Chapter 3 – THE TICKING SILVER WATCH

“No!” I screamed into the phone. “Don’t let them take her! Please!”

The line went dead.

I dropped my phone. The screen shattered on the cabin floor. I couldn’t breathe. My chest tightened so violently I thought I was having a heart attack.

Dominic grabbed my shoulders. “Elena, look at me.”

“They took my mother,” I gasped, tears instantly blinding me. “Vincent’s men. They went to my house.”

“Look at me.” His voice was deep, commanding, yet shockingly steady. “They aren’t going to hurt her. They’re using her to control you.”

“Why me?” I cried. “I’m just a maid! I don’t know anything!”

“Because you saw Mia three weeks ago,” Dominic said, his eyes scanning the dark woods outside the cabin window. “You’re a loose end. Vincent realized you could expose the lie.”

He picked up my shattered phone, removed the SIM card, and snapped the plastic device in half.

“From this second forward, you do not leave my side,” Dominic said. “Vincent controls my security team. I don’t know who is loyal to me and who is loyal to him.”

He turned to the bleeding woman on the floor. He quickly pulled a dish towel from the counter, pressing it hard against her shoulder. “Keep pressure on this. Do not move. Do not make a sound.”

We left the cabin, stepping back into the freezing night.

The wind howled through the massive oak trees as we sprinted toward the old greenhouse. The glass structure loomed in the distance like a glowing skeleton, lit from the inside by heavy work lights.

“Why Vincent?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice down. “He’s your right-hand man.”

“Because if Caroline came back, she would have exposed him,” Dominic said bitterly. “Nine years ago, I gave Vincent half a million dollars in cash to deliver to Caroline. I told him to make sure she was safe and set up in a new city.”

“He never gave her the money,” I realized.

“No. And he probably threatened to kill her if she ever contacted me again.”

We reached the edge of the greenhouse. The glass was thick and coated in years of grime. Dominic pressed his back against the stone foundation, gesturing for me to stay low.

I crept forward, peering through a small clean patch in the glass.

Inside, the air was thick with humidity. Rows of dead, overgrown vines hung from the ceiling.

In the center of the room, sitting on an overturned wooden crate, was Mia.

She looked exactly like Mrs. Moretti had described. Dark curls. Brown eyes. She wasn’t crying. She sat completely still, clutching a small, silver object in her hands.

Vincent stood ten feet away from her, pacing furiously while talking on a burner phone.

“I don’t care what Dominic said!” Vincent barked into the phone. “Burn the old woman’s house down. Make sure the maid knows there are consequences. And get the sister on a plane out of here tonight.”

He was talking about Bianca.

Vincent hung up the phone and turned toward Mia. “Put that away,” he snapped.

Mia didn’t flinch. She just stared at him. “My daddy gave this to my mommy.”

“Your daddy doesn’t want you,” Vincent sneered.

“You’re the bad man,” Mia said clearly. Her voice was so small, yet it carried through the glass. “You’re the one who pushed my mommy down the stairs.”

I gasped, slapping my hand over my mouth.

Caroline Bennett didn’t just die last night. She was murdered.

Vincent took a step toward the little girl, raising his hand.

Dominic didn’t hesitate. He kicked the side door of the greenhouse so hard it tore clean off the rusted hinges.

Vincent spun around, reaching for his weapon, but Dominic was already there.

He didn’t shoot. He slammed the butt of his gun into Vincent’s jaw with a sickening crack. Vincent collapsed into the dirt, out cold.

Dominic stood over him for a fraction of a second before he dropped to his knees.

He turned toward the little girl on the crate.

For the first time all night, the ruthless mafia boss looked utterly terrified. His hands shook as he reached out.

“Mia?” he whispered.

The little girl looked at him. Her large brown eyes scanned his face, his dark hair, the tattoos on his wrists.

“Are you Dominic?” she asked softly.

“Yes.” His voice broke. “I’m your father.”

Mia slowly stood up. She walked over to him and opened her small hand.

Sitting in her palm was a silver pocket watch. It was ticking loudly.

“Mommy told me to give this to you,” Mia said. “She said you would know how to open it.”

Dominic stared at the watch. He reached out and pressed a hidden latch on the side.

The silver casing popped open.

But there wasn’t a clock face inside.

There was a folded, torn photograph, and a tiny, heavy brass key.

Dominic pulled the photograph open.

It was a picture of Bianca and Vincent, sitting at a cafe, kissing.

“Oh my god,” I whispered.

But Dominic wasn’t looking at the photo. He was staring at the brass key.

His face went chalk-white.

“Mia,” Dominic asked, his voice shaking. “Where did your mommy get this key?”

“She didn’t get it,” Mia replied. “The nice old lady in the wheelchair gave it to her.”

Dominic and I stared at each other in shock.

Mrs. Moretti wasn’t in a wheelchair.

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