Chapter 6 - The Uninvited Guest
The storm outside had subsided, leaving Chicago buried under a blanket of pristine, deadly white snow. Inside the Moretti mansion, however, the atmosphere was thick with an unnatural, suffocating tension.
It was late afternoon when Emma managed to slip away from the nanny while the staff was distracted by a delivery at the service entrance. She didn't want to go to the study—not really. But she had left her pink hairbrush on the edge of the mahogany desk during her first visit, and the brush had a butterfly sticker that was peeling off completely. To a three-year-old, a peeling sticker was a crisis of monumental proportions.
She wandered down the east wing corridor, her small red boots making no sound on the thick wool carpet. The double doors to Lorenzo's study were ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling onto the floor.
Pushing the door open with both hands, Emma peeked inside.
Lorenzo was not at his desk. He was standing by the tall floor-to-ceiling window, a glass of amber whiskey in his hand, staring blankly out at the snow-covered courtyard. He didn't hear her enter.
Emma walked quietly across the room, stopping right beside the massive mahogany desk. Her hairbrush was sitting right where he had left it. She reached up, grabbed it, and then noticed something else on the corner of the blotter: a small, silver pocket watch with a cracked glass face.
"That's broken," Emma announced calmly.
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Lorenzo spun around so fast his glass nearly slipped from his fingers. His breath hitched in his throat. For a second, the phantom image of his own daughter—frozen in time, buried in a tiny white coffin—overlapped with the living, breathing child standing in front of him. His face went completely pale, his hands trembling violently.
"Get out," he whispered, his voice cracking with a raw, buried agony that had nothing to do with anger. "Get out of here, child."
