Chapter 3 – THE NURSE’S LOCKET

The silence in the dining room was so absolute, I could hear the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

Luca stared at me. “Your mother’s nurse?”

“Yes,” I stammered, backing up slightly as the weight of the revelation crashed over me. “Her name is Beatrice. She’s been coming to our apartment for three months to help with my mother’s physical therapy. She always leaves her keys on our kitchen counter.”

Vanessa’s face went pale. The arrogant smirk she had worn for the last ten minutes entirely vanished.

“She’s lying,” Vanessa spat, though her voice shook. “The maid is lying to get attention.”

Luca didn’t even glance at her. He reached out and grabbed the silver key from the table.

“Michael,” Luca barked.

Michael snapped his head up, his eyes bloodshot.

“Lock the doors to the estate. Nobody gets in. Nobody gets out. Keep Vanessa in the study until I return.”

Vanessa lunged forward. “You can’t hold me here! My father will destroy you!”

Luca finally looked at her. “Your father made a mistake. He hired a caretaker from a local agency to blend in, and he put her in Hannah’s mother’s house. He got sloppy.”

He turned back to me.

“Hannah, get your coat. We’re going to your apartment.”

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely button my wool coat. I had spent eleven months trying to be invisible in this house, scrubbing floors and serving coffee, desperate to keep my paycheck. Now, I was riding in the passenger seat of Luca Moretti’s black SUV, speeding through the rainy streets of Chicago.

Luca drove with terrifying precision. His jaw was clenched, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.

“Tell me about Beatrice,” Luca said, his eyes fixed on the road.

“She’s quiet,” I said, clutching my purse on my lap. “She’s in her late fifties. She told us she used to work in pediatric care before switching to elderly rehabilitation. She… she usually stays with my mother until 10 PM.”

I glanced at the dashboard clock. It was 9:45 PM.

“We have fifteen minutes,” Luca said, pressing his foot down on the gas pedal.

When we reached my apartment building in the South Loop, Luca didn’t wait for me to open the door. He was out of the SUV before I had even unbuckled my seatbelt.

We ran up the two flights of stairs. I fumbled with my keys, my hands slipping against the cold metal, before finally unlocking the door.

The apartment was dark.

“Mom?” I called out, flipping the light switch.

The living room was empty. Her wheelchair sat in the corner, unused.

Panic seized my chest. “Mom?!”

I rushed down the narrow hallway to her bedroom. The door was ajar. I pushed it open and let out a massive sigh of relief. My mother was fast asleep in her bed, the covers pulled up to her chin. Her breathing was steady.

But Beatrice was nowhere to be found.

Luca walked into the kitchen. “Hannah.”

I hurried over.

Luca was standing over the small linoleum kitchen island. Sitting directly in the center of the counter was a small, worn leather backpack. It had a cartoon train stitched onto the front.

It was a child’s backpack.

Luca reached out with trembling hands and unzipped it.

Inside were two small t-shirts, a pair of jeans, and a wooden toy car.

Luca picked up the wooden car. He squeezed his eyes shut, a jagged breath escaping his lungs.

“I carved this,” Luca whispered. “Seven years ago. Before Isabella died. I left it in the nursery.”

He was here. The boy had been in my apartment.

“Why would she bring him here?” I asked, my mind spinning. “Why risk bringing the child to my mother’s house?”

Luca reached deeper into the small backpack. His fingers brushed against something metallic. He pulled it out.

It was a heavy, silver locket on a broken chain.

I gasped. “That’s Beatrice’s. She always wears it. She said it was a family heirloom.”

Luca popped the locket open.

He stared at the tiny photograph inside. His expression shifted from grief to absolute fury.

He turned the locket around so I could see it.

The picture wasn’t of a family. It was a picture of Vanessa Bellini, standing next to Beatrice.

But it wasn’t just a casual photo. Vanessa was handing Beatrice a thick envelope of cash.

“Beatrice isn’t a random nurse,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a lethal octave. “She works for the Bellinis. And she didn’t bring my son here by accident.”

Luca turned the locket over. Engraved on the back of the silver casing were three words.

Insurance policy. -A.B.

Arthur Bellini.

Suddenly, my mother’s bedroom door creaked open.

My mother stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on her walker. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with terror.

“Hannah,” she rasped, her voice trembling.

“Mom! You should be in bed—”

“Hannah, she didn’t leave,” my mother interrupted, pointing a shaking finger toward the bathroom at the end of the hall.

“She’s still here. And she has the boy in the bathtub.”