Chapter 7 – THE PHOTOGRAPH INSIDE THE RED SILK COAT

“Diane?” I gasped, shielding Sophie behind me. “What are you doing down here?”

The wedding coordinator lowered the flashlight, keeping the pistol pointed squarely at my chest.

Her face, usually arranged in a polite customer-service smile, was hard and desperate.

“I’m sorry, Rachel,” Diane said, her voice trembling slightly. “I really am. But Vanessa promised to pay off my husband’s gambling debts if I helped secure the child.”

My stomach turned.

Vanessa had bought everyone. The security chief, the wedding planner, the thugs.

She had built a web of blackmail and bribery right under Luca’s nose.

“You’re going to help a woman murder a child for money?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.

Diane flinched.

“Nobody is murdering anyone! Vanessa just needs custody! Now, hand over the girl and step away from the tunnel.”

Sophie gripped my hand so tightly her small fingers were turning white.

“Miss Rachel,” she whimpered.

“It’s okay, Sophie,” I whispered.

I looked at Diane. She was shaking. She wasn’t a killer. She was a desperate civilian holding a gun she barely knew how to use.

“Diane,” I said softly, taking a slow step forward. “Vanessa is lying to you. She’s broke. She can’t pay your husband’s debts. Her family is bankrupt.”

Diane’s eyes widened. “That’s a lie. She showed me the bank statements.”

“Forged,” I replied, taking another step. “She forged Caroline’s signature tonight too. If you hand Sophie over, you’re an accomplice to kidnapping. The FBI will put you away for life. Is that what your husband wants?”

Diane’s hand wavered.

The heavy pistol dipped an inch.

That was all the opening I needed.

I didn’t attack her. I didn’t have a weapon.

Instead, I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out the only thing I had.

Vanessa’s expensive red silk coat, which I had grabbed from the cloakroom earlier when Luca ordered me to pack her things.

With a sudden, violent motion, I threw the heavy silk coat directly over Diane’s head.

Diane shrieked as the fabric blinded her.

The gun went off with a quiet thwip, the bullet striking the stone wall harmlessly.

I lunged forward, grabbing her wrist and twisting the gun from her grip.

It clattered to the concrete floor.

I kicked it into the dark tunnel.

Diane stumbled backward, pulling the coat off her face, weeping hysterically.

“I didn’t want to do it! She made me!”

I ignored her, pulling Sophie into the tunnel and slamming the heavy iron door shut, throwing the deadbolt.

We were in absolute darkness.

I fumbled along the damp brick wall until my fingers found the old light switch.

I flicked it.

A string of dim, yellow bulbs flickered to life, illuminating the long, narrow passage leading to the carriage house.

“Come on,” I urged, picking Sophie up. She was too exhausted to run.

As I lifted her, something fell from the pocket of the red silk coat I was still clutching.

It fluttered to the damp floor.

I paused, looking down.

It was a photograph.

I bent my knees and picked it up.

It wasn’t the picture of my mother and Caroline that Luca had found in the locket.

This was a different picture.

It was a candid shot, taken from across a street.

It showed a woman walking out of a pharmacy, holding a brown paper bag.

The woman was using a cane.

It was my mother.

But that wasn’t what made my blood run cold.

Standing in the background of the photo, leaning against a black sedan, watching my mother, was a man.

It was Marco, the head of security.

And the timestamp on the photo was from eleven months ago—the exact week my mother was severely injured in a “random” hit-and-run accident.

Share