What He Pulled From The Velvet Clutch

“A bullet?” my mother repeated, stepping back in horror. “No, Robert said he pulled her from the wreckage.”

Luca’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. “Marco didn’t just run her off the road. He shot her.”

The room felt like it was dropping out from under me.

I looked at the twisted silver locket in Luca’s palm. If Marco shot her, and the bullet shattered the necklace...

“Where is the bullet?” I asked.

Luca looked up. “If Marco fired it at close range, it would have stayed in the car. Or in...” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“The police report said she died of smoke inhalation,” my mother insisted. “The autopsy would have found a bullet.”

“Unless someone paid the coroner to look the other way,” Luca said coldly. “My father had the police in his pocket ten years ago. Marco could have easily bought off a medical examiner.”

Answer one: The locket was empty because it was never meant to hide a secret; it was the physical proof of a gunshot.

Open two: If my father knew it was a murder, why did he run instead of going to the police?

“Why didn’t my dad take it to the authorities?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Because Marco was the one who fired the gun,” Luca said softly. “But Marco wasn’t the one who hired your father as a driver that night.”

Luca walked over to his massive mahogany desk and opened the bottom drawer. He pulled out a heavy, leather-bound ledger. He flipped through the yellowed pages until he found an entry from ten years ago.

He ran his finger down the column of names.

He stopped.

“Robert Reed,” Luca read aloud. “Hired for transport. October 14th.”

He looked up at me.

“Authorized by Vanessa Bellini.”

The air left my lungs.

“Vanessa?” I choked out. “She was twenty-two years old ten years ago. She wasn’t even part of the family yet.”

“She was trying to be,” Luca said, his voice dripping with venom. “Vanessa has been trying to marry into this family since she was a college student. My sister hated her. My sister knew Vanessa was ruthless.”

My mother gripped the back of the chair. “You’re saying... Vanessa ordered the hit?”

“Marco pulled the trigger,” Luca deduced, the pieces finally clicking together. “But Vanessa organized the logistics. She hired the outside driver—your father—so there would be no direct link to her. She wanted my sister dead so there would be no one left to object to our marriage.”

It all made terrifying sense.

Vanessa hadn’t pawned the ring because she was being blackmailed by a stranger. She was being blackmailed by Marco. Marco had kept the secret of her involvement for ten years, using it to bleed her dry.

“And my father?” I asked, tears finally spilling over.

“Your father realized he was the getaway driver for a murder,” Luca said gently. “He took the broken necklace as proof, but he knew Vanessa and Marco would kill him and his family if he went to the cops. So he ran. He made himself the ghost to keep you two safe.”

A heavy, profound silence filled the office.

My father wasn’t a coward. He wasn’t a traitor.

He was a hero.

Suddenly, a low groan came from the hallway.

The heavy oak door swung open.

One of Luca’s guards stumbled in, clutching his bleeding stomach.

“Boss,” the guard gasped, falling to his knees. “She got away.”

Luca dropped the ledger. “Who?”

“Vanessa,” the guard coughed. “She had a gun in her luggage. She shot her way out.”

I looked out the massive bay window just in time to see a pair of red taillights tearing down the mansion’s long driveway, crashing through the iron front gates.

She was gone.

But on the desk, the broken silver locket gleamed in the dim light.

Luca walked over and picked it up.

He didn’t look angry anymore. He looked resolved.

“Emma,” Luca said, turning to me.

“Yes, sir.”

He held out the locket.