Chapter 7 - THE VINTAGE COAT
The police station was freezing, smelling of stale coffee and industrial bleach.
Madison sat wrapped in a silver emergency blanket on a hard plastic chair, staring blankly at the floor. David sat beside her, holding her hand. She wasn't pulling away anymore, but she wasn't squeezing back, either.
The trauma of the night had shattered them both.
I stood by the window, watching the sun begin to rise over the Chicago skyline. It was Thursday morning.
The wedding was supposed to be in forty-eight hours.
Luca had been in interrogation for three hours. They wouldn't let us see him. They wouldn't let Madison speak to a lawyer on his behalf.
“The coat.”
Luca’s silent command echoed in my head.
He had to be talking about the vintage wool coat hanging in his private study. It was Julia’s coat, the one she wore on their first date. He had kept it preserved in a glass garment bag in the back of his closet.
I turned to Madison. “I need to go back to the house.”
Madison looked up, her eyes hollow. “The police have it locked down. They’re tearing it apart looking for evidence.”
“I have my staff keys. I know how to get in through the cellar,” I said quietly. “Your dad left me a message before they took him. There’s something at the house that can prove he’s innocent.”
David stood up. “I’ll come with you. You shouldn't go alone.”
“No,” I said firmly. “You need to stay with her. If the Rossi family really planted a bomb at the church, they might be watching the precinct right now to see if we run.”
David nodded, looking fiercely protective of Madison. “I won't let anyone near her.”
I slipped out of the precinct and caught a cab back to the Gold Coast.
The Moretti mansion was swarming with crime scene investigators, but they were concentrated on the front of the property. I slipped through the tall hedges in the back and used the old prohibition-era coal chute to drop into the cellar.
The house was eerily silent from below. I crept up the servants’ stairs, avoiding the main hallways, until I reached Luca’s study.
The room had been tossed. Drawers pulled out, books thrown off the shelves.
But the closet door remained shut.
I opened it and pushed past his rows of expensive Italian suits until I found the plastic garment bag at the very back.
Inside was Julia’s dark green vintage wool coat.
My hands shook as I unzipped the bag. I patted the pockets.
Nothing in the left.
I reached into the right pocket. My fingers brushed against something hard and metallic.
I pulled it out.
It was a small digital voice recorder, old and slightly scratched.
I pressed the play button.
Static filled the quiet closet, followed by a voice that made my heart stop.
It was Julia. But she wasn't talking to Luca.
She was talking to Vanessa.
“You think I don't know who you are?” Julia’s recorded voice was fierce, trembling with rage. “I know your father works for the Rossis in New York. I know you’re trying to set Luca up for the harbor shipments.”
Vanessa’s voice came next, dripping with venom. “You’re a smart girl, Julia. Too bad you’re married to a dead man. When the Feds raid this house, they’ll find the weapons in his basement. Your husband is going away for life.”
“I won't let you do it,” Julia snapped. “I’m moving the crates tonight.”
“If you do that,” Vanessa warned, “you’ll be driving a very dangerous car on a very icy bridge. Accidents happen, Julia.”
The recording clicked off.
I stood in the closet, completely paralyzed.
Richard hadn't killed Julia.
Vanessa did.
Vanessa’s family had planted the weapons in Luca’s basement years ago to frame him for the rival mob. Julia found out, tried to move the evidence to save her husband, and Vanessa had her killed—then paid Richard to claim credit for it so the mafia wouldn't suspect a coup.
And now, Vanessa was trying to finish the job by marrying Luca, stealing his empire, and bombing Madison’s wedding.
I shoved the recorder into my pocket.
I had to get this to the police. I had to clear Luca’s name.
As I turned to leave the closet, I heard the study door creak open.
Heavy footsteps crossed the hardwood floor.
I held my breath, peering through the slats of the closet door.
It wasn't a police officer.
It was Vanessa.
She was wearing a sleek black trench coat, pulling on a pair of leather gloves. She walked directly to Luca’s desk and picked up a heavy brass lighter.
She was going to burn the study down to destroy any remaining evidence.
I stepped backward, but my heel caught the edge of a shoe box.
Thud.
Vanessa stopped. She turned slowly toward the closet.
She reached into her coat and pulled out a silver handgun with a long suppressor attached to the barrel.
“Who’s in there?” she asked softly.
May you like
I had nowhere to run.
She raised the gun and walked toward the closet doors.
