Chapter 4 - THE ROSARY BEADS IN THE WRONG DRAWER
The SUV tore through the industrial district, the streetlights flashing like strobe lights against the windows.
Vincent was loading a heavy black pistol. The metallic clicks echoed in the quiet car.
“Stay in the car when we arrive,” he ordered, not looking up.
“My brother is in there,” I argued. “I’m not sitting in the car.”
“Tessa, these men work for my uncle. They will not hesitate to put a bullet in you.”
The car screeched to a halt outside a rusted, decaying fish warehouse. The smell of salt and old iron filled the air.
Vincent and two of his guards moved silently toward the side door. I didn't listen. I slipped out of the SUV, keeping to the shadows of the shipping containers.
I crept toward a broken, ground-level window. Inside, the warehouse was dimly lit by a single bulb.
My brother Danny was tied to a chair, a nasty bruise blooming on his cheek. Next to him, shivering in a thin jacket, was the little boy from Camille’s locket.
But it was the man standing in front of them that made my stomach drop.
It wasn’t Vincent’s uncle.
It was Mrs. Russo’s private nurse. The man who came to the house every morning to check her blood pressure.
He was holding a set of wooden rosary beads. I recognized them instantly. They belonged to Mrs. Russo. She kept them in her bedside drawer.
“The boss wants this wrapped up before midnight,” the nurse said into a burner phone. “The girl’s brother is bait. When Tessa shows up, we finish them both. And the kid gets shipped out.”
He hung up and wrapped the rosary around his knuckles.
I had to do something. I looked around the dirt and found a heavy iron pipe.
Just as I grabbed it, a hand clamped tightly over my mouth from behind.
I thrashed, kicking back, but the grip was like steel.
“Quiet,” a familiar voice breathed into my ear.
It was Camille.
She was no longer in her red gown. She wore dark jeans, a black hoodie, and a bruised face.
She pulled me down behind the dumpster.
“How did you get here?” I whispered, terrified.
“I’ve been tracking my son for two years,” she said, tears cutting through the dirt on her cheeks. “Vincent’s uncle didn't take him. Mrs. Russo did.”
I stared at her, my mind spinning. “What? That’s impossible.”
“Look closely at the rosary,” Camille whispered.
I peeked over the dumpster. The nurse stepped into the light.
The crucifix on the rosary was missing. It had been replaced by a small, silver mafia crest. The crest of Mrs. Russo’s maiden family.
“She isn’t the sweet old lady you think she is, Tessa,” Camille said. “She’s the one running the family.”
Suddenly, the warehouse door kicked open. Vincent walked in, his gun raised.
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“Drop it!” Vincent shouted at the nurse.
The nurse just smiled. “Your mother said you’d be predictable, Vincent.”
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