Chapter 3 - THE POCKET WATCH IN THE VAULT
“Mia is sixteen years old!” Rachel screamed, struggling to stand. “She doesn't know anyone in New York!”
“She’s running from him,” Sarah spat, pointing at Anthony. “And she took the evidence with her.”
Luca’s expression turned completely lethal.
He didn't yell. He simply raised his hand.
Every exit in the ballroom was immediately blocked by men in dark suits. The wealthy guests shrank back against the walls in terrified silence.
“Nobody leaves,” Luca announced.
He walked slowly toward Anthony.
Anthony was sweating through his thousand-dollar suit. “Luca, please. The girl is confused. She stole a file from my home office. It’s just old business documents—”
“What was in the file, Anthony?”
“Nothing! Just tax records!”
Rachel pulled away from me. She dug into her scrub pockets and pulled out a heavy, tarnished gold pocket watch.
“Is this what she found?” Rachel asked, her voice shaking with rage.
Anthony’s eyes widened in sheer terror.
Luca stopped. He stared at the watch in Rachel’s hand.
“Where did you get that?” Luca demanded.
“I found it in the laundry this morning,” Rachel said. “It was in Anthony’s coat pocket. Mia must have taken the papers, but she left this behind.”
She handed it to Luca.
Luca pressed the button on top. The watch popped open.
There was no clock inside. It was hollowed out. And tucked inside the small metal casing was a tiny brass key.
I gasped.
Luca’s head snapped toward me. “Emily. Do you know what this is?”
I stepped back, terrified. Carmela was glaring at me, her eyes promising retaliation if I spoke.
But I looked at Rachel. Her whole life was falling apart in this room.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered. “That’s the key to the private basement vault. The one Mrs. Carmela ordered me to stop cleaning last month.”
Carmela’s face drained of all color.
“You lying little rat!” Carmela screamed, lunging at me.
Luca stepped between us, his massive frame blocking her completely.
“Carmela,” Luca said, his voice laced with pure venom. “What is in my basement vault?”
Carmela began to cry. “Luca, I was just trying to help Anthony! He owed the Russians money!”
“So you let him use my vault?” Luca roared.
He turned to his guards. “Take Anthony downstairs. Open the vault. If there is a single dime of syndicate money missing, break both of his legs.”
The guards grabbed Anthony. He screamed, begging for mercy, as they dragged him out of the ballroom.
Sarah tried to run, but a guard blocked the door.
Rachel stood in the center of the room, completely broken. Her husband of twenty-three years hadn't just cheated on her with her sister; he had used their home to launder stolen mafia money, forcing their teenage daughter to flee for her life.
Luca turned to me.
“Emily,” he said gently. “You know this house better than anyone. If Mia was running from Anthony, where would she hide the papers before getting on that train?”
I thought about it.
“She wouldn't take them on the train, sir. They’d search her bags if Anthony called the cops.”
“Then where are they?”
I looked at Sarah’s designer purse.
“She mailed them,” I said.
Sarah went rigid.
I walked over to Sarah and snatched her purse. I dumped it on the banquet table.
Out fell her phone, a tube of lipstick, and a crumpled post-office receipt.
Luca picked up the receipt. He read the tracking number.
May you like
And his face turned pale.
“She didn't mail them to New York,” Luca whispered. “She mailed them to the FBI.”
