Chapter 4 - THE PAWN TICKET
The small, cramped bedroom in the servant’s quarters felt suffocatingly tight.
Luca stared at the yellowed train ticket, the weight of a three-year-old lie crushing the air from his lungs. Isabella’s death hadn’t been an accident. She had been running. And she had been hunted.
“Who would intercept her?” Emily asked, her voice a fragile whisper. “Who knew she was leaving?”
“I don’t know,” Luca said, his voice turning hard and cold. He folded the ticket and slipped it into his pocket. “But Vanessa’s family is at the center of it. She dropped the bank key to taunt me, but she didn’t know this train ticket was still sewn into the lining. She missed it.”
He picked up the heavy wool coat, his eyes dark with a violent, brewing storm.
“I need to get into that safety deposit box at the Bellini Trust,” Luca said. “Whatever Isabella hid in there, it’s the reason she was killed.”
“But Mr. Moretti,” Emily protested, stepping forward, “Arthur Bellini owns that bank. If you walk in there tomorrow, he’ll have you arrested for trespassing, or worse. The engagement is broken. He promised war.”
Luca paused. He looked at Emily, his calculating gaze taking in her sharp, practical mind. She was right. He couldn’t walk into a Bellini stronghold. He was the most recognizable face in the Chicago syndicate.
“I can’t go,” Luca agreed softly. “But someone else can.”
He held out the small, tarnished silver key to Emily.
Emily stared at the metal object in his palm. Her heart hammered against her ribs. “Me?”
“Arthur Bellini doesn’t know your face,” Luca said, stepping closer. “The bank tellers won’t recognize a housemaid. You go in right when they open. You use the key, you empty the box, and you walk out. I’ll have my men stationed outside in unmarked cars. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
Emily looked at the key. She thought of the little girl sleeping upstairs, clutching a mended rabbit. She thought of the woman who had died terrified in a freezing river.
She reached out and took the key. “I’ll do it.”
The next morning, the Chicago wind was bitterly cold.
Emily stood on the marble steps of the Bellini Trust building downtown. She wore a simple beige trench coat over her civilian clothes, a pair of dark sunglasses hiding her eyes. She felt entirely out of place among the wealthy businessmen in tailored suits rushing through the revolving doors.
She took a deep breath and walked inside.
The bank was a fortress of polished brass and mahogany. She approached the front desk, keeping her head down, and slid the tarnished silver key across the marble counter to the impeccably dressed teller.
“I need to access a box,” Emily said, trying to keep her voice steady.
The teller barely glanced at her, taking the key and swiping it through a machine. “Name?”
“Isabella Rossi,” Emily lied, using Isabella’s maiden name as Luca had instructed.
The teller typed on his keyboard. A small green light blinked.
“Right this way, Miss Rossi.”
Emily followed the teller into the sterile, steel-lined vault room. The teller used a master key alongside Emily’s silver key to pop open a long, narrow metal box in the wall. He pulled it out, set it on a private viewing table, and left the room, closing the heavy door behind him.
Emily was alone.
Her hands shook as she lifted the lid of the box.
She expected to find stacks of cash, a hidden will, or maybe a diary exposing mafia secrets.
Instead, the box was almost entirely empty.
Resting on the velvet bottom was a single, small manila envelope.
Emily frowned. She picked up the envelope, opened the clasp, and tipped the contents onto the table.
Two objects slid out.
The first was a small, heavy gold crucifix necklace, inlaid with dark rubies. Emily gasped softly. She recognized it. It was a famous Moretti family heirloom, worn by Isabella in all the old photographs.
The second object was a crumpled, faded receipt from a pawn shop on the South Side of Chicago.
Emily stared at the receipt, her mind racing. Why would the wife of a billionaire mafia boss be pawning jewelry on the South Side?
She looked closely at the date printed on the receipt.
It was stamped 4:15 PM. On the exact day Isabella died.
She had pawned something hours before her car went into the river. But she hadn’t pawned the crucifix—that was right here in the box.
Emily quickly scooped the crucifix and the receipt back into the envelope, tucked it into her purse, and hurried out of the bank.
When she slid into the back of the unmarked black SUV waiting on the corner, Luca was already inside, his tension palpable.
“Did you get it?” Luca demanded.
Emily handed him the envelope. “It wasn’t documents, Mr. Moretti. It was this.”
Luca pulled out the gold crucifix. His breath hitched. He closed his eyes for a moment, the pain of memory washing over him. Then he looked at the pawn shop receipt.
His brow furrowed in deep confusion. “Vinnie’s Pawn. On 43rd street. Why was she down there?”
“She was pawning something for cash,” Emily suggested quietly. “If she was trying to run away on a train, she couldn’t use your credit cards. You would have tracked her.”
Luca’s eyes hardened. The logic was undeniable. “She needed untraceable cash.”
“But look at the bottom of the receipt,” Emily pointed.
Luca squinted at the faded ink. Printed below the total amount was a description of the pawned item: Ladies diamond tennis bracelet. Custom engraving.
Luca’s blood ran cold.
“I bought her that bracelet for our anniversary,” Luca whispered, staring at the paper. “But she was wearing it when they pulled her body from the car. The police gave it back to me. It’s sitting in my safe at home.”
Emily froze. “If she was wearing it when she died… what did she pawn at 4:15 PM?”
Luca didn’t answer. He slammed his hand against the partition separating them from the driver.
“Get us to 43rd street. Now.”
The pawn shop was a dingy, iron-barred storefront reeking of stale cigarette smoke and desperation. The man behind the bulletproof glass looked up as Luca and Emily walked in. He recognized Luca immediately, the blood draining from his face.
“Mr. Moretti,” the pawnbroker stammered, raising his hands. “I pay my protection on time, I swear—”
“I’m not here for your money, Vinnie,” Luca growled, slamming the receipt against the glass. “Three years ago, my wife came in here. She gave you a diamond bracelet. You gave her this receipt.”
Vinnie swallowed hard, eyeing the receipt. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember her. She was nervous. Looking over her shoulder the whole time.”
“If she gave you the bracelet,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a lethal octave, “why was it on her wrist when she died?”
Vinnie backed away from the glass. “I… I didn’t give it back to her, Mr. Moretti! I swear!”
“Then who did you give it to?!” Luca roared.
“A man came in an hour after she left!” Vinnie cried, terrified. “He threw a stack of cash at me and demanded the bracelet back! He said he was her brother-in-law!”
Luca went completely still. He had no brothers. Isabella was an only child.
“What did this man look like?” Luca demanded softly.
“Tall. Expensive suit. Silver hair,” Vinnie stammered. “And he had a nasty scar running down the side of his neck.”
Luca felt the floor drop out from beneath him.
He knew that scar. Every man in the Chicago syndicate knew that scar.
It belonged to Marcus Bellini. Vanessa’s older brother.
Emily watched the horrific realization spread across Luca’s face.
“Marcus Bellini followed her to the pawn shop,” Luca whispered, the pieces violently clicking into place. “He bought the bracelet back. And he put it back on her wrist after he ran her car off the bridge, to make it look like a tragic accident.”
Before Luca could process the betrayal, the front door of the pawn shop chimed open.
Three massive men in tailored suits stepped inside, blocking the only exit.
May you like
And walking in behind them, a cruel, mocking smile on his face, was Marcus Bellini.
“You’re a long way from home, Luca,” Marcus said, pulling a suppressed pistol from his jacket. “Vanessa said you’d start digging. She just didn’t realize how fast you’d find the dirt.”
