Chapter 1 – The Man With The Silver Scar

The dining room of the Moretti mansion felt like all the air had been violently sucked out of it.

Fifty guests sat perfectly frozen.

Luca didn’t look at the crowd. He didn’t look at me. His dark eyes were locked entirely on his nine-year-old son.

“Oliver,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, quiet rasp. “What man?”

Oliver shrank back slightly, his small hand gripping my apron. I knelt down immediately, putting myself at his eye level, shielding him from the dozens of staring adults.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. “You can tell your dad. Nobody is going to be mad at you.”

Oliver swallowed hard.

“He came to the kitchen door last night,” the little boy murmured. “When everyone was sleeping. Vanessa let him in.”

Vanessa let out a sharp, hysterical laugh.

“Luca, this is absurd! The boy is having nightmares. I was in bed with you all night!”

Luca didn’t even blink. “Don’t speak again, Vanessa. Or I will have my men physically remove you from this room.”

He crouched next to me, his massive frame completely blocking Vanessa from Oliver’s view.

“Buddy,” Luca said gently. “What did this man look like?”

Oliver rubbed his eyes with the sleeve of the repaired sweater.

“He was tall,” Oliver said softly. “He smelled like expensive cigars. And he had a thick silver scar right here.”

Oliver traced a line across his left jawbone.

A collective gasp rippled through the guests. I didn’t know the mafia politics of Chicago, but I knew from the absolute dread washing over Luca’s face that he recognized the description.

“Dominic,” Luca whispered.

Vanessa took a step backward, her high heels clicking loudly against the marble floor.

“Luca, please,” she stammered, her arrogant facade cracking. “Dominic is in New York. He has been for three years.”

“Dominic is my cousin,” Luca said, slowly standing up. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “And he was supposed to be exiled from this family after he stole from the union accounts.”

Luca turned to his fiancée.

“Why was my exiled cousin in my house last night, Vanessa?”

Vanessa’s face went completely pale. “He wasn’t! Oliver is lying! The maid put him up to this because she hates me!”

“I haven’t said a word to him about any man,” I shot back, stepping in front of Oliver. “And Oliver doesn’t lie.”

Luca looked down at his son. “What else did Dominic say to you, Oliver? When he asked about the accident?”

Oliver reached into his small pocket.

“He didn’t just ask,” Oliver said, his voice shaking. “He gave me this. He told me to give it to you before the wedding. He said it belonged to the person who was driving Mommy’s car.”

Oliver pulled his hand out of his pocket.

He held out a heavy, tarnished gold money clip.

It was engraved with the initials V.B.

Vanessa Bellini.

The room erupted into whispers. Luca stared at the money clip, the ultimate symbol of betrayal sitting in his nine-year-old son’s palm.

“You told the police my wife was alone in that car,” Luca said, his voice vibrating with a lethal calmness. “You told me you were at a spa all weekend.”

Vanessa was shaking now. “Luca, it’s a setup! Dominic planted that! He wants to ruin us!”

“Then why,” Oliver interrupted, his voice surprisingly clear, “did the man say you left this in the car when you pushed Mommy’s foot off the brake?”

TITLE: The Lie In The Front Seat

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