Chapter 2 - THE PHOTOGRAPH UNDER MY PLATE
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
I stared at the photograph until the people around me became blurred shapes.
Four years earlier, Leandro Vitali had nearly died on an icy highway outside Minneapolis.
The newspapers called it a tragic accident.
A collision during a blizzard.
A truck crossing the median.
A vehicle catching fire.
The photographs had been everywhere.
Leandro emerging from the wreckage with half his face burned.
His bodyguard dying at the scene.
His fiancée leaving him three months later.
Everyone knew the story.
Or thought they did.
Now I held a photograph suggesting someone had been watching before the crash.
Someone I knew.
Wesley Harkort.
The man who had spent the evening mocking Leandro's scars.
I looked at the envelope again.
There was no signature.
No explanation.
Only the photograph and the warning.
A waiter approached.
“Miss Donnelly?”
I looked up.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Vitali asked whether you would like coffee.”
I swallowed.
“Thank you. No.”
The waiter nodded.
Then hesitated.
“Are you all right?”
I forced a smile.
“Fine.”
He walked away.
I slipped the photograph into my clutch.
Then remembered my handbag was missing.
My stomach tightened.
I looked beneath the table.
Nothing.
I checked the chair beside me.
Nothing.
Someone had taken it.
I stood.
Across the room, Blair noticed.
Her eyes narrowed.
I walked toward the ladies' lounge.
Halfway there, someone touched my elbow.
“Clare.”
I turned.
Leandro stood behind me.
“Where are you going?”
“Looking for my handbag.”
His expression changed.
“It's missing?”
I nodded.
He glanced toward the table.
“Did someone move it?”
“I don't know.”
He studied my face.
“Something else happened.”
I hesitated.
He lowered his voice.
“Clare.”
I looked at him.
Then took out the photograph.
He stared.
For a moment, his expression remained blank.
Then every trace of warmth disappeared.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was under my plate.”
He took the photograph carefully.
His jaw tightened.
“Who gave it to you?”
“I don't know.”
He looked toward Wesley.
Then back at me.
“Did anyone see you open it?”
“I think Wesley did.”
Leandro's expression hardened.
He looked toward the ballroom entrance.
A man in a dark suit approached immediately.
“Mr. Vitali?”
“Find Miss Donnelly's handbag. Quietly.”
The man nodded.
Then Leandro turned back to me.
“Clare, I need you to stay close.”
I stepped back.
“Why?”
He looked at the photograph again.
“Because whoever left this wants you involved.”
I stared at him.
“Involved in what?”
May you like
His voice lowered.
“Something that was supposed to stay buried.”
