Chapter 2 - The Photograph Behind the Rabbit
That evening, Damiano found Lucia sitting outside his office.
He stopped.
“Why are you here?”
Lucia held up her rabbit.
“Mr. Buttons is sick.”
Damiano looked around.
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
“His tummy opened.”
She showed him a tear along the rabbit’s seam.
“Mommy is working.”
“And?”
“You have a desk.”
Damiano stared at her.
Lucia stared back.
“What does my desk have to do with a damaged rabbit?”
“Desks have things.”
“That is an astonishingly vague argument.”
Lucia smiled.
Five minutes later, Damiano Conti was sitting behind a desk used to negotiate multimillion-dollar deals while a three-year-old inspected his drawers for tape.
“Scissors,” she announced.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re three.”
“I’m almost four.”
“No.”
She sighed dramatically.
“You worry a lot.”
Damiano looked at her.
“So does your mother.”
“Mommy worries because bad things happen.”
His expression changed slightly.
“What bad things?”
Lucia shrugged.
“Daddy went away.”
Damiano said nothing.
Serena had listed herself as widowed on her employment documents.
Lucia pulled at the rabbit’s torn seam.
Something slipped out and fluttered onto the carpet.
A photograph.
Damiano bent down first.
It was old.
Faded.
Three people sat on the front steps of a Brooklyn brownstone.
A young woman.
A boy of perhaps sixteen.
And another boy beside him.
Damiano stopped breathing.
Lucia leaned against the desk.
“That’s Grandma.”
Damiano barely heard her.
He knew the boy on the left.
Himself.
Sixteen years old.
Before the suits.
Before the estate.
Before his father had dragged him fully into the Conti world.
Beside him stood his older brother, Nico.
And between them—
“Where did you get this?”
Lucia blinked.
“It lived inside Mr. Buttons.”
“Who gave you this rabbit?”
“Mommy.”
Damiano crouched.
“Who gave it to her?”
“I don’t know.”
The office door opened.
Serena hurried inside.
“Lucia, I’ve been looking—”
She saw the photograph.
All color disappeared from her face.
Damiano stood slowly.
“Close the door.”
“Mr. Conti—”
“Close it.”
Serena obeyed.
Damiano placed the photograph on his desk.
“Who is she?”
Serena looked down.
“My mother.”
“Name.”
“Isabella Moretti.”
Damiano’s face went still.
That name had not been spoken in his presence for twenty years.
Lucia climbed onto a chair.
“Was Grandma your friend?”
Damiano ignored the question.
“Your mother knew my family?”
Serena swallowed.
“She worked for yours.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Tell me what you do know.”
Serena looked toward Lucia.
Damiano understood.
He opened the office door and called for the elderly housekeeper.
“Mrs. Caruso.”
The woman appeared.
“Take Lucia to the kitchen. Give her whatever she wants.”
Lucia brightened.
“Chocolate cake?”
“One piece.”
“Two.”
Damiano stared.
Lucia raised three fingers.
“Three?”
“One.”
She sighed.
“Fine.”
After Lucia left, Damiano closed the door.
Serena remained standing.
“My mother worked in your father’s house in Brooklyn,” she said. “She left suddenly when I was a baby.”
“Why?”
“She never told me.”
“Then why keep the photograph?”
“She said one day someone might come looking for it.”
Damiano leaned against his desk.
“Who?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
“Serena.”
“That is the truth.”
His eyes stayed on her.
“Why was it hidden inside a toy?”
“Because before my mother died, she told me never to let anyone know I had it.”
“When did she die?”
“Four years ago.”
“And you came to work in my house eight months ago carrying it?”
“I didn’t know it was inside the rabbit.”
Damiano’s gaze sharpened.
Serena shook her head.
“I swear.”
A knock interrupted them.
Marco entered.
He saw the photograph.
His step faltered.
Only once.
But Damiano saw it.
Marco recovered immediately.
“What’s going on?”
Damiano picked up the photograph.
“Do you recognize this woman?”
Marco looked at it.
“No.”
Too fast.
Damiano folded the photograph once and put it inside his jacket.
“You’re sure?”
“Should I?”
Damiano smiled without warmth.
“No.”
Marco looked toward Serena.
“She causing trouble?”
“No,” Damiano said.
His eyes never left Marco.
“She’s going home early.”
Serena looked surprised.
“Sir?”
“Take Lucia. Go home.”
“But—”
“Now.”
Something in his voice told her not to argue.
Twenty minutes later, Serena and Lucia were gone.
Marco poured himself a drink.
“You're letting the maid’s kid run your house now?”
Damiano watched him.
“She’s more persuasive than most of my lieutenants.”
Marco laughed.
Damiano didn’t.
“Where were you in July 2006?”
Marco’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
“July 2006?”
“Yes.”
“We were kids.”
“I know.”
Marco lowered the glass.
“What is this?”
Damiano stepped closer.
“Just remembering old friends.”
Marco smiled.
But his eyes didn’t.
And Damiano finally understood why Lucia’s rabbit had bothered him.
May you like
It wasn’t the toy.
It was Marco’s reaction to it.
