Chapter 3 – The Heirloom In The Ashes

The teacup slipped from my hands.

It shattered against the hardwood floor, the porcelain exploding into a dozen jagged pieces.

Matteo spun around.

He saw me standing in the doorway, my face completely drained of blood.

“Grace,” he whispered.

I couldn’t breathe. The room was spinning.

Isabella Russo.

“No,” I stammered, backing away. “No, that’s impossible. My parents died in a car crash when I was a baby. I grew up in St. Jude’s Orphanage.”

Matteo slowly walked toward me, holding the faded Polaroid.

His hand was shaking.

He stopped a few feet away and held the picture out to me.

I looked down.

It was a photo of a young woman with dark hair and bright green eyes. She looked exactly like me.

She was holding a baby wrapped in a hospital blanket.

Standing next to her, looking incredibly young, was Matteo’s father, the late Don Carlo Russo.

“My father had an affair,” Matteo said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “Before he died, he confessed that he had a daughter. He begged me to find her. But he said her mother took her and vanished.”

I touched my own face, feeling the cold tears rolling down my cheeks.

“I’m… I’m a Russo?”

“Yes,” Matteo said.

Then he turned his furious gaze back to Victoria.

“How did you know?” he demanded. “Who told you?”

Victoria scrambled to her feet, her satin dress ruined.

“The Moretti family,” she cried. “They found the orphanage records! They knew you were looking for her. They told me that if I didn’t pay them half a million dollars, they would kidnap her and hold her for ransom!”

Andrew stepped forward, his fists clenched.

“So you stole Dad’s retirement money?” Andrew yelled. “To pay off a mafia family to protect your rich fiancé’s sister?”

“I did it to protect my wedding!” Victoria screamed back. “Do you know what would happen to my reputation if the Morettis started a war at our reception?”

Matteo looked at her with pure disgust.

“You stole from an old man to save a party.”

“I was protecting our future!”

“You have no future with me,” Matteo said coldly. He took the diamond ring off her hand.

Victoria let out a wail of despair.

Suddenly, Arthur appeared in the doorway. He was leaning heavily on his cane, his face ashen.

“Victoria,” he whispered. “Is it true? Did you lie to me about the surgery?”

Victoria couldn’t look at him.

Arthur’s chest began to heave. He clutched his heart, his face twisting in agony.

“Dad!” Andrew screamed.

Arthur collapsed onto the floor.

I immediately dropped to my knees beside him, pressing two fingers to his neck. His pulse was weak, erratic.

“Call an ambulance!” I shouted at Matteo.

But as I ripped open Arthur’s faded tweed coat to loosen his tie, something fell out of his inner pocket.

It was a heavy, silver pocket watch.

It popped open when it hit the floor.

The watch face was shattered, but etched into the silver lid was a crest.

The Moretti family crest.

Matteo stepped back, his hand instantly reaching for the gun holstered inside his jacket.

He stared at the dying old man on the floor.

“Andrew,” Matteo said, cocking his weapon. “Why does your father have the crest of the family trying to kill me?”

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