Chapter 5 – THE WATCH ON THE WRIST

The heavy pounding on the door rattled the cheap picture frames hanging on our living room wall.

“Natalie!” Vanessa’s voice was sharp, impatient. “I don’t have all night. My father’s men will kick this door off its hinges in ten seconds.”

I looked at my mother. She was terrified, clutching her blanket to her chest.

I looked at the bank slip in my hand, then at the heavy ledger sitting in my tote bag. If Vanessa got these documents, Luca would go to federal prison for kidnapping, Marcus Bellini would tear down the shelter, and Eleanor Moretti’s murder would remain unpunished forever.

I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a book of matches from the drawer.

I walked to the front door and yelled back. “Vanessa! If you break this door down, I will light this ledger on fire right now! It’s soaked in old paper, it’ll burn in seconds!”

The pounding stopped immediately.

“You’re bluffing,” Vanessa said, though a sliver of doubt crept into her voice.

“Try me,” I said, striking a match. The distinct smell of sulfur wafted under the door crack.

A tense silence followed. Then, the sound of a key sliding into the lock.

My blood ran cold. She had paid off our landlord.

The door swung open. Vanessa stepped into the small apartment, wearing a pristine white trench coat that looked violently out of place against our scuffed linoleum floors. Two massive men in suits stepped in behind her, blocking the exit.

Vanessa looked at the match in my hand, then at the tote bag on the table. She smiled.

“Put it out, Natalie,” she said. “Or my men will shoot your mother in the kneecaps. Good luck working the grocery store after that.”

I blew the match out, my hands shaking with absolute rage.

“Give me the ledger,” Vanessa demanded, holding out her hand.

I slowly walked to the table. I picked up the heavy leather book. But as I turned to hand it to her, my mother suddenly gasped.

My mother wasn’t looking at Vanessa’s face. She was staring at Vanessa’s wrist.

Peeking out from the sleeve of the expensive trench coat was a gold watch. It was a delicate, antique piece with a cracked glass face.

“Where did you get that?” my mother whispered, her voice trembling with a sudden, ferocious anger I had never heard from her before.

Vanessa glanced at her wrist, looking bored. “It’s vintage. My father gave it to me for my sweet sixteen. Not that you would know anything about fine jewelry.”

My mother stood up. The fragile, arthritic woman vanished, replaced by Eleanor Moretti’s fierce best friend.

“That watch belonged to Eleanor,” my mother said, pointing a twisted finger at Vanessa. “Her grandfather brought it from Italy. She was wearing it the night she died.”

Vanessa frowned, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing her face. “You’re lying. My father bought this at an estate sale.”

“He pried it off her dead body,” my mother spat. “Just like he took her silver bracelet. Your father isn’t a businessman, Vanessa. He’s a murderer who keeps trophies of the women he kills.”

Vanessa stared at my mother, the words hitting her like a physical blow. She loved her father. She had forged documents for him, bullied people for him, believing they were just ruthless real estate tycoons. The reality of his violence seemed to crash into her perfectly curated world.

“Shut up,” Vanessa said, her voice shaking slightly. “Take the ledger,” she ordered one of her men.

The man stepped forward and snatched the tote bag from my hands. He opened it, confirming the ledger was inside, and nodded to Vanessa.

“Let’s go,” Vanessa said, turning toward the door.

“You didn’t get what you came for, Vanessa,” I said loudly.

She stopped, looking back over her shoulder.

I held up the yellowed bank deposit slip.

“The ledger is useless without the account numbers,” I said. “This piece of paper proves where every single bribe came from. It leads directly to your father’s personal offshore accounts.”

Vanessa’s eyes locked onto the slip of paper.

“Give it to me,” she demanded.

“No,” I said, walking over to the open window. We were three stories up. The fire escape was rusted, but the alley below was pitch black. “You want it? Come get it.”

Before her men could react, I threw the deposit slip out the window.

It fluttered rapidly into the darkness, disappearing into the wind and rain.

Vanessa screamed in frustration. “Get downstairs and find it! Now!”

Her two men bolted out the front door, thundering down the staircase.

Vanessa glared at me, her face twisted in absolute hatred. “When they find that paper, my father is going to ruin you.”

She turned and ran out the door after her men.

As soon as her footsteps faded, I ran to the front door and locked the deadbolt.

My mother was holding her chest, breathing heavily. “Natalie, why did you throw it out the window? We needed that!”

I turned to her and smiled, pulling a folded, yellowed piece of paper from my apron pocket.

“I threw an old grocery receipt out the window,” I said, holding up the real deposit slip. “This is going to the FBI.”

Suddenly, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was an unknown number. I answered it.

“Natalie,” a deep, rough voice said.

It was Rossi, Luca’s security chief.

“Rossi? Where are you? Is Luca in jail?”

“The boss made a call to a federal judge. He’s out on bail,” Rossi said quickly. “But things have escalated. We need the proof you found. Now.”

“I have it,” I said. “Where do I meet you?”

“You don’t,” Rossi said, his voice grim. “Marcus Bellini realized his men failed to get the account numbers from you. He just sent a message.”

“What message?”

“He has Mrs. Donovan. He took her from the temporary shelter.”

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