Chapter 2 - THE SECOND RING

The rain started before we reached the cemetery.

It was a cold Chicago downpour that turned the marble headstones into slick, gray mirrors. Luca’s black SUV pulled up to the heavy iron gates of the Moretti family mausoleum.

I sat in the back seat, staring down at the fake gold ring in my lap.

REED.

My father’s name was Thomas Reed. He was a good man. A quiet man. Before his stroke, he spent his days in his tiny workshop and his nights reading history books in his armchair. He had absolutely nothing to do with the mafia, the Moretti family, or Vanessa Bellini’s imprisoned father.

Or so I thought.

“Get out,” Luca commanded, opening Vanessa’s door.

Vanessa was shivering in her expensive red gown, the hem soaking up the mud. Two of Luca’s security men flanked her, carrying heavy steel crowbars and flashlights.

I stepped out of the car, pulling my thin jacket tightly around myself.

Luca walked over to me. He held an umbrella, shielding us both from the freezing rain. His dark eyes studied my pale face.

“You’re shaking, Emma.”

“I’m cold, sir.”

He took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It smelled like expensive cologne and rain.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I whispered.

“You didn’t have to speak up in the ballroom,” he replied. “You saved me from marrying a liar.”

He looked toward the mausoleum. “Let’s find out what she lied about.”

The heavy stone doors of the tomb groaned as the security men forced them open. The air inside smelled of dust and dried flowers.

In the center of the room rested Michael Moretti’s marble sarcophagus.

“Open it,” Luca ordered.

Vanessa squeezed her eyes shut, turning her face away.

The sound of stone grinding against stone echoed off the walls. The heavy marble lid was pushed aside.

Luca stepped forward, shining his flashlight down into the casket.

He didn’t speak for a long time.

I walked up beside him and looked inside.

The velvet lining was perfectly intact. The silk pillows were pristine.

But the casket was empty.

There were no bones. No suit. No body.

“Where is he?” Luca whispered, his voice cracking with a grief that hadn’t healed.

Vanessa opened her eyes. She gasped, taking a step back. “I… I didn’t know. I swear, Luca, I thought the ring was just collateral.”

“If my father isn’t in here,” Luca said, turning to her with lethal slowness, “then whose grave did your father open?”

Before Vanessa could answer, I saw something glinting in the beam of the flashlight.

Resting at the very bottom of the empty casket, right where Michael Moretti’s hands should have been folded, was a small object.

I reached down and picked it up.

It was a pocket watch.

Silver. Heavily tarnished.

I turned it over in my hands. The breath left my lungs.

Engraved on the back of the watch was a familiar emblem. A small, intricately carved anvil and hammer.

It was my father’s maker’s mark.

“Emma?” Luca asked, noticing my frozen expression. “What is it?”

I couldn’t speak. My mind was spinning. The fake ring had my name in it. The empty grave held my father’s watch.

I pressed the small latch on the top of the watch. The cover sprang open.

There was no clock face inside.

Instead, there was a tiny, folded piece of paper, and a small key.

I carefully unfolded the paper. The handwriting was messy, rushed, and unmistakably my father’s.

If you are reading this, I am already dead. Michael Moretti didn’t die of a heart attack. He was murdered by Daniel Bellini. They forced me to move the body. They forced me to make the fake ring. But I kept the proof. The key opens the locker at Union Station. Forgive me, Emma.

I dropped the paper as if it were on fire.

Luca caught it before it hit the floor. He read the words.

His eyes snapped to Vanessa.

“Your father murdered mine.”

Vanessa shook her head frantically. “No! My father was a businessman! He wouldn’t—”

“He murdered the Don of the Chicago syndicate,” Luca’s voice was a terrifying rumble. “And he used Emma’s father to cover it up.”

Luca looked at me. The realization hitting him just as hard as it hit me.

“Your father,” Luca said softly. “He isn’t just a metalworker. He was a cleaner for the Bellini family.”

“No,” I choked out, tears mixing with the rain on my face. “My dad is a good man. He had a stroke a year ago. He can’t even speak. This is a mistake.”

“It’s not a mistake, Emma.”

We both turned.

Standing in the doorway of the mausoleum was Daniel, Luca’s head of security.

But Daniel wasn’t pointing his flashlight at the grave.

He was pointing a suppressed 9mm handgun directly at Luca’s chest.

“Vanessa is right, Boss,” Daniel said smoothly. “Her father was just a businessman. He didn’t kill your dad.”

Daniel smiled, cocking the hammer of the gun.