The Bracelet That Should Have Been Buried
Chapter 02 - The Bracelet That Should Have Been Buried
Beatrice Whitlock had served the Moretti family for thirty-one years.
She had witnessed funerals, weddings, business negotiations, and conversations that could have sent powerful men to prison.
She knew where the family kept its money.
She knew which politicians had accepted expensive favors.
And she knew enough about Dante Moretti's childhood to understand exactly why his grandfather's words were dangerous.
But nothing frightened her more than the silver bracelet around Emma Collins's wrist.
For twenty-three years, Beatrice had believed that bracelet was gone.
She had watched a trusted associate carry it away in a sealed envelope, along with the other belongings of a baby who was never supposed to return to the Moretti estate.
Now the bracelet had come home.
And the girl wearing it had the same green eyes as Maria Moretti.
Beatrice swallowed.
"Mr. Moretti, your grandfather is confused. His condition has deteriorated recently."
Dante didn't answer.
He stood beside Alessandro's wheelchair, watching the old man's trembling fingers.
"Grandpa, look at me."
Alessandro slowly raised his head.
"Do you recognize this young woman?"
The old man's eyes shifted toward Emma.
His face crumpled.
"Maria..."
Dante felt a chill travel down his spine.
"My mother?"
Alessandro nodded weakly.
Then he shook his head.
It was as though the words existed somewhere in his mind but refused to cooperate.
Dante turned to Emma.
"Come here."
Emma hesitated.
Beatrice quickly stepped forward.
"Mr. Moretti, I really don't think—"
"Beatrice."
His voice was quiet.
That made it worse.
"Move."
She obeyed.
Emma approached the wheelchair, trembling.
Up close, Dante could see the bright red mark along her left cheek.
He also noticed that she was holding her wrist protectively.
"Did she hurt your arm too?" he asked.
Emma nodded.
"She grabbed me."
Dante's expression darkened.
"Show me."
Emma reluctantly pushed up her sleeve.
There were several fresh red marks where Beatrice's fingers had pressed into her skin.
But beneath them was something else.
A thin, pale scar curved across her wrist.
Dante stared at it.
He remembered a photograph.
An old photograph hidden inside a leather album in his grandfather's study.
His mother had been holding a baby wrapped in a pink blanket.
On the baby's wrist was a tiny mark shaped like a crescent.
Dante had been twelve when the picture was taken.
He remembered his mother telling him that the baby had been born with a small birthmark.
But he also remembered seeing a hospital photograph afterward, showing a thin bandage near the same spot.
His father had told him it was nothing.
Dante's breathing slowed.
"Where did you get that scar?"
Emma glanced down.
"I've had it since I was little."
"How little?"
"I don't remember."
Alessandro reached for her hand.
Emma let him take it.
The old man gently turned her wrist.
His fingertips rested on the scar.
Then his shoulders began shaking.
Dante looked at him.
"Grandpa?"
Alessandro closed his eyes.
"Hospital..."
Dante felt the room tilt.
"What hospital?"
Before Alessandro could answer, Beatrice hurried forward.
"Mr. Moretti, he's becoming exhausted. We should call his nurse."
Dante turned sharply.
"Why are you so desperate to interrupt him?"
"I'm concerned about his health."
"Then show some concern by remaining silent."
Beatrice stepped back.
Emma's heart was pounding.
She hadn't understood much of the conversation.
She knew only that a wealthy old man seemed to recognize a bracelet her foster mother had given her, and the terrifying stranger everyone called Mr. Moretti was suddenly looking at her like she had stepped out of a grave.
"Mr. Moretti," she whispered, "I don't want any trouble."
Dante looked at her.
"What's your full name?"
"Emma Rose Collins."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-four."
"When were you born?"
"March seventeenth, 2002."
Dante stopped breathing for a moment.
His mother had delivered a baby girl on March seventeenth, 2002.
The child had supposedly died three days later.
Dante's father had forbidden anyone from discussing the funeral.
Dante remembered the tiny white coffin.
He remembered standing beside his mother, who had been weak and devastated.
He remembered her insisting that she had heard her baby crying after the doctors announced the death.
His father called it grief.
Two months later, Maria died in a car accident on a rain-soaked road outside Chicago.
And Alessandro never forgave his son.
Dante had believed the old man blamed his father for allowing Maria to drive while emotionally unstable.
Now he wasn't so certain.
"Emma," Dante said slowly, "who are your biological parents?"
She lowered her eyes.
"I don't know."
"Have you ever tried to find them?"
"Yes."
Her voice grew smaller.
"Several times."
"What happened?"
"Nobody could find my original records."
Dante looked at her closely.
"Explain."
"My foster mother took me in when I was a baby. She was told my parents had abandoned me, but some of the paperwork was missing. When I turned eighteen, we contacted the agency that arranged everything."
"And?"
"They said the agency had closed years earlier."
"Which agency?"
"Lakeview Children's Placement."
Dante recognized the name.
A small private organization had operated under that title during the early 2000s.
It had closed after allegations of falsified adoption documents.
He remembered because his family foundation had once donated money to it.
A substantial amount of money.
Dante's stomach tightened.
"Did your foster mother ever mention who brought you to her?"
Emma nodded.
"A woman."
Beatrice gripped the back of a dining chair.
Dante noticed.
"What woman?"
"I don't know her name. My mother said she was older, maybe in her forties, with light-colored hair."
Beatrice slowly moved toward the side door.
Dante didn't turn his head.
"Stay where you are."
She froze.
Emma continued.
"My mother said the woman seemed frightened. She left me wrapped in a pink blanket and told her the child needed somewhere safe."
Dante's pulse thundered.
"What color pink?"
Emma looked confused.
"Light pink."
"Anything embroidered on it?"
She nodded.
"A little white rabbit."
Alessandro suddenly made a choking sound.
Dante dropped beside him.
"Grandpa!"
The old man's eyes were wide.
"Rabbit..."
His fingers dug into Dante's hand.
"Maria... made..."
Dante closed his eyes.
His mother had embroidered a white rabbit on the baby's blanket herself.
He remembered watching her stitch it beside the fireplace.
She had laughed when he asked why she was making something so childish.
"Because babies deserve something soft in a hard world," she had told him.
Dante had forgotten the words until that moment.
He stood slowly.
"Emma, is that blanket still in your possession?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"At home. With my mother."
Dante turned to his security chief, Marcus Hale, who had appeared in the doorway.
"Marcus, contact our family attorney. I want every surviving record connected to Lakeview Children's Placement."
"Yes, sir."
"And arrange for an independent medical team to examine my grandfather."
Beatrice stepped forward.
"Mr. Moretti, that is completely unnecessary."
Dante ignored her.
"Also, I want the employment records of everyone who worked in this house between January and June of 2002."
Beatrice's expression drained.
"That was decades ago."
"Then I suggest you help Marcus find them."
Dante turned toward Emma.
"Your mother. Is she safe?"
Emma blinked.
"Of course."
"Where does she live?"
"In Cicero."
Dante exchanged a glance with Marcus.
Emma noticed.
"Why are you asking?"
Dante hesitated.
He could tell her his suspicions.
He could tell her that she might be his younger sister.
But he had already seen what happened when people in his family acted on assumptions.
He wouldn't put a young woman through another tragedy without proof.
"Because I believe someone may have lied about your childhood," he said.
Emma's eyes filled.
"What kind of lie?"
"I don't know yet."
Behind them, Alessandro whispered something.
Emma leaned closer.
"What is it, Mr. Moretti?"
His lips moved.
"Forgive..."
She frowned.
"Forgive who?"
The old man's eyes filled with tears.
"Me."
Emma stared at him.
She didn't know why those two words hurt more than the slap.
Dante gently touched her shoulder.
"You haven't done anything wrong."
For the first time that morning, someone said it aloud.
Emma began crying again.
But these tears were different.
They came from exhaustion, confusion, and the sudden possibility that everything she believed about her life might be untrue.
Dante removed his jacket and placed it over her shoulders.
"Sit down," he said softly.
Beatrice looked horrified.
"Mr. Moretti, she's an employee."
Dante turned.
"And you're suspended."
Her mouth fell open.
"What?"
"Effective immediately."
"You cannot do this after everything I've done for this family!"
Dante took one step toward her.
"Would you like to explain exactly what you've done?"
Beatrice said nothing.
"Marcus, escort Mrs. Whitlock to the guest office. She is not to contact anyone until my attorney arrives."
Two guards approached.
Beatrice struggled to maintain her composure.
"You are making a terrible mistake."
Dante's eyes were cold.
"That seems to be a family tradition."
As the guards led her away, Beatrice glanced at Emma.
Her expression changed from fear to hatred.
Emma instinctively pulled Dante's jacket tighter around herself.
Dante noticed.
He also noticed Alessandro watching the departing housekeeper with unmistakable terror.
That afternoon, an attorney named Evelyn Brooks arrived with a team of investigators.
The family medical team examined Alessandro.
Emma sat in a private sitting room while a gentle nurse brought her tea and a small meal.
Nobody asked her to work.
Nobody criticized her posture.
Nobody ordered her to lower her eyes.
Still, she couldn't relax.
At four seventeen, Dante entered the room carrying a leather-bound album.
He placed it on the table.
"Emma, there's something I need you to see."
She looked up.
He opened the album.
The photograph was old, slightly faded around the edges.
A beautiful dark-haired woman sat in a hospital bed, holding a newborn wrapped in a pink blanket.
An embroidered white rabbit was visible near the baby's shoulder.
Emma stared at it.
Her fingers trembled.
"That's my blanket."
Dante remained silent.
"Where did you get this picture?"
"It's been in my family for twenty-four years."
Emma looked at the woman.
There was something painfully familiar about her smile.
"Who is she?"
Dante's voice nearly failed.
"Her name was Maria Moretti."
He swallowed.
"She was my mother."
Emma's eyes slowly lifted to his.
"And the baby?"
Dante looked down at the photograph.
"According to everything I was told, that baby died."
Emma's hand flew to her mouth.
"But you think..."
"I think we need a DNA test."
Before Emma could respond, Marcus appeared in the doorway.
His face was unusually tense.
"Boss, we've got a problem."
Dante stood.
"What problem?"
"Mrs. Whitlock's phone."
"What about it?"
"She managed to send one message before security collected it."
"To whom?"
Marcus hesitated.
"An unidentified number."
Dante's jaw tightened.
"What did it say?"
Marcus looked at Emma, then back at Dante.
May you like
"It said, 'The girl is alive. The bracelet is back. Finish what we started.'"
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