Chapter 4 – THE DRAWING OF THE BLUE TEACUP

The three muffled gunshots echoed through the hallway like popping champagne corks.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact, waiting for the burning pain in my chest.

But the pain never came.

I opened my eyes.

Marco’s bodyguard dropped to his knees, his suppressed pistol slipping from his fingers. He collapsed face-first onto the thick hallway runner, a pool of dark red expanding beneath him.

Standing at the end of the hall was Luca.

He hadn’t even flinched. The smoking gun in his hand was lowered slowly as he locked eyes with me. Behind him, the dining room was in absolute chaos. Guests were screaming, scrambling toward the front doors, fleeing into the night.

Luca’s men were already moving, securing the exits, dragging a protesting Marco out of his chair.

Luca walked down the hall toward me. He didn’t look at the dead man on the floor.

He looked at me.

“Are you hurt, Hannah?” his voice was shockingly calm.

“N-no,” I stammered, my whole body shaking. I clung to the mahogany box against my chest. “I have it. I have Teresa’s box.”

Luca placed a large, warm hand on my shoulder. It was a grounding touch, steadying my trembling knees.

“You’re brave,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

He guided me back into the dining room.

The thirty-six guests were gone. The crystal chandeliers now illuminated an empty, overturned table, spilled wine, and shattered glass.

Only a few people remained.

Marco was forced into a chair by two of Luca’s men, a gun pressed firmly against the back of his head.

Vanessa was on her knees, her makeup running in thick black streaks down her face, sobbing uncontrollably.

Teresa stood near the piano, holding Sophie tightly against her side.

I walked over and placed the mahogany box on the only upright section of the dining table.

“Open it, Mom,” Luca said.

Teresa walked forward. Her hands were no longer shaking. She unlatched the brass hook on the front of the box and pushed the lid open.

Inside, nestled in dark velvet, was a delicate, beautifully painted blue teacup.

And next to it lay a sealed envelope, addressed to Luca in Catherine’s handwriting.

Vanessa let out a guttural scream. “You stole it! I looked everywhere for that cup!”

Teresa didn’t look at her. She looked at her son.

“The night Catherine died,” Teresa said, her voice echoing in the empty room, “she refused to drink her tea. She told Vanessa she wasn’t thirsty. But Vanessa insisted. They argued. I heard them from the hallway.”

Luca stared at the blue teacup.

“When Vanessa left the room to get fresh water,” Teresa continued, tears finally spilling down her wrinkled cheeks, “Catherine called me in. She handed me the teacup. She told me to lock it away. She said, ‘If I die tonight, don’t let Luca drink anything she makes him.’”

Luca picked up the blue teacup.

At the bottom of the porcelain, a thick, white, sludgy residue had dried over the years.

He picked up the sealed envelope and tore it open.

He read the letter in silence.

I watched his chest heave. I watched a tear escape his eye, tracing a path down his sharp cheekbone.

When he finished, he slowly folded the letter and put it in his breast pocket.

He walked over to Marco.

“You used my wife’s kindness to get this viper into my house,” Luca said to his uncle, his voice deadly quiet. “And when Catherine caught you stealing, you had this viper poison her.”

Marco sneered, though sweat beaded on his forehead.

“It was business, Luca. You were getting soft. Catherine wanted you to go legitimate. She wanted to turn the family business into a charity! I had to protect our empire.”

“You protected your own wallet,” Luca said.

Luca nodded to the men holding Marco.

“Take him to the warehouse. I’ll deal with him later.”

“You can’t do this to me!” Marco shouted as they dragged him toward the door. “I’m your blood! I’m family!”

“Not anymore,” Luca replied, not looking back.

Then, Luca turned his attention to Vanessa.

She crawled toward him, grabbing the hem of his trousers.

“Luca, please! It was all him! I was scared! I’ll do anything, I’ll leave tonight, you’ll never see me again—”

“You’re right,” Luca said, stepping back so she fell flat on the floor. “I will never see you again.”

Luca gestured to his guards.

“Turn her over to the police. Give them the teacup, the vial, the pawn receipt, and Catherine’s letter. Let her spend the rest of her miserable life in a concrete box.”

“No! No! Please!” Vanessa screamed as the guards hauled her to her feet.

As they dragged her toward the foyer, Vanessa suddenly stopped fighting.

She looked back. Not at Luca. Not at Teresa.

She looked at me.

And she smiled. A twisted, psychotic smile that made my stomach drop.

“You think you won, little maid?” Vanessa yelled over her shoulder. “You think you’re a hero? Ask your precious mother how she paid for her surgery!”

I froze.

“Ask her where she got the money!” Vanessa cackled as the front doors were thrown open. “Ask her what she had to do to earn it!”

The heavy doors slammed shut, cutting off her laughter.

Silence descended on the room.

I stood paralyzed. The blood rushed to my ears.

Luca looked at me, frowning. “Hannah? What did she mean?”

Before I could answer, my cell phone buzzed violently in my apron pocket.

I pulled it out.

It was the hospital.

I swiped to answer, my hands trembling. “Hello?”

“Hannah Collins?” a nurse’s voice asked, sounding panicked. “You need to get here right now. Your mother just checked herself out against medical advice. She got into a black car with two men, and left this for you.”

“Left what?” I choked out.

“A note,” the nurse said. “It just says: Tell Luca Moretti I kept the secret.”