Chapter 4 - THE WOOL COAT
The realization hit the room like a physical blow. Paul Romano. Luca’s older brother. The man the city believed had drowned in the harbor half a decade ago.
“We have to move,” Luca ordered, his voice snapping the paralysis that had gripped us all. “Marcus, get the cars out front. We aren’t taking them to the safe house. Take us to the Grand Pier Hotel. The penthouse. Move!”
Within seconds, the restaurant was a blur of motion. I grabbed my tote bag, hoisting Lily onto my hip. She felt so heavy, but adrenaline pumped through my veins, masking the exhaustion of the fourteen-hour shift.
“Wait,” I said, grabbing Luca’s sleeve as he turned toward the door. “My apartment. If Paul is alive, if he’s looking for something David hid… everything I own is in that apartment.”
“Forget your things, Emily,” Luca said, pulling me toward the exit. “Your life is worth more than old furniture.”
“You don’t understand,” I pleaded, digging my heels into the tile floor. “Before David died, he was acting crazy. Paranoid. He spent hours sewing something into the lining of his old winter coat. A heavy, navy-blue wool coat. He told me it was extra insulation, but I knew he was lying. I kept the coat. It’s hanging in my front closet right now.”
Luca stopped dead. He looked at Marcus.
“If Paul forced the eviction to get her out of the apartment legally,” Luca reasoned rapidly, “he was planning to go in tonight to tear the place apart.”
“He won’t care about the eviction notice anymore,” Marcus warned. “He knows we spotted him. He’ll go in by force.”
“Get a team to her apartment right now,” Luca barked at the two men standing by the door. “Do not engage Paul if you see him. Just get the coat and get out.”
Ten minutes later, we were in the back of a bulletproof SUV, speeding through the icy streets of Boston. Lily had fallen asleep again, her head resting on Luca’s massive cashmere-clad shoulder. I watched him in the dim light of the streetlamps passing by. The feared mob boss, cradling a waitress’s daughter like she was spun glass.
“Why did he fake his death?” I asked, breaking the tense silence.
Luca stared out the window. “Paul was reckless. He ran up debts with the Moretti family—our rivals. My father refused to pay them. He told Paul to handle his own mess. A week later, my father was dead, the vault was empty, and Paul’s boat was found smashed against the rocks. We assumed the Morettis killed them both. But if Paul is alive… he orchestrated the whole thing. He used your husband to steal the money and take the fall.”
We pulled into the underground garage of the Grand Pier Hotel. A private elevator took us directly to the penthouse, a sprawling suite of marble, glass, and leather. It was breathtaking, but I felt entirely hollow.
Luca set Lily down gently on a massive king-sized bed in the guest room, pulling a thick duvet over her.
I walked out to the living room, wrapping my arms around myself. I felt so stupid. I had mourned David for two years. I had starved to keep a roof over his daughter’s head, believing he was a victim of a tragic accident. But he had been wrapped up in the city’s darkest underworld.
“Emily,” Luca called out softly from the living room.
I walked out to find him standing in front of a massive flat-screen television. The volume was muted, but the images flashing across the screen made my stomach drop into a bottomless pit.
“Breaking News,” the banner at the bottom read.
On the screen, a massive fire raged through a brick building. Flames licked the night sky, thick black smoke billowing out of shattered windows. Firetrucks surrounded the block, spraying water that seemed to do nothing against the inferno.
It was my building. My apartment was on the third floor. The flames were pouring directly out of what used to be Lily’s bedroom.
“Paul didn’t bother searching it,” Luca said grimly. “He just burned the evidence.”
I sank to my knees on the plush carpet, burying my face in my hands. Everything was gone. Her baby clothes, my wedding photos, the last few dollars I had saved in a jar under the sink. We truly had nothing left.
May you like
The penthouse door chimed, and Marcus rushed in. He smelled faintly of smoke and gasoline.
He was breathing hard, but in his hands, he held a soot-covered, navy-blue wool coat.
