Chapter 3 – THE MOCKINGBIRD AND THE POISON

Marco frowned, looking down at his nephew. “What shiny bird?”

Leo shrank back slightly, intimidated by the tall man, but he pointed again. “The gold bird. She wore it in her hair when she yelled at Daddy.”

Everyone looked at Celeste.

Her hands flew instinctively to the back of her head, touching the intricate twist of her dark hair. Tucked into the updo, holding the curls in place, was a vintage gold hairpin.

The pin was shaped like a mockingbird in flight.

Marco stared at the hairpin. The air in the room seemed to vanish.

“Take that out of your hair,” Marco whispered.

Celeste stepped backward. “Marco, it’s just an antique.”

“Take it out.”

When she didn’t move, Marco closed the distance, reached behind her head, and pulled the pin free. Celeste’s hair tumbled down over her shoulders.

Marco held the gold mockingbird under the chandelier light.

I saw Frank grip the armrests of his wheelchair. Tears spilled down the old man’s cheeks.

“My wife’s,” Frank choked out. “My Maria’s.”

Elena covered her mouth, stifling a sob. “Mom’s pin. The one she was wearing the night she died.”

Twenty years ago, Marco’s mother had been killed in a car accident that the family always suspected was a Moretti hit. But the police had ruled it an accident, and the mockingbird pin she always wore had vanished from the wreckage.

“How did you get this?” Marco asked, his voice devoid of all emotion. It was the calm before a devastating storm.

Celeste lifted her chin. The panic was gone now. She knew she was caught, and her facade melted away to reveal something cold and venomous.

“My father gave it to me,” Celeste said.

“Your father is dead,” Marco said. “He was a banker.”

“My stepfather was a banker,” Celeste corrected, her lips curling into a sneer. “My biological father gave me that pin on my sixteenth birthday. He told me it was a trophy from a very successful night.”

Marco’s eyes widened a fraction. “Who is your father?”

“Vincent Moretti.”

The ballroom erupted. Guests began backing away toward the walls. The security team drew their weapons, forming a tight perimeter around Marco, Frank, Elena, and the boy.

“You’re a Moretti,” Marco said softly.

“And you’re a fool,” Celeste hissed. “For three years, I’ve lived in your house. I’ve slept in your bed. I bought off your staff. And you never suspected a thing because you were too busy trying to prove you were a legitimate businessman.”

Marco didn’t shout. He turned slowly toward Dr. Harris.

The doctor was sweating through his suit collar.

“And you?” Marco asked the doctor. “Are you on Moretti’s payroll too?”

Dr. Harris held up his hands. “Marco, listen to me. I had gambling debts. Massive debts. She offered to clear them. I just had to—”

“Just had to what?” Frank interrupted from his wheelchair.

Dr. Harris couldn’t look at the old man. “I just had to keep Frank quiet.”

“By locking me upstairs?” Frank demanded.

“No,” Dr. Harris whispered.

The doctor reached into his jacket pocket. The security guards raised their guns, but Dr. Harris slowly pulled out a small, amber prescription bottle. He set it on the table.

“By prescribing him a heavy sedative,” Dr. Harris said. “Labeled as blood pressure medication. It mimics the symptoms of dementia. It causes confusion. It causes the tremors.”

I stared at the bottle in horror. “You’ve been poisoning him.”

“It’s a low dose!” the doctor pleaded. “Just enough to make him seem unreliable so nobody would believe him if he remembered seeing Celeste in Boston!”

Marco stared at the man who had sworn an oath to care for his father.

“You poisoned my father,” Marco said.

Before Marco could give an order to his guards, a chilling sound echoed through the ballroom.

A laugh.

Celeste was laughing.

“You think you’ve won because you figured it out?” Celeste asked, backing toward the grand windows facing the front courtyard. “Carlo figured it out too. That’s why I had to kill him. But you’re too late, Marco. Look out the window.”

Marco didn’t look. But I did.

Headlights. Dozens of them. Cutting through the darkness of the driveway.

Black SUVs were pouring through the estate gates.

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