Chapter 3 - THE BLOOD ON THE BLUE SILK
Luca stared at the note pinned to his mother’s blue silk dress.
He didn't scream. He didn't curse. He knelt beside Marco, checking the pulse at the massive man's neck.
"He's alive," Luca said, his voice cold and professional. "Blunt force trauma to the back of the head. She hit him with something heavy when he wasn't looking."
He stood up, putting his gun away, and pulled out his phone. "Lock down the estate. Lock down the city. Vanessa Bellini just assaulted my capo and ran. I want her found."
I stood in the doorway, my legs trembling so badly I thought I might collapse. I’m coming for her mother next.
"Mr. Moretti," I choked out, tears finally breaking free. "My mom... she’s alone at the apartment."
Luca hung up the phone and looked at me. The ruthless mafia boss who had just ordered a city-wide manhunt vanished for a fraction of a second, replaced by a man who understood the terror of losing a mother.
"Get in the car," Luca said, grabbing the blue silk dress and the note.
We didn't take the armored SUV with a driver. Luca took the keys to a matte-black sports car in the private garage. I barely had time to buckle my seatbelt before the engine roared and we shot out of the estate gates, tearing through the rainy Chicago night.
"Why would she go after my mom?" I asked, gripping the door handle. "If Vanessa stole your money and passports from the safe, why does she care about my mother?"
"Because three million dollars twenty years ago is worth ten times that now if it was invested," Luca said, his eyes glued to the slick road. "Vanessa isn't running away to hide. She’s running to collect."
Answer One: Vanessa didn’t just uncover a secret; she planned to steal the missing millions for herself to fund her escape.
"But we don't have it!" I cried. "We were drowning in debt! Why would my mother hide millions of dollars and let us live like that?"
Luca navigated a sharp turn, the tires screaming against the asphalt. "Maybe she didn't hide it for herself. Maybe she hid it from my father."
Open Two: If my mother stole the money but didn't spend it, where did it go?
We reached my apartment building in the South Side—a crumbling brick structure that always smelled of stale smoke and wet dog.
Luca drew his weapon again. "Stay behind me."
We ran up three flights of stairs. The hallway was empty. We reached apartment 3B.
The front door was wide open. The cheap lock had been splintered.
"Mom!" I screamed, pushing past Luca.
I ran into the small, cramped living room. Furniture was overturned. Drawers were pulled out and emptied onto the floor. The small sewing machine my mother used was smashed against the wall.
"Mom!" I yelled again, rushing into the single bedroom.
Empty.
I fell to my knees in the center of the wrecked living room, sobbing uncontrollably. Vanessa had beaten us here. She had taken her.
Luca walked through the apartment, his gun raised, checking every corner. He walked into the tiny kitchen.
"Claire," he called out softly.
I scrambled up and ran to the kitchen.
Luca was pointing at the small, peeling linoleum dining table.
Sitting in the center of the table was my mother’s old, wooden sewing box. It was open. But the spools of thread and needles were gone.
Instead, resting inside the box was a heavy, silver pocket watch.
I frowned, wiping my tears. "That's not my mother’s."
Luca picked it up. He turned it over in his hand. His face went entirely pale.
"It's my father's," Luca whispered. "He was wearing it the day he died. It went missing from his body before the coroner arrived."
Reversal: Vanessa didn't take my mother. Vanessa didn't have the pocket watch. Someone else had beaten both of us here.
"I don't understand," I stammered.
Luca clicked the top button of the watch. The silver lid popped open.
Inside the lid, engraved into the metal, was a message.
The sins of the father are paid by the son.
Beneath the watch lay a single, crisp business card. Black cardstock with silver lettering.
Luca picked it up, and the color drained from his face even further.
"It wasn't Vanessa who took your mother," Luca said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, hollow whisper.
"Then who?" I begged.
"The Chicago syndicate has a rival," Luca explained, staring at the card. "A family my father nearly wiped out twenty years ago. The Romanovs."
He looked at me, the gravity of the situation crashing down on us both.
"They didn't just take your mother, Claire. They took her because twenty years ago, she didn't steal three million dollars from my father."
Luca closed the pocket watch.
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TITLE: The Price of a Life
