved in your family's war.”
“This stopped being my family's war the moment someone threatened your daughter.”
Sophia looked down at Emma.
Damiano was right.
But another question had appeared.
“If my mother helped your mother disappear,” Sophia said, “then why did Isabella have Elena's bracelet?”
Damiano didn't answer.
He walked back into his office.
A minute later, he returned carrying an old coat.
Sophia recognized it.
Her mother had owned the same coat.
Damiano laid it across a chair.
“There is a pocket inside.”
Sophia reached in.
Her fingers touched paper.
She pulled out a small envelope.
Her mother's handwriting covered the front.
For Sophia, if Damiano ever finds this.
Sophia's hands began to shake.
She opened it.
Inside was a photograph of herself as a little girl.
Emma looked at it.
“Mommy, that's you.”
Sophia turned the photograph over.
Five words were written on the back.
You were never meant to be here.
She looked at Damiano.
“What does that mean?”
Before he could answer, the mansion alarm screamed.
A guard ran into the room.
“Boss!”
Damiano turned.
“What?”
“The west gate has been breached.”
“Who?”
The guard swallowed.
“We found the driver.”
“Alive?”
“No.”
Sophia covered Emma's ears.
The guard continued.
“And there's something else.”
“What?”
“He was wearing Marco Moretti's old wedding ring.”
Damiano's face went pale.
May you like
Because Marco's wedding ring had disappeared the night he was murdered.
And now someone had just returned it.
