Chapter 2 - The Elevator That Saved My Life
I SLAMMED THE EMERGENCY STOP BUTTON INSIDE A MAFIA BOSS’S PRIVATE ELEVATOR—THEN BEGGED HIM NOT TO OPEN THE DOORS FOR THE MAN WHO HAD JUST PROMISED TO MAKE ME DISAPPEAR.
The first time I met Vincent Russo, I trapped him inside an elevator.
The second thing I did was grab his hand.
“Please,” I whispered. “Don't let him take me.”
Three enormous men stood behind him.
One immediately reached inside his jacket.
Vincent raised two fingers.
The man stopped.
Then Vincent looked down at me.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing an expensive black suit with no tie. Tattoos climbed his neck and covered the hand I was desperately holding.
His dark eyes moved from my trembling fingers to my face.
“Who are you?”
“Emma.”
“Emma what?”
“Parker.”
He glanced at the emergency button.
“Emma Parker, why have you stopped my elevator?”
Before I could answer, someone started pounding on the doors.
“EMMA!”
My entire body went cold.
Vincent felt my hand tighten.
He looked toward the doors.
“Who's that?”
I could barely speak.
“My brother-in-law.”
Twenty minutes earlier, I had been perfectly happy.
Or at least I'd been pretending to be.
I'd spent the evening serving champagne at the Grand Meridian Hotel, where Chicago's wealthiest families were attending a charity dinner.
I was twenty-nine.
A waitress.
A woman who had spent the last eighteen months trying to hold herself together after losing her older sister.
Rebecca had been thirty-six when she died.
A sudden heart attack, they told us.
No warning.
No chance to say goodbye.
Her husband, Daniel Mercer, had handled everything.
The funeral.
The hospital bills.
Even the sale of her little flower shop.
He'd told me Rebecca wanted it that way.
I'd believed him.
Until tonight.
I was carrying a tray through the private dining room when I heard Daniel speaking to another man.
“She was never supposed to find out.”
I stopped.
The other man laughed.
“What about the younger sister?”
Daniel answered without hesitation.
“Emma's harmless. She still thinks Rebecca died naturally.”
My tray slipped.
A champagne glass shattered.
Daniel turned.
And the moment our eyes met, I knew.
My sister's death wasn't the tragedy he'd described.
It was a secret he'd been protecting.
The elevator shook slightly beneath my feet.
Outside, Daniel was still shouting.
“Emma, sweetheart! Open the doors!”
Vincent's expression changed.
“Sweetheart?”
I shook my head.
“He calls everyone that when he's trying to scare them.”
Vincent glanced at my wrist.
A red mark circled the skin where Daniel had grabbed me near the service hallway.
“Did he do that?”
I nodded.
Vincent's jaw tightened.
Then he did something I hadn't expected.
He gently pulled his hand away.
Not because he was rejecting me.
Because he wanted me to know I could let go.
“Emma, look at me.”
I raised my eyes.
“Do you want to go with him?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
My voice cracked.
“I'm terrified of him.”
Vincent turned toward his security chief.
“Marco. Get the doors open.”
My stomach dropped.
“No! Please!”
Vincent looked back at me.
“He isn't taking you anywhere.”
The elevator doors opened.
Daniel stood outside wearing a navy suit and the same charming smile he'd worn at my sister's funeral.
“Thank God.”
He stepped forward.
“Emma, honey, you've frightened everyone.”
I backed behind Vincent.
Daniel finally noticed who was standing there.
His smile faltered.
“Mr. Russo.”
Vincent said nothing.
Daniel cleared his throat.
“I'm terribly sorry. My sister-in-law has been struggling since her sister passed away.”
I felt sick.
“That's not true.”
“She gets confused,” Daniel continued gently. “Sometimes she imagines things.”
Vincent tilted his head.
“Does she?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Then explain why she's afraid of you.”
Daniel blinked.
“Excuse me?”
Vincent's voice remained quiet.
“She asked me not to let you near her. Why?”
Daniel's face tightened.
“This is a private family matter.”
Vincent stepped forward.
“Not anymore.”
For the first time that evening, Daniel stopped smiling.
“You have no idea who you're dealing with.”
Vincent looked almost bored.
“Neither do you.”
Then he nodded toward Marco.
“Escort him out.”
I didn't start crying until we reached Vincent's private dining room.
There was a warm fireplace.
A long table covered in white linen.
And a plate of food someone had quietly placed in front of me.
Vincent sat across from me.
“When did you last eat?”
I stared at my hands.
“Yesterday.”
He pushed the breadbasket closer.
“Start there.”
That kindness broke something inside me.
I covered my mouth.
“I'm sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“I don't even know you.”
“No,” he said. “You don't.”
“Then why are you helping me?”
Vincent was silent for a moment.
“Because I've seen frightened people before.”
His expression softened.
“And you looked more afraid of that man than you were of three armed strangers.”
I wiped my cheeks.
Then I told him everything.
Rebecca.
The funeral.
The flower shop.
The conversation I'd overheard.
Vincent listened without interrupting.
Until I mentioned Daniel's full name.
“Daniel Mercer?”
I nodded.
Vincent slowly set down his glass.
“Are you certain?”
“He married my sister eight years ago.”
Something dark crossed Vincent's face.
He turned toward Marco.
“Find out where Mercer went.”
Marco disappeared.
Vincent looked at me again.
“Emma, did Rebecca ever give you anything before she died?”
I hesitated.
“Her sewing box.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Anything inside it?”
I thought about the old wooden box sitting beneath my bed.
The needles.
The faded measuring tape.
And the tiny brass thimble Rebecca always kept wrapped in a yellow handkerchief.
“Just her sewing things.”
Vincent leaned forward.
“What color was the handkerchief?”
My heart began pounding.
“Yellow.”
He went completely still.
Then he whispered something under his breath.
“What?” I asked.
Before he could answer, Marco returned.
His face was pale.
“Boss. We found Mercer's car.”
Vincent stood.
“Where?”
“Underground garage.”
“And Mercer?”
Marco hesitated.
“He's gone.”
Vincent's expression hardened.
“Find him.”
Marco didn't move.
“Boss, there's something else.”
He held out a phone showing a security image.
A woman stood beside Daniel in the garage.
Silver-blonde hair.
A cream-colored coat.
Her face was turned directly toward the camera.
I stopped breathing.
I knew her.
I'd seen her almost every Sunday for eighteen months.
She'd held my hand at Rebecca's funeral.
She'd brought casseroles when I couldn't get out of bed.
She'd told me I needed to stop asking questions and move on.
“That's Margaret,” I whispered.
Vincent looked at me.
“Margaret who?”
“Margaret Ellis. My sister's best friend.”
Vincent stared at the photograph.
Then his expression changed so completely that I took a step backward.
“Emma,” he said slowly, “that woman isn't Margaret Ellis.”
My throat tightened.
“What?”
He looked at Marco.
“Call the house. Now.”
Marco was already dialing.
I grabbed Vincent's sleeve.
“Please. What's happening?”
He looked down at me.
And for the first time since I'd met him, the most frightening man in Chicago looked genuinely afraid.
“Emma, the woman in that photograph is my father's second wife.”
I stared at him.
“Your stepmother?”
Vincent nodded.
“But she's been missing for eleven years.”
My head spun.
“That doesn't make sense.”
Vincent gripped my shoulders gently.
“Listen carefully. Did Margaret ever come inside your apartment?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Every Sunday.”
His face drained.
“Did she ever ask about Rebecca's sewing box?”
My knees weakened.
Because suddenly I remembered something.
Three weeks before Rebecca died, she'd called me crying.
She'd made me promise never to let Daniel or Margaret touch that little wooden box.
I'd thought she was being sentimental.
Now Vincent was staring at me as though my answer might decide whether I lived through the night.
“Emma,” he whispered, “tell me you still have that yellow handkerchief.”
I nodded.
“Why?”
Vincent closed his eyes.
Then he said:
“Because eleven years ago, my father gave that handkerchief to the woman who betrayed our entire family.”
The room went silent.
I could barely breathe.
“Vincent... what does my sister have to do with your family?”
He didn't answer.
Instead, he looked at Marco.
“Get the car. We're going to her apartment.”
Then his phone rang.
An unknown number.
Vincent answered.
And a woman's voice filled the room.
“Don't bother looking for the sewing box, Vincent.”
I recognized the voice instantly.
Margaret.
She laughed softly.
“We already have it.”
Vincent's expression turned ice-cold.
Then Margaret said something that made my blood run cold.
“Ask Emma what her sister really did for us before she died.”
I looked at Vincent.
He was staring at me now.
Not with suspicion.
With something worse.
Recognition.
May you like
And when he finally told me why Rebecca had been working for his family in secret, I realized my sister hadn't left me that sewing box as a keepsake.
She'd left it because she knew they would come for me next...
