Chapter 7 - THE TRAIN TICKET
"Lily, open the door."
Marco’s voice was unnervingly calm.
My blood turned to ice. I stepped backward, clutching the faded train ticket in one hand and my own throat with the other.
"Where is Antonio?" I demanded, my voice shaking despite my desperate attempt to sound strong.
"There was an accident in the study," Marco lied smoothly. "He needs you. Open the door, or I'll break it down."
I looked at Evelyn. She pulled little Leo tighter against her chest, her jaw set with a fierce, maternal defiance. She shook her head at me.
Do not open it.
I grabbed the heavy brass lamp from the nightstand, my knuckles turning white.
"If Antonio is hurt, slide his bloodstained tie under the door!" I yelled back.
Silence fell over the hallway.
Then, Marco chuckled. A dark, hollow sound that made my skin crawl.
"You're smart for a maid," Marco said through the wood. "But smart people usually die first in this business."
Heavy footsteps receded down the hall. He was leaving to get something to break the door.
I dropped the lamp and rushed back to the bed, holding up the faded train ticket.
"Mrs. Caruso, you have to tell me what this means. You said you weren't home the night Vincenzo died?"
Evelyn’s breathing was shallow. She reached out and touched the date on the ticket.
October 14th, 1999.
"I... saw... them," she forced out, her voice raspy.
"Saw who?"
"Marco... and... Richard."
Dr. Richard Holland.
"The doctor?" I asked, my mind racing. "They were together the night Vincenzo died?"
Evelyn nodded, tears spilling onto her nightgown.
"Vincenzo... didn't... have... a... heart... attack."
The room spun.
For twenty-seven years, the Philadelphia underworld believed the great Vincenzo Caruso died naturally at his desk. Antonio had inherited the empire without a war because there was no one to avenge.
But he was murdered.
By his own secret son, and the family doctor.
"You knew," I whispered, horrified. "You knew they killed him, and you didn't tell Antonio?"
Evelyn sobbed, a broken, agonizing sound.
"To... save... Antonio."
It hit me like a physical blow.
If Antonio had known Marco murdered his father, Antonio would have gone to war. He would have killed Marco, or Marco would have killed him. Evelyn had swallowed her grief, lived in the same house as her husband’s murderer, and kept the secret for almost three decades just to keep her son alive.
She had sacrificed her own soul to protect her boy.
"We have to get out of here," I said, grabbing Leo’s tiny shoes.
"Where's Uncle Tony?" Leo whimpered, his bottom lip trembling.
"He's coming, sweetie, but we need to hide," I promised.
I rushed to the heavy oak wardrobe in the corner of the room. It was built into the wall. I opened the doors, pushing aside Evelyn’s dresses.
"In here," I told them. "Both of you. Don't make a sound."
I helped Evelyn up. She was weak, her legs shaking, but fear gave her strength. She climbed into the darkness of the wardrobe, pulling Leo onto her lap.
"Lily," Evelyn whispered, grabbing my wrist before I closed the doors. "The... ticket."
"I have it," I said, shoving it into my apron pocket.
"Give... it... to... Antonio."
"I will."
I shut the wardrobe doors just as a deafening CRASH splintered the bedroom door.
Wood splintered inward.
Marco kicked the door again, tearing the deadbolt from the frame.
He stepped into the room, holding a suppressed pistol.
"End of the line, little bird," he said, his eyes scanning the empty bed.
He saw the poured-out water in the bathroom sink. He saw the empty room.
Then he looked directly at the wardrobe.
"You really think a wooden box is going to stop me?" Marco sneered, raising his gun.
He took a step toward the closet.
I didn't think. I threw myself at him.
I slammed into his back, wrapping my arms around his neck, screaming.
Marco grunted, staggering forward. He swung an elbow backward, catching me in the ribs. Pain exploded in my chest, and I fell to the floor, gasping for air.
Marco turned around, pointing the gun at my head.
"I warned you about snooping," he said softly.
He placed his finger on the trigger.
Suddenly, the shattered bedroom doorway filled with a massive, terrifying shadow.
Antonio stood there.
His white shirt was torn. His knuckles were bruised and bleeding. In his right hand, he held Bianca by her hair.
She was sobbing, her hands tied with a silk tie.
Antonio looked at Marco. Then he looked at the gun pointed at me.
"Put it down, brother," Antonio said.
The word echoed in the silence.
Brother.
May you like
Marco froze, his eyes widening.
He knew.
