Chapter 2 – THE INSCRIPTION IN THE WATCH

Victoria stared at the weapon in Gabriel’s hand, her carefully constructed elegance shattering into pure panic.

“Gabriel, put that away,” she choked out, backing up against the long mahogany dining table. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand that my mother’s murderer is alive,” Gabriel said, his hand perfectly steady. “And I understand that you’ve been sharing my bed while plotting to steal from my family.”

From the hallway, my heart hammered against my ribs.

I had worked in this house for two years. I knew Gabriel was a powerful man, a dangerous man, but he had always been quiet and respectful to the staff. Seeing him now, the true mafia boss emerged—cold, calculated, and lethal.

Margaret stepped forward, gently placing her hand over Gabriel’s weapon.

“Not in this house, son,” she whispered. “Your mother wouldn’t want blood on her floors.”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened.

Slowly, he lowered the gun.

He turned his attention back to the ring. Inside the tiny compartment beneath the blue stone was a microscopic engraving.

“It’s a sequence of numbers,” Gabriel muttered, squinting at the gold. “And a name. St. Jude’s.”

Victoria lunged forward, her desperation making her reckless.

“It’s mine!” she screamed, clawing at his hand. “My father said it belongs to us!”

Gabriel caught her wrists effortlessly, shoving her back into a chair.

“Claire!” he barked.

I stepped out of the shadows, my hands damp with sweat. “Yes, Mr. Vescari.”

“Go upstairs. Pack Miss Hale’s belongings. She is leaving tonight.”

Victoria glared at me, her eyes full of venom. “You touch my things, you little maid, and I’ll ruin you.”

“She works for me,” Gabriel said softly. “Say one more word to her, and you won’t walk out of this house.”

I hurried up the grand staircase, my mind racing. The mansion felt completely different now. The air was thick with tension.

I pushed open the door to the master suite and pulled Victoria’s designer suitcases from the closet. I started shoving her expensive silk dresses and shoes inside. I just wanted her gone so Margaret could be safe.

But as I reached into the back of her closet, my hand brushed against something rough.

It didn’t feel like silk or satin.

It felt like heavy, coarse wool.

I pulled away a garment bag to reveal a men’s dark gray trench coat, stained with dirt near the hem. It smelled like cheap tobacco and damp pavement.

This wasn’t Gabriel’s coat.

My hands shook as I checked the pockets. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I knew this coat didn’t belong in a millionaire’s closet.

My fingers brushed against cold metal in the right pocket.

I pulled it out.

It was a heavy, antique brass key.

Attached to it was a faded yellow tag with an address written in smeared black ink.

I recognized the address instantly.

It was Margaret’s home address.

Suddenly, the heavy bedroom door clicked shut behind me.

I spun around.

Victoria’s personal bodyguard, a massive man named Thorne who had driven her to the mansion earlier, stood blocking the exit.

He pulled a long, serrated hunting knife from his belt.

“Drop the key, sweetheart,” he smiled.

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