Chapter 1 – SHE TOLD MY SISTER I WANTED OVERTIME

“Vanessa,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “What did you tell her?”

Vanessa’s face flushed.

She took a step back, her expensive heels clicking against the marble floor.

“I simply told her the truth, Luca. We were short-staffed.”

“No,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You told me she couldn’t make it. You told me she didn’t come.”

Vanessa refused to look at me.

She stared at the wall, her arms crossed tightly over her silk dress.

“Hannah was demanding overtime pay,” Vanessa blurted out. “I told her sister that Hannah wanted the extra money more than she wanted to go to some gloomy funeral parlor. It was easier for everyone.”

The entire dining room gasped.

Teresa Moretti covered her mouth with her hand.

My knees felt weak.

My sister had shown up to take me to our mother’s viewing.

And Vanessa had sent her away, making Caroline believe I had sold out our mother’s memory for a few extra dollars on my paycheck.

“You didn’t,” I sobbed, clutching the crushed white carnation to my chest. “How could you do that? How could you make my sister hate me?”

Luca didn’t yell.

He didn’t have to.

The cold, absolute fury in his eyes made Vanessa shrink.

“Daniel,” Luca said, not taking his eyes off his fiancée.

The head of security stepped forward immediately.

“Take Miss Bellini’s belongings out of the master suite,” Luca ordered. “Pack them. Put them on the driveway. She doesn’t live here anymore.”

Vanessa gasped. “Luca! We’re getting married! You’re humiliating me in front of our friends!”

“You humiliated yourself,” Luca replied coldly. “The wedding is off. Get out of my house.”

Then he turned to me.

His eyes softened instantly.

“Daniel is taking you. Right now.”

I didn’t wait.

I ran.

I sprinted through the kitchen, grabbed my thin wool coat, and climbed into the sleek black SUV idling in the driveway.

Daniel drove like a madman.

We tore through the city streets, the clock on the dashboard flashing 7:45.

Then 7:50.

Then 7:53.

When we pulled up to St. Anne’s Funeral Home, I threw the door open before the car even stopped.

I ran up the concrete steps, my apron still tied over my black dress.

I burst through the heavy wooden doors.

The lobby was empty.

The clock above the registry book read 7:57.

“Caroline!” I screamed, running down the carpeted hallway toward Parlor B.

I rounded the corner, gasping for air.

My sister was standing alone by the door, holding her purse.

She looked up at me.

Her eyes were red and swollen.

“Caroline,” I sobbed, reaching for her. “I didn’t choose to stay. She lied to you. She wouldn’t let me leave.”

I waited for her to hug me.

Instead, Caroline’s hand swung out and slapped me hard across the cheek.

The sound echoed in the empty hallway.

“Don’t lie to me, Hannah,” Caroline cried, her voice cracking. “I saw the check.”

“What check?” I pleaded, holding my stinging face.

Caroline unclasped her purse with shaking hands.

She pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and threw it at my chest.

It fluttered to the floor.

It was a check from Vanessa Bellini, made out to me, for five thousand dollars.

In the memo line, it read: For missing the funeral.

But as Caroline threw the check, something else slipped from her purse and hit the carpet with a heavy metallic clink.

It was our mother’s silver locket.

The one she had worn every day of her life.

The clasp had popped open when it hit the floor.

I dropped to my knees to pick it up.

But when I looked inside, my heart stopped completely.

Because the photograph tucked inside my mother’s locket wasn’t a picture of me, or Caroline, or our father.

It was a picture of Luca Moretti.