Chapter 2 - Twenty Minutes
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Enzo stared at the dead phone in his hand as though it had become an explosive device.
Clara wiped blood from the corner of her mouth.
“What did he mean?”
Enzo looked at her.
“You don’t know?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.”
The front doors suddenly locked.
Enzo’s security chief, Luca Santoro, crossed the lounge.
“Boss?”
“Nobody leaves.”
Clara laughed bitterly.
“Of course. Because imprisoning me is definitely going to improve tonight.”
Enzo’s jaw tightened.
Then his eyes landed on the swelling along her cheek.
Something changed.
Shame arrived late, but it arrived.
“Get ice.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Clara—”
“You didn’t even investigate.”
Enzo said nothing.
“You decided what I was because I carried your drinks.”
That landed harder than she intended.
Luca returned.
“Security footage is being pulled.”
Enzo turned.
“Every camera. Kitchen, hallway, private entrance, staff room.”
Clara folded her arms.
“And when you find your watch?”
Enzo met her eyes.
“You walk out.”
“That’s it?”
His expression tightened.
“What do you want?”
“The impossible.”
“Name it.”
“I want the last thirty minutes not to have happened.”
Enzo had no answer.
A guard approached quickly.
“We found something.”
They crowded around the security monitor behind the bar.
The footage showed Clara serving Enzo.
Then leaving.
Seven minutes later, a man entered the booth.
Not a waiter.
Not a guest.
One of Enzo’s own guards.
Anthony Bellini.
He glanced around, removed the platinum watch, and slipped it into his jacket.
Enzo became completely still.
“Where is Bellini?”
Nobody answered.
Luca checked his phone.
“He left twelve minutes ago.”
Enzo looked toward the clock.
Eight minutes remained.
Then headlights flooded the windows.
One car.
Then another.
Then another.
Black SUVs stopped along the entire block.
Clara’s manager whispered, “Oh, God.”
Men in dark coats emerged into the rain.
They did not rush.
That somehow made them more frightening.
Enzo recognized several faces.
Men who supposedly worked for different organizations.
Different corporations.
Different political families.
Yet tonight they moved together.
For Alessandro Viti.
The Sapphire Lounge doors opened.
A tall gray-haired man entered first.
He was perhaps sixty.
Elegant navy overcoat.
No visible weapon.
No hurry.
Alessandro Viti looked nothing like the monster New York stories had created.
Then he saw Clara’s face.
And the warmth disappeared from his eyes.
“Dad.”
Clara hated how young her voice sounded.
Alessandro crossed the room.
He touched her cheek with astonishing gentleness.
“Did he do this?”
Clara hesitated.
“Yes.”
Every armed man in the room seemed to straighten.
Enzo stepped forward.
“It was inexcusable.”
Alessandro looked at him.
“You’re correct.”
“I’ll accept whatever consequence—”
“No.”
Alessandro removed his coat.
“You don’t get to make this easy by behaving bravely after behaving stupidly.”
Enzo’s eyes hardened.
“I made a mistake.”
“You assaulted my daughter because something expensive disappeared.”
Alessandro stepped closer.
“What would you have done if she truly had no powerful father?”
Silence.
That question cut deeper than any threat.
Clara watched Enzo.
He had no answer.
Alessandro nodded.
“That is what I thought.”
Then Luca’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“Bellini’s dead.”
Enzo turned sharply.
“What?”
“Found inside a car near Canal Street.”
“And the watch?”
“Gone.”
Alessandro’s gaze sharpened.
Clara felt something colder than fear move through the room.
This was no longer about theft.
Someone had stolen the watch, killed the thief, and deliberately left Clara standing at the center.
Enzo looked at Alessandro.
“You knew someone would come for it.”
“I knew someone might.”
“What is it?”
Alessandro looked toward Clara.
For the first time, her father appeared uncertain.
Clara stepped away from him.
“No.”
“Clara.”
“No more protecting me with lies.”
Her voice trembled.
“You told me Mom died in an accident. You told me your enemies were the reason I had guards. You never told me anything about a Moretti watch.”
Alessandro closed his eyes briefly.
“Your mother did die because of my enemies.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Enzo stepped forward.
“My father wore that watch for twenty years.”
Alessandro looked at him.
“After he took it from Evelyn.”
Clara froze.
Her mother’s name.
Evelyn Viti.
A woman Clara remembered mostly through photographs and the smell of jasmine perfume.
Enzo’s face hardened.
“You’re accusing my father of stealing?”
“I’m accusing your father of many things.”
Alessandro looked at both of them.
“The watch contains a key.”
“To what?” Clara asked.
“A vault.”
Enzo gave a humorless laugh.
“Money?”
“No.”
Alessandro’s expression became grim.
“Evidence.”
The room went quiet.
“Evidence of what?” Clara whispered.
Alessandro looked at her for several seconds.
“Why your mother was murdered.”
Clara’s knees nearly weakened.
She caught the edge of the bar.
“You said accident.”
“I lied.”
“Who killed her?”
“I never proved it.”
Enzo’s phone buzzed.
A message.
Unknown number.
He opened it.
A photograph appeared.
The missing platinum watch sat on a black velvet cloth.
Beside it was an old photograph of Evelyn.
And beside Evelyn stood Enzo’s father, Salvatore Moretti.
Clara leaned closer.
Her mother was smiling.
Salvatore’s arm was around her.
On Evelyn’s finger was a wedding ring.
Clara stopped breathing.
Under the photograph were six words.
ASK VITI WHO CLARA’S FATHER IS.
Enzo slowly looked up.
Alessandro’s face had become unreadable.
Clara stared at the man she had called Dad her entire life.
“Tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”
Alessandro said nothing.
“Dad.”
His silence answered first.
Clara stepped backward.
Then Alessandro finally spoke.
“Salvatore Moretti was your biological father.”
Across the room, Enzo went white.
Because if Alessandro was telling the truth, the waitress he had slapped less than an hour earlier was not simply the daughter of the one man he feared.
May you like
She was also his father’s daughter.
His half sister.
