Chapter 2 - the silver locket
Lila remained leaned against Luca’s arm. The adrenaline of the sudden drop had drained her small body, and within ten minutes, her eyelids fluttered shut. Her tiny fingers stayed curled tightly inside Luca’s palm.
Luca didn't move. He sat like carved stone, afraid that shifting his weight would wake her.
Across the aisle, the mother sat rigidly upright. Her eyes never left Luca’s face. In the dim light, Luca finally saw her clearly. The beige travel outfit couldn't hide the delicate arch of her cheekbones or the faint scar just beneath her left collarbone.
*Claire.*
The name hit him like a physical blow.
Six years ago, Claire Walsh had vanished without a trace from a safehouse in upstate New York. She had walked out into a rainy Tuesday morning and dissolved into thin air. Luca had torn Manhattan apart looking for her. He had suspected rivals, kidnappers, betrayals within his own ranks. But there had been no ransom, no body, and no trace. Eventually, the streets had whispered that she had simply taken five hundred thousand dollars from his safe and run.
Now, she was sitting across from him in first class on a midnight flight to California.
As the plane banked gently to the west, Lila shifted in her sleep. Her pink backpack, perched precariously on the edge of the leather seat, tipped over. It hit the carpeted floor with a soft thud, spilling a pack of wet wipes, a coloring book, and a small metal object that bounced against Luca’s leather shoe.
Luca leaned down quietly, picking it up.
It was an antique silver locket, heavy and oval, worn smooth at the edges.
Luca turned it over in his palm. His pulse hammered in his ears. Engraved deeply into the polished silver was a crest: a lion rampant grasping a broken dagger.
The Moretti family seal.
There were only three such lockets in existence. One belonged to his mother, buried with her twenty years ago. One was locked in a vault in Long Island. And the third—the third he had given to Claire the night before she vanished.
Across the aisle, Claire saw the locket gleaming in his hand. The color drained from her face until she was ghostly white. Her lips parted, but no sound escaped.
Luca’s thumb found the small notch on the locket’s side. He pressed it.
The silver casing snapped open.
On the left side was a faded, folded photograph. It was Claire, laughing on a boat in Lake George, her hair blown across her cheeks. Beside her, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist, was Luca himself.
Claire lunged across the narrow aisle, reaching frantically for the pendant. "Give that back."
Luca pulled his hand away with effortless grace, his eyes locking onto hers. They were colder than winter frost.
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"Why does she have this, Claire?" he whispered, his tone terrifyingly quiet.
Claire couldn't answer. Her breath hitched, her fingers trembling as she pulled back, terrified of waking the child between them.
