Chapter 3 - THE TICKET
The silence in the study was absolute. Emily stared at the photograph of her sister, Maya, feeling the walls closing in.
Santino’s dark eyes were fixed on her face, analyzing every micro-expression. He was waiting for her to break. He was waiting for a confession.
“I don't know what you mean,” Emily lied, her voice remarkably steady. She forced herself to look away from the photograph and meet his gaze. “It’s a tragic story, Mr. Ferrara. And the resemblance is… striking. But I assure you, my name is Emily Taylor.”
Santino didn't blink. “Maya was an only child.”
“Then it is a coincidence,” Emily said softly. “If you don't trust me, you can fire me.”
“Fire you?” Santino chuckled, but there was no warmth in the sound. “Miss Taylor, you just pulled me from the bottom of a pool while my own men watched. I don't trust you. But I am intensely fascinated by you. You’re not leaving this house.”
Before Emily could respond, the heavy oak doors swung open without a knock.
Rafe Lombardi, Santino’s chief of security, stepped into the room. He was a broad, muscular man with cold eyes and a freshly tailored suit.
“Boss,” Rafe said, glancing suspiciously at Emily. “Moretti is here. He’s demanding to speak about the new shipping routes.”
Santino’s expression instantly turned to stone. “Bring him to the conservatory.”
He looked at Emily. “You’re coming with me. Bring a notepad.”
Ten minutes later, Emily stood in the corner of the glass-walled conservatory, pretending to take notes. The room was filled with lush, exotic plants, but the air was suffocating.
Dominic Moretti, a rival port boss, paced the floor. He was red-faced and furious.
“You’re losing your grip, Santino,” Moretti spat. “Word on the docks is that your own sister is taking bids for your territory. You’re in that chair, and your men are looking for a new king.”
“My men answer to me,” Santino said coldly. He was back in his wheelchair, but he commanded the room with terrifying ease.
“Do they?” Moretti sneered. “Then why did my boys fish this out of the water near Pier 4 last night?”
Moretti reached into his coat and tossed something onto the glass patio table.
It landed with a heavy metallic clink.
Santino went pale. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Emily stepped forward, unable to stop herself. She looked down at the table.
It was a rusted, water-logged silver pocket watch.
“That’s Maya’s,” Santino whispered, the mask of the ruthless boss slipping for just a fraction of a second. “She had it with her the night she died.”
“Yeah,” Moretti said grimly. “And Pier 4 is three miles away from the cliff where she supposedly crashed her car. She didn't lose control of her car, Santino. She was run off the road, and whoever did it dumped the evidence on my docks to send a message.”
Moretti leaned down, looking Santino dead in the eye. “Someone in your house killed her, Santino. And they’re coming for you next. Clean up your mess, or I’ll clean it up for you.”
Moretti stormed out of the conservatory.
Santino stared at the watch. He looked utterly broken.
Emily slowly walked to the table. Her hands were shaking as she reached out and picked up the heavy silver watch. She pressed the release button. The face popped open.
Tucked inside the lid of the watch, folded into a tiny, damp square, was a piece of paper.
Emily carefully unfolded it. It was a baggage claim ticket from Providence Station. Dated three years ago. The exact night Maya died.
Santino looked up, seeing the paper in her hands. “What is that?”
Emily’s mind raced. Maya hadn't been driving aimlessly that night. She had been running away. And she had left something at the train station.
May you like
“It’s a ticket,” Emily said, her voice trembling. “Mr. Ferrara… I need to go to the station.”
Santino looked at her, his eyes narrowing. “We will go together.”
