Chapter 5 - THE BURNER PHONE
The air in the pawn shop turned to ice.
Marcus Bellini stood casually by the door, blocking the only exit with three of his heaviest hitters. The silver scar on his neck stood out starkly against his dark suit, a physical reminder of the brutal reputation he carried in Chicago’s underworld.
“You killed her,” Luca said. The words weren’t a question; they were a death sentence.
Marcus chuckled, a dry, scraping sound. He raised his suppressed pistol, aiming it lazily at Luca’s chest.
“I fixed a problem, Luca,” Marcus said smoothly. “Isabella was a liability. She was packing her bags to run to New York with your heir. We couldn’t have the Moretti bloodline raised outside of Chicago. Arthur needed you focused here, marrying my sister, merging our families. Isabella was in the way.”
Emily stood frozen behind Luca’s broad shoulder. Her breath hitched in her throat. These men were going to kill them right here in the dingy shop.
Luca didn’t reach for a weapon. He stood perfectly still, his dark eyes burning with a murderous, terrifying calm.
“You think you can shoot me in broad daylight, Marcus?” Luca asked softly.
“This is Bellini territory,” Marcus sneered. “The cops in this precinct look the other way when I sneeze. We’ll roll you up in a carpet and dump you in the same river we put your wife in.”
Marcus took a step forward, his finger tightening on the trigger.
“Kill the maid, too. No witnesses.”
Emily closed her eyes, bracing for the impact.
But Luca didn’t wait to die.
In a fraction of a second, Luca grabbed the heavy brass cash register sitting on the counter and hurled it directly at Marcus’s head.
The heavy machine smashed into Marcus, knocking him backward into his men. The pistol fired wildly, the suppressed bullet shattering the bulletproof glass behind the counter. Vinnie the pawnbroker screamed, diving to the floor.
“Run!” Luca roared, grabbing Emily’s arm.
He didn’t run for the front door. He pulled Emily over the shattered counter and kicked open the flimsy wooden door leading to the back alley.
They burst out into the freezing Chicago wind, sprinting down the narrow, trash-filled alleyway. Heavy footsteps and furious shouting echoed behind them.
“Get them!” Marcus yelled from inside the shop.
Luca pulled Emily behind a rusted dumpster just as two of the hitmen burst out the back door, guns raised.
Luca drew his own weapon—a sleek black handgun—and fired twice. The deafening cracks echoed off the brick walls. The first hitman cried out, dropping his gun as a bullet tore through his shoulder. The second dove for cover.
“Keep moving!” Luca commanded, shoving Emily toward the busy main street at the end of the alley.
They burst onto the crowded sidewalk, blending instantly into a sea of pedestrians. The hitmen wouldn’t risk an open shootout on a crowded avenue.
Luca flagged down a passing yellow cab, shoved Emily inside, and slid in right behind her.
“Just drive. North,” Luca barked at the terrified driver, tossing a hundred-dollar bill over the seat.
The cab tore away from the curb.
Emily collapsed against the vinyl seat, gasping for air, her entire body shaking violently. She looked at Luca. He was staring out the window, his chest heaving, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated grief and rage.
“They murdered her,” Luca whispered, running a hand through his dark hair. “They murdered the mother of my child so Vanessa could take her place. I brought the people who killed my wife into my home.”
Emily gently reached out, placing a trembling hand on his arm.
“Mr. Moretti,” Emily said softly, trying to ground him. “Isabella knew they were coming. She left the pawn ticket in the safety deposit box on purpose. She wanted you to find it. But… why the crucifix?”
Luca frowned, turning to look at her. “What do you mean?”
“She put the family heirloom in the box,” Emily reasoned, her sharp mind working through the panic. “But she pawned the bracelet for cash. If she had cash, she could buy things without you tracking her credit cards. What would a woman on the run need immediately?”
Luca stared at her, the realization dawning. “A burner phone.”
“Yes,” Emily nodded frantically. “She needed a way to communicate without Arthur or Vanessa listening. If she bought a phone, she made calls. We need to find out who she was talking to before she died.”
Luca pulled his own cell phone from his pocket, dialing a number quickly.
“Vinnie,” Luca growled into the phone. The pawnbroker must have answered, terrified. “Listen to me carefully. Isabella Moretti pawned that bracelet for three thousand dollars cash. I want to know exactly what store she walked into next. You have cameras on your street. Pull the tape, or I will come back and finish what Marcus started.”
Luca hung up, his jaw set in a hard line.
Ten minutes later, the cab dropped them off near the Navy Pier, far from Bellini territory. Luca’s phone buzzed with a text message.
He opened it, reading the message from Vinnie.
“A convenience store two doors down,” Luca read aloud. “She bought a prepaid cell phone. Vinnie bribed the clerk for the receipt copy.”
Luca stared at the photo of the receipt on his phone screen.
“We have the phone number,” Luca said, his eyes narrowing. He forwarded the picture to his head of security. “Trace this number. Find out every call it made on the day Isabella died.”
They sat in silence on a cold park bench, staring out at the grey, churning waters of Lake Michigan. The waiting was agonizing. Emily hugged her coat tightly around herself, worried sick about Lily back at the estate.
Finally, Luca’s phone rang.
He answered it, putting it on speaker so Emily could hear.
“Boss, I got the trace,” the gruff voice of his security chief echoed. “The burner phone was active for exactly four hours. It made three outgoing calls. All to the same number.”
“Whose number was it?” Luca demanded.
“It belongs to a landline in an old hunting cabin in Wisconsin, sir. The property is registered to a shell company.”
“Who owns the shell company?”
The security chief hesitated. “Boss… it’s registered to your uncle. Carlo Moretti.”
Luca went completely still.
Emily gasped. Carlo Moretti. Luca’s father’s brother. The man who had practically raised Luca, the man who had been sitting at the dinner table the night before, celebrating Luca’s engagement to Vanessa.
“Why would Isabella be calling my uncle while she was running from the Bellinis?” Luca whispered, the betrayal slicing deeper than he thought possible.
“There’s something else, boss,” the security chief said softly. “I pulled the GPS ping from the burner phone’s final location before it was destroyed.”
“Where was it?”
“It wasn’t on the highway where her car crashed, sir.”
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Luca frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The phone’s final ping was inside the Bellini estate,” the chief said. “Isabella didn’t die on the highway, Luca. They killed her in Vanessa’s house, and dumped the car later.”
