Chapter 11 - A CHILD'S DRAWING ON THE MAFIA DESK
I picked up the drawing. My hands were shaking so badly the paper rattled.
I recognized it. I had drawn this when I was six years old. It was supposed to be me, my dad, and my mom in heaven.
But why was her face scratched out?
Vincent walked into the kitchen, scanning the room. His eyes landed on a heavy steel lockbox on my father’s workbench in the corner. The box had been pried open.
“What did he keep in there?” Vincent asked.
“Birth certificates. Tax returns. Boring stuff,” I stammered, still staring at the drawing.
Vincent walked over and looked inside the open box. He pulled out a thick stack of faded letters.
He untied the string holding them together and opened the top envelope.
As he read, his dark eyes widened. He looked at me, a profound sadness settling over his face.
“Tessa,” he said gently. “Your father didn't hide you from my family to protect you.”
“What do you mean?”
Vincent handed me the letter. It was dated 1999. A year after my mother died.
Dear Thomas, the letter read. The payment for this month is enclosed. Keep the girl out of the city. As long as she doesn't know who her real mother is, the money will continue. — Eleanor Russo.
I read the words three times before they made sense.
“My dad was blackmailed?” I asked.
“No,” Vincent said softly. “He was on the payroll.”
My chest caved in. My kind, hardworking father. The man who worked double shifts to buy me school shoes. He had been accepting blood money from the woman who murdered his wife?
“Why would he do that?” I cried.
“Look at the bottom of the letter,” Vincent pointed.
I scrolled my eyes down to the postscript.
If she ever finds out that you were the one who poisoned Margaret’s tea that night, I will personally see you burn.
The paper slipped from my fingers and drifted to the kitchen floor.
My father didn't protect me from the monster.
My father was the monster.
Mrs. Russo hadn’t poisoned my mother. She had just paid my father to do it. He killed his own wife because he found out she was leaving him for a mafia boss.
“He knew I was getting close to the truth by working at the mansion,” I whispered, realizing everything at once. “He put the watch in my room tonight. He wanted to point the finger at your uncle so he could escape.”
Vincent’s phone suddenly buzzed.
It was Camille.
“Vincent,” her voice was frantic over the speaker. “The guards at the gate just got knocked out. A truck rammed the barrier. Someone is in the mansion.”
Vincent grabbed his gun. “Where are you?”
“In the panic room with Leo,” she said. “But they aren't looking for me. They’re heading for the basement. To your mother’s holding cell.”
Vincent looked at me.
May you like
My father wasn't running away.
He was going to silence the only witness left.
