Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Was Dead
Damiano read the note three times.
The handwriting did not change.
SHE KNOWS ALREADY.
His grandmother took it from him.
Her fingers trembled.
“Where did you get this?”
“Behind the photograph.”
“No.”
“Nonna.”
“No.”
Her face had lost its color.
Damiano understood fear.
He had built a life around recognizing it.
This was not fear of a missing jewel.
This was fear of history.
“What aren't you telling me?”
His grandmother folded the note.
“The ruby must be found.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“Find the cameo.”
Then she walked away.
Damiano followed her with his eyes.
His phone vibrated.
Security had reviewed the hallway cameras.
He opened the footage.
11:42 a.m.
Serena entered carrying cake tools.
11:47.
Photographer entered.
11:51.
Wedding planner.
11:56.
A catering employee entered.
Damiano paused the video.
Red stitching ran along the employee's cuff.
“Who is that?”
His guard zoomed in.
The face was partially turned.
“Temporary catering staff.”
“Name?”
“We're checking.”
The man exited six minutes later.
His right pocket bulged.
Damiano felt something cold move through him.
“Find him.”
Then he remembered Serena.
She had been accused publicly.
Cleared publicly.
And still he had said, For now.
He found her downstairs beside the cake.
She was repairing the final sugar rose.
“Serena.”
She didn't look at him.
“Mr. Vercelli.”
“We need to talk.”
“No.”
“I found something.”
“So did your guard. My peppermint collection.”
His mouth tightened.
“I was wrong.”
That made her look up.
“Was that an apology?”
“Yes.”
“You might want to practice. It sounded painful.”
“I don't apologize often.”
“I noticed.”
Damiano placed the note on the worktable.
Serena read it.
Her expression changed.
“Where did you find this?”
“Behind a photograph.”
“Why are you showing me?”
“Because whoever took the ruby may have left it.”
Serena stared at the handwriting.
Then at him.
“I don't know anything about your mother.”
Damiano hadn't told her whose handwriting it was.
His body became perfectly still.
“How did you know it was my mother's?”
Serena froze.
For the first time that day, Damiano saw real fear in her eyes.
She reached into her purse.
He instinctively shifted.
She gave him a furious look.
“Relax. You've already inventoried it.”
She removed the little green dinosaur.
Then opened a tiny compartment beneath its plastic belly.
Inside was a rolled scrap of old paper.
Damiano stared.
“Noah broke it last week,” Serena said. “I found this stuffed inside.”
She unrolled the paper.
The handwriting matched.
Damiano read the first line.
IF A VERCELLI EVER COMES LOOKING FOR THIS, DON'T TRUST THE RUBY.
“Where did the dinosaur come from?”
“A thrift store.”
“Which one?”
Serena hesitated.
“My mother bought it.”
“When?”
“Before she disappeared.”
The word landed heavily.
“Disappeared?”
“Fourteen years ago.”
Damiano looked again at the paper.
There was more.
A date.
An address.
And initials.
E.V.
His mother's name had been Elena Vercelli.
Serena backed away.
“No.”
“What?”
“My mother's name was Evelyn.”
Damiano looked at her.
E.V.
Before either could speak, Mia rushed into the room.
“Damiano.”
She was pale.
“What?”
“They found the catering man's jacket.”
“Where?”
“In the laundry room.”
“And him?”
“Gone.”
Damiano started toward the door.
Mia caught his arm.
“There was something in the pocket.”
She held out a photograph.
Old.
Creased.
Two women stood outside a Brooklyn bakery.
One was Damiano's mother.
The other was a younger version of Serena's missing mother.
On the back, someone had written:
THE RUBY BELONGS TO THE GIRL WHO DOESN'T KNOW HER NAME.
Serena's breath stopped.
Then Damiano's phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A woman whispered, “If Serena Sinclair is standing beside you, don't let her leave the building.”
Damiano turned toward Serena.
The caller continued.
“Because the man who stole the ruby didn't come for the jewel.”
A crash sounded from the kitchen.
Serena turned.
May you like
The service door was already opening.
Someone on the other side whispered her childhood name.
