A Child’s Drawing In The Wrong Hands

I stared at the gold lighter in my hand.

Matteo Moretti.

My chest tightened so hard I couldn't breathe.

Luca had told me about Matteo once, late at night when the house was quiet. He said his brother was ruthless, wild, and ultimately careless. He died in a fiery crash on the interstate. Closed casket.

If Matteo was dead, who put his coat in my locker?

I quickly shoved the lighter into my pocket, grabbed the note, and slammed the locker shut.

I walked out of the office. The restaurant was still buzzing. My parents were laughing. They looked so happy, so safe.

I couldn't ruin this for them.

I walked outside into the cool Chicago night air.

Luca’s black SUV was still idling at the end of the block. He was talking to his lead security guard on the sidewalk.

I ran toward him.

"Luca!"

He turned, his smile fading immediately when he saw my face.

"Emma, what is it?" he asked, stepping forward to catch my arms. "What's wrong?"

"Someone was in the restaurant," I whispered, my voice trembling. "In the back office."

The security guard instantly reached for his radio, his eyes scanning the street.

"Who?" Luca demanded, his voice dropping an octave.

I didn't answer. I reached into my pocket and handed him the lighter.

Luca looked down at it.

The streetlights caught the engraving.

Luca’s face went entirely blank. Not angry. Blank. It was the most terrifying expression I had ever seen on him.

"Where did you find this?" he asked softly.

"In my locker. Inside a leather coat with blood on it."

Luca closed his eyes for two seconds. When he opened them, the warm man who had just given me a necklace was gone. The Boss was back.

"Get in the car," he said to me.

He turned to his guard. "Lock down the restaurant. Four men inside, four outside. Nobody goes near her parents."

I slid into the SUV. Luca got in next to me, slamming the door.

"Luca," I said, my voice shaking. "You told me he was dead."

"He is," Luca said, starting the engine.

"Then who put his coat in my locker?"

Luca gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"I don't know," he said grimly. "But whoever it is knows a secret I buried five years ago."

He hit the gas, speeding away from the restaurant.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To the only person who was with Matteo the night he died," Luca said.

We drove in silence for twenty minutes, heading toward the South Side. We stopped in front of a dilapidated nursing home.

Luca didn't check in at the front desk. He walked straight through the double doors, down a dimly lit hallway, and kicked open a door at the very end.

An old man sat in a wheelchair, watching television. He had a terrible scar across his face.

He didn't look surprised to see Luca.

"I told you they'd find out eventually, kid," the old man rasped.

Luca walked up to him and threw the gold lighter into the man's lap.

"Who knows?" Luca demanded.

The old man picked up the lighter. He chuckled, a wet, coughing sound.

"Vanessa," the old man said.

I gasped.

Luca froze. "Vanessa is in federal lockup."

"Yeah," the old man smiled, showing rotting teeth. "And before she went in, she made a phone call. She told them the truth, Luca. She told them you didn't just lose your brother in a crash."

The old man looked at me, then back to Luca.

"She told them you murdered him."

Before I could process the words, Luca’s phone buzzed violently in his pocket.

He answered it on speaker.

It was Marco.

"Luca," Marco's voice panicked over the line. "I know I'm not supposed to call you... but the feds didn't just arrest Vanessa. They raided your estate ten minutes ago. They found the basement."

Luca’s face drained of color.