Chapter 12 - A Cold Night In Chicago
Three weeks had passed since the arrest of Matteo Moretti and Marco Bellini.
The federal trials dominated the front pages of every newspaper in Illinois.
The Corvallis syndicate was completely dismantled from the top down.
The city of Chicago felt different.
The dark, suffocating fog that had hung over the streets for thirty years seemed to have lifted.
It was a crisp, clear Friday evening in late November.
Snow flurried softly outside the tall bay windows of Reed Fine Gems in Oak Park.
The shop was completely transformed.
New mahogany display cases lined the walls, illuminated by warm, high-CRI museum lighting.
The workbenches were equipped with state-of-the-art Leica gemological microscopes and ultrasonic cleaning tanks.
My uncle’s original brass sign hung proudly above the entrance, polished until it gleamed like liquid gold.
I stood at my main jeweler’s bench, wearing a dark green apron over a woolen sweater.
I was carefully setting a natural Ceylon sapphire into an eighteen-karat gold filigree ring.
The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of my chasing hammer against the bezel was the only sound in the warm room.
The brass bell above the front door chimed.
I looked up, setting my hammer onto the leather bench skin.
Ray Collins walked in, carrying a large cardboard box wrapped in brown shipping paper.
He wore a thick woolen flat cap and a warm winter coat.
“Good evening, Miss Emma,” Ray said, setting the heavy box onto the counter with a broad, genuine smile.
“Good evening, Ray,” I replied, stepping around the bench. “What is that?”
“Delivery from Milan, Italy,” Ray said proudly.
“Mr. Moretti had these shipped by private air freight this morning.”
I cut through the packing tape with a utility blade and opened the cardboard flaps.
Inside were four dozen antique gemological textbooks dating back to the late nineteenth century.
Treatises on lapidary arts, diamond cutting, and emerald sourcing from the historic mines of Muzo.
Books my uncle had dreamed of reading his entire life.
“He shouldn't have spent so much,” I murmured, running my fingertips over the embossed leather spines.
“The boss doesn't care about the money, Miss Emma,” Ray said softly, his eyes twinkling with warmth.
“He cares about the person who brought honor back to his family.”
Ray patted the counter affectionately.
“He’ll be here at seven to pick you up for dinner.”
My heart skipped a sudden, erratic beat.
“Dinner?”
May you like
Ray winked at me, tipping his cap as he turned toward the door.
“Dress warmly, child. He’s taking you somewhere special.”
