Chapter 4 - The Guest at Table Nine
“Who?” Damiano demanded.
Serena couldn't answer.
Her mother had said:
“Gabriel Moretti.”
Damiano knew the name.
His expression changed immediately.
“Gabriel is here.”
“Who is he?”
“My father's former attorney.”
“Former?”
“He retired.”
Serena laughed without humor.
“Apparently nobody in your family knows what that word means.”
Damiano ignored it.
“Where?”
“Table nine.”
They entered the ballroom separately.
Music had resumed.
Guests were eating.
Nobody knew a missing ruby had become a fourteen-year-old disappearance.
Gabriel Moretti sat at table nine.
Silver hair.
Perfect tuxedo.
Gentle smile.
He looked like someone's wealthy grandfather.
Then his eyes met Serena's.
The smile vanished.
Damiano saw it.
So did Serena.
Gabriel stood.
“Damiano.”
“Walk with me.”
“Is something wrong?”
“You tell me.”
Gabriel glanced at Serena.
“I don't believe we've met.”
Serena stepped closer.
“Evelyn Sinclair.”
His face did not move.
But his hand tightened around his champagne glass.
Damiano noticed.
“Private room,” he said.
Gabriel smiled.
“I don't take orders from boys I taught to tie their shoes.”
Damiano leaned closer.
“Tonight you do.”
Five minutes later, they were inside the office.
Damiano locked the door.
Gabriel sat calmly.
“You found the key,” he said.
Serena's heart slammed.
“How do you know?”
“Because Elena was predictable.”
“You knew my mother?”
“I knew both your mothers.”
“Where is Evelyn?”
“Alive, apparently.”
Serena wanted to hit him.
Damiano stepped between them.
“What happened eighteen years ago?”
Gabriel sighed.
“Your mother discovered financial records your father had hidden. Evelyn was helping audit one of the legitimate companies. Together they copied everything.”
“And?”
“Elena threatened to go to federal authorities.”
“My father killed her?”
Gabriel looked at him.
“No.”
Damiano froze.
“The accident was real.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I was there when she died.”
“That's not comforting.”
“She was running from your father. The roads were wet. Her car crossed the divider.”
Damiano looked away.
“And Evelyn?”
“She survived because she ran farther.”
Serena's eyes burned.
“She left me.”
“To keep you alive.”
“Don't romanticize abandonment.”
Gabriel nodded once.
“Fair.”
“Why now?”
“Because Victor Hale found out about the safe-deposit box.”
“Who is Victor?”
“A man your father hired to recover the evidence.”
“Fourteen years ago?”
“Yes.”
Serena understood.
“That was when my mother disappeared.”
“She learned Victor had found her. She left before he could find you too.”
“Why didn't she call?”
“She did.”
Serena shook her head.
“No.”
“Your phone calls were intercepted.”
“By whom?”
Gabriel looked at Damiano.
“Someone still loyal to your father.”
Damiano's eyes narrowed.
“Name.”
Gabriel didn't answer.
Then the lights went out.
Serena heard movement.
A chair scraped.
Damiano grabbed her arm.
“Stay down.”
Something shattered.
Security shouted outside.
Emergency lighting flickered on.
Gabriel's chair was empty.
The window stood open.
On the desk lay the brass key.
And beside it—
the missing ruby cameo.
Serena stared.
“He had it.”
“No,” Damiano said.
“What?”
“He wouldn't leave both.”
He picked up the cameo.
The back had been opened.
Empty.
“The ruby was bait.”
Serena understood.
“Someone wanted us to find the key.”
Damiano looked toward the open window.
“Which means they want whatever is in that box.”
They went to the bank that night.
Not because Evelyn had told them to.
Because Damiano knew the warning meant someone else would go first.
Safe-deposit box 317 existed.
The manager brought them into a private room.
Damiano inserted the key.
Serena stood beside him.
The lock turned.
Inside were three things.
A ledger.
A cassette tape.
And a sealed envelope addressed:
TO SERENA SINCLAIR.
Her hands shook.
She opened it.
Rena,
If you are reading this, I failed to keep the past buried.
There is something you must know about Sweet Mercy.
You did not buy that bakery by accident.
Serena stopped.
Damiano read over her shoulder.
She continued.
The building was purchased in your name when you were six years old.
Serena's breath caught.
Impossible.
She had spent years paying for that building.
Or thought she had.
She turned the page.
The original owner was Elena Vercelli.
Damiano stared.
“My mother?”
Serena read the final sentence.
Elena didn't leave the bakery to me.
She left it to you.
There was a knock at the private-room door.
Three slow taps.
The bank manager frowned.
“No one should know we're in here.”
Damiano reached inside his jacket.
The handle began turning.
A woman's voice came from the other side.
“Serena?”
May you like
Serena stopped breathing.
“It's Mom.”
