The Man In The Black Car

The dining room went completely silent.

Vanessa’s hand dropped to her side. The red silk of her dress seemed to lose its shine under the heavy crystal chandelier. She stared at Luca, her eyes wide, completely unaccustomed to being questioned in front of his capos.

“It’s a temporary replacement,” Vanessa said. Her voice was tight, stripped of its usual honeyed warmth. “Ray has been making mistakes all week. I took the initiative.”

Luca didn’t look at her. He looked at me.

“Nora,” he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Where is the car parked?”

“Under the east portico, sir,” I answered, keeping my hands folded over my apron so no one would see them trembling. “Facing the gates.”

Luca stood up. He didn’t excuse himself to his guests. He simply walked past the long oak table, his heavy footsteps echoing against the hardwood floor.

Vanessa hurried after him, her heels clicking sharply. “Luca, you can’t just walk out in the middle of a meeting over a driver. This is humiliating.”

He stopped in the grand foyer. The front doors were massive mahogany, flanked by two armed guards. Luca turned to look at his fiancée.

“You fired a man who has saved my life twice,” Luca said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Without my permission. And you left him sick in my kitchen.”

He looked over his shoulder. “Nora. Come with me.”

I swallowed hard. I was a housekeeper. I was supposed to be invisible. But when Luca Moretti gave an order, you didn’t hesitate. I followed him out into the cold October night.

The rain had just started to fall, misting the cobblestone driveway. Under the warm yellow glow of the east portico stood the black Mercedes. The engine was running.

A man was sitting in the driver’s seat.

He wasn’t wearing the standard crisp black suit that Ray always wore. Even through the rain-streaked windshield, I could see the bulk of a heavy leather jacket.

Luca walked down the stone steps. The two guards from the door followed, their hands resting instinctively on their holsters. I stayed a few paces back, the cold wind cutting through my thin cotton uniform.

Luca tapped on the driver’s side window.

The man inside didn’t roll it down immediately. He stared straight ahead for three agonizing seconds. Then, the tinted glass slowly lowered.

“Mr. Moretti,” the man said. His voice was gravelly, relaxed. Too relaxed. “Miss Bellini said you’d be ready at eight.”

Luca leaned slightly, his dark eyes scanning the interior of the car. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Vance. Miss Bellini hired me through the agency.”

“Get out of the car,” Luca ordered.

Vance smiled. It was a cold, empty expression that made my stomach knot. “I think I’m more comfortable right here.”

The two guards beside Luca instantly drew their weapons, aiming them directly at the man’s head.

I stopped breathing. I had grown up in a rough neighborhood in Chicago, but I had never seen guns drawn in real life. The metallic clicks were the loudest sounds I had ever heard.

Vance raised his hands slowly, keeping them on the steering wheel. “No need to get jumpy. I’m just a driver.”

“You’re not a driver,” Luca said. “Your hands are calloused on the knuckles, not the palms. You’re a fighter. Now step out of the car, or my men will pull you through the glass.”

Vance’s smile faded. He slowly opened the door and stepped out into the rain. He was taller than Luca, broad-shouldered, and entirely unafraid.

“Empty your pockets,” Luca commanded.

Vance reached into his leather jacket. The guards tensed.

He didn’t pull out a gun. Instead, he pulled out a handful of items and tossed them onto the wet cobblestones. A pack of cigarettes. A lighter. A set of keys.

And a heavy, silver pocket watch.

It hit the ground with a sharp clink, the lid popping open upon impact.

My heart completely stopped.

I didn’t think. I broke the rules. I stepped forward, pushing past one of the armed guards, and fell to my knees on the wet pavement.

“Nora, get back!” Luca snapped.

I couldn’t hear him. I reached out with a shaking hand and picked up the watch. The silver was tarnished, heavily scratched on the back where a mechanic’s tools had scraped it over the years. Inside the lid, engraved in faded cursive, were the words: To Thomas. Forever.

It was my father’s watch.

He had lost it five years ago. He told me it fell down a storm drain.

I looked up at Vance, the rain plastering my hair to my face. “Where did you get this?”

Vance looked down at me, and that terrifying smile returned.

“Your old man didn’t drop it, Nora,” Vance said smoothly. “He traded it. Because he couldn’t pay what he owed.”

Luca looked at me, then at Vance. “Who do you work for?”

Vance laughed. “You’re asking the wrong question, Moretti.”

He looked toward the dark windows of the second floor of the mansion.