Chapter 2 - THE WEST ADDISON HOUSE
Luca didn’t wait for Vanessa to answer.
He didn’t look at the thirty wealthy guests sitting in his dining room.
He just turned and walked toward the grand staircase.
“Emma,” he said, his voice hard. “Bring Sal’s coat.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I picked up the dark wool driving coat from the cardboard box.
Vanessa grabbed my arm as I passed her.
Her fingers dug into my skin.
“If you leave with them, you’re fired,” she hissed.
I looked down at her hand.
Then at her perfectly manicured nails.
“I was hired by Mr. Moretti,” I said quietly. “Not you.”
I pulled my arm away and followed Luca.
Ten minutes later, we were in the back of the black sedan.
Sal was behind the wheel.
Nobody spoke.
The Chicago rain hit the windshield in heavy, rhythmic sheets.
Luca sat beside me, his jaw clenched, staring out the window.
He was still holding the tiny red mitten.
His thumb rubbed the cheap wool.
A billionaire mafia boss, a man who controlled half the shipping ports in the city, holding a toddler’s mitten like it was made of glass.
“Turn here,” Sal said quietly.
The car slowed.
We pulled onto West Addison, a street lined with narrow, faded brick houses.
Sal parked in front of number 412.
The house was completely dark.
No porch light. No lamps in the windows.
Luca got out before the car even stopped.
I followed him up the cracked concrete walkway, the rain soaking through my thin uniform.
Luca didn’t knock.
He kicked the front door.
The lock snapped like a dry twig.
The door swung open into pitch blackness.
Luca reached into his tailored jacket and pulled out a sleek, black firearm.
My breath caught.
I had worked in his house for ten months, but I had never seen him hold a gun.
“Stay behind me,” he whispered.
We stepped inside.
The house smelled of damp carpet and cheap vanilla candles.
It was silent.
Luca found a light switch and flicked it on.
The living room was empty.
But it hadn’t been empty for long.
A half-eaten bowl of macaroni and cheese sat on the coffee table.
The television was still warm.
Drawers in the small kitchen were pulled open, contents spilled onto the linoleum floor.
Whoever lived here had left in a panic.
Luca walked down the narrow hallway.
He pushed open the first door.
A child’s bedroom.
A small twin bed with a superhero blanket.
Clothes were scattered everywhere, abandoned in a rush to pack.
Luca stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders rising and falling heavily.
I walked past him and picked up a piece of paper from the floor.
It was a child’s drawing.
Crayon on construction paper.
A woman with blonde hair, wearing a red dress.
Vanessa.
Next to her was a little boy with dark hair.
But it was the words written in jagged, childish letters at the top that made my blood run cold.
Mommy and Uncle Leo.
I stared at the paper.
Luca’s younger brother was named Leo.
He had died in a car crash four years ago.
Before he died, Leo had been engaged to a woman he met in college.
A woman nobody in the family approved of.
A woman with blonde hair.
Vanessa.
I looked up at Luca.
He was staring at a framed photograph sitting on the child’s nightstand.
He picked it up.
His hand started to shake.
I walked over.
It was a picture of Vanessa, younger, her hair pulled back.
She was holding a newborn baby in a hospital bed.
Standing next to her, looking down at the child with absolute love, was Leo Moretti.
Luca’s dead brother.
Luca lowered the photograph.
“She didn’t have a child in secret,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “She had my brother’s son.”
He looked at me.
“She’s been hiding my nephew for four years.”
The front door slammed shut.
Luca spun around, raising his weapon.
Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Sal appeared in the doorway, out of breath.
“Mr. Moretti,” the old man gasped.
“What is it?”
Sal held out his hand.
In his palm was a heavy, silver pocket watch.
The glass was cracked.
“I found this on the porch,” Sal said.
Luca went perfectly still.
The gun slowly lowered to his side.
“That’s impossible,” Luca said.
“I know,” Sal whispered.
I looked at the watch.
“Whose is it?” I asked.
Luca took the watch from Sal’s shaking hand.
He flipped it over.
Engraved on the back were three initials.
A. V. M.
Antonio Vincenzo Moretti.
Luca’s father.
“I buried him with this watch five years ago,” Luca said softly.
He snapped the watch open.
Inside, tucked behind the cracked glass, was a tiny, folded piece of paper.
Luca pulled it out and unfolded it.
May you like
It was a ransom note.
We have the boy. Bring the ledger to the warehouse, or he dies just like your brother did.
