Chapter 4 – THE FALLEN COAT

The words on the back of Isabella’s drawing hung in the air like a death sentence.

Cut the brakes.

Catherine Moretti hadn’t died in a tragic accident. She had been murdered. And the woman standing in the red gown had ordered the hit.

Luca’s hands began to shake, not out of fear, but out of a rage so profound it seemed to suck the oxygen out of the room. He looked at Vanessa.

“You killed my wife,” Luca whispered.

Vanessa’s arrogant smirk vanished. Her face turned the color of ash. She looked at the police chief, then at the exits, but Luca’s men had already locked the double doors.

“Luca, please,” Vanessa begged, her voice high and breathless. “The police planted that! Catherine was depressed! She drove off that bridge herself!”

“Catherine was terrified of you,” I said, my voice suddenly ringing out clearly.

Everyone looked at me.

I didn’t know where the courage came from, but seeing the pain on Isabella’s face made me fearless.

“When I was cleaning out the master bedroom closet last week,” I said, stepping toward Vanessa, “I found a heavy winter coat stuffed in the back. It still had the dry-cleaning tags on it from three years ago.”

Luca looked at me. “Emily, what are you talking about?”

“It was Catherine’s coat,” I explained, my heart pounding. “I was going to throw it away, but I felt something hard in the lining. I opened it up.”

I reached into my apron pocket. I had carried the object with me every day since I found it, unsure of what it meant, terrified of bringing it to Luca without proof.

I pulled out a small, heavy gold key.

“It’s a safe deposit box key,” I said, holding it up. “Catherine didn’t put her money in that box, Luca. She put her evidence in it.”

Vanessa screamed and lunged at me. “Give me that!”

Before she could take two steps, Luca crossed the room and grabbed her by the throat. He didn’t choke her, but he held her firmly against the mahogany wall paneling, his eyes burning with absolute fury.

“Do not touch her,” Luca snarled. He let Vanessa go in disgust, letting her slide down the wall, weeping into her hands.

Luca turned to me and gently took the gold key from my palm.

“Emily,” Luca said softly, the anger melting from his voice when he spoke to me. “Why didn’t you show me this sooner?”

“I was scared,” I admitted, tears pricking my eyes. “Vanessa told me if I ever brought up Catherine, you would fire me. I couldn’t afford to lose my job. My mom—”

“Your mother is going to be perfectly fine,” Luca promised, his dark eyes holding mine. “You are under my protection now.”

He turned to Chief Miller. “Take her out of my house.”

The officers hauled Vanessa to her feet. She was screaming, cursing Luca, cursing Catherine, and finally, cursing me as they dragged her out the front doors.

The heavy silence that followed was broken only by Isabella’s quiet sniffling.

Luca walked over to his daughter and knelt in front of her, pulling her into a tight embrace. “It’s over, Bella. I’ve got you.”

I watched them, my heart aching with relief.

But then I felt a hand on my shoulder.

It was Clara.

“Emily,” my half-sister said softly. “It’s not entirely over.”

I turned to her. “What do you mean? The police have Vanessa. They have the key.”

Clara shook her head. She looked toward the head of the table, where Matteo the chef was still standing quietly.

“Vanessa didn’t order three poisoned cakes just to kill me and Michael,” Clara whispered, her gray eyes filled with a new kind of dread.

She pointed to a small, heavy silver box sitting on the dessert cart.

“She brought a family heirloom tonight,” Clara said. “She told me she was going to give it to Luca as an engagement gift.”

Clara walked over to the cart and carefully opened the silver box.

Inside lay a stunning, antique gold rosary.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, confused.

“It’s not just a rosary,” Clara said. She turned it over, showing the back of the solid gold cross.

Engraved on the back were three words in Italian.

Morte ai traditori.

Death to traitors.

Clara looked at Luca, who had stood up and walked over to look at the rosary.

“Mr. Moretti,” Clara said, her voice shaking. “Vanessa didn’t plan this alone. She works for the Falcone family.”

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