Chapter 2 – THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE LUGGAGE

I stared at the dried blood on the gold charm.

My breath caught in my throat.

“Lily, give that to me,” I whispered, gently taking the bracelet from her trembling fingers.

“Is Mommy hurt?” Lily asked, her large brown eyes filling with fresh tears. “Why is there blood on it?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “But your father is handling it. You are safe here.”

I walked over to Luca’s massive en-suite bathroom, grabbed a clean washcloth, and wrapped the bracelet inside it. I didn’t want to wipe the blood off. If something terrible had happened to Caroline, this was evidence.

I sat Lily down on the edge of the king-sized bed and wrapped a thick wool blanket around her shoulders.

“I want Mommy,” she sobbed into her hands.

“I know, honey. I know.” I rubbed her back, my mind racing.

Downstairs, the estate was entirely silent. The guests had undoubtedly been ushered out by Luca’s security team. The party was over.

Ten minutes later, there was a sharp knock at the bedroom door.

“Emma. It’s me.”

It was Luca.

I hurried to the door and unlocked it.

Luca stood in the hallway. He had taken off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his collar. His knuckles were slightly red, but his face was perfectly composed. It was the terrifying composure of a man who commanded a criminal empire.

“Where is she?” he asked softly.

“On the bed,” I whispered. I reached into my apron pocket and handed him the washcloth. “Mr. Moretti. You need to see this.”

He opened the cloth. He saw the gold bracelet. Then, he saw the blood.

His jaw locked. A muscle ticked in his cheek.

“Did Vanessa talk?” I asked quietly.

“She claimed she went to Caroline’s house yesterday to ‘negotiate’ boundaries,” Luca said, his voice flat. “She claimed Caroline got aggressive, they struggled, and the bracelet fell off. She says Caroline is fine.”

“Do you believe her?”

Luca looked at me. “I believe Vanessa is a liar who realized she was losing control. Emma, I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything, sir.”

“Go to Vanessa’s suite down the hall. Pack all of her belongings. My men are escorting her off the property, but she is not allowed back upstairs. Bring her suitcases to the foyer.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Emma?”

I paused. “Sir?”

“Look closely while you pack.”

I nodded. He didn’t have to say it twice.

I left Luca with Lily and walked swiftly down the long, carpeted corridor to the guest suite Vanessa had occupied for the past two months.

The room smelled of heavy floral perfume and expensive champagne.

I pulled two large designer suitcases from her closet and began throwing her clothes inside. Silk blouses, cashmere sweaters, designer shoes. I didn’t care about folding them. I wanted her out of this house as much as Lily did.

As I moved to her vanity table to clear her jewelry, my hand brushed against a thick, leather-bound planner.

Vanessa had always been extremely protective of it. She took it everywhere.

I picked it up. It wasn’t locked.

I flipped it open.

Pages of wedding seating charts, floral arrangements, and catering menus filled the front. But as I flipped toward the back, I found a pocket folder attached to the inside cover.

I pulled out a folded piece of paper.

It wasn’t a wedding plan.

It was a printed photograph.

My breath hitched.

The photo showed Caroline. She was lying in a narrow, sterile-looking bed. Her eyes were closed, her face pale, and she looked completely unconscious.

But that wasn’t what made my stomach drop.

Standing over Caroline’s bed, looking directly at the camera with a cold, triumphant smile, was Vanessa.

And in Vanessa’s hand was a medical syringe.

Answer One: Vanessa hadn’t just fought with Caroline. She had drugged her.

Open Two: Where was this room? It didn’t look like Caroline’s house. It looked like a hospital or a clinic.

I turned the photograph over.

Written on the back in Vanessa’s elegant handwriting were two words:

Permanent solution.

I shoved the photograph into my apron pocket, zipped up the suitcases, and dragged them out into the hallway.

I practically ran back to Luca’s bedroom.

I knocked twice. Luca opened it.

“Mr. Moretti,” I gasped, out of breath. I pulled the photo from my pocket and handed it to him. “I found this in her planner.”

Luca stared at the image.

The color drained completely from his face.

For the first time since I had met him, Luca Moretti looked terrified.

“This isn’t Caroline’s house,” Luca whispered, recognizing the stark white walls in the background. “This is a private psychiatric facility on the North Side. Restful Pines.”

My eyes widened. “A psychiatric facility? Why would she be there?”

“Because,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl, “Vanessa’s father sits on the board of directors for that clinic. She used her family’s money to have Caroline committed.”

I felt sick. “Can they do that against her will?”

“They can if they forge documents claiming Caroline was suicidal,” Luca said. He looked at Lily, who was curled up on his bed, exhausted and frightened.

Then he looked at me.

“Emma. Get your coat. You’re coming with us.”

I blinked. “Me? Sir, I’m just the maid.”

“Lily trusts you,” Luca said fiercely. “And I need someone to hold her while I tear that clinic apart brick by brick.”

Ten minutes later, we were in the back of a bulletproof black SUV, speeding through the dark streets of Chicago.

Lily was asleep with her head on my lap. I stroked her uneven hair, my heart aching for her.

Luca sat in the front passenger seat, barking orders into his phone to his security team.

“Surround the building. No one gets in or out until I have Caroline.”

We arrived at Restful Pines thirty minutes later. It was a secluded, heavily guarded building surrounded by high brick walls.

Luca’s men had already secured the front gate.

Luca got out of the SUV. He turned to me. “Stay in the car with Lily. Keep the doors locked.”

“Yes, Mr. Moretti.”

He marched up the concrete steps and kicked the front doors open.

I sat in the dark, watching the entrance, holding my breath.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.

Suddenly, my cell phone vibrated in my pocket.

I pulled it out. It was an unknown number.

I hesitated, then answered it. “Hello?”

“Emma.”

It was Vanessa. Her voice was shaking, but there was a vicious, cruel edge to it.

“Miss Bellini,” I said, my grip tightening on the phone. “Where are you?”

“Did Luca find her?” Vanessa asked, letting out a dark, bitter laugh. “Did he find the empty bed?”

My blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”

“I knew he would figure it out,” Vanessa whispered. “So I moved her. An hour ago.”

“Moved her where?” I demanded.

“That’s none of your business, maid,” Vanessa spat. “But you are going to help me get my life back. Or you’re going to lose yours.”

“I’m not helping you do anything,” I said fiercely.

“Oh, I think you will,” Vanessa said. “Because while you were busy packing my bags, I made a phone call.”

She paused.

“Your mother’s apartment is on 4th Street, isn’t it? Second floor? Such a shame her front door lock is broken.”

My heart stopped.

“If you don’t bring Lily out of that car and walk her to the alley behind the clinic in exactly two minutes,” Vanessa said, “the men standing in your mother’s living room are going to push her out the window.”

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