Chapter 10 - The Gold Key
I stared at the gold key resting heavily in the palm of my hand.
It was an antique safe deposit key, embossed with the double-eagle crest of the Lucchese family. The same men who had offered us "safe passage" out of the chapel three weeks ago were now calling in their claim.
"They think they own him," Vincent said, his voice dropping into the dangerous, low register I hadn’t heard since Chicago. He took the note from my hand, his eyes scanning Matteo Lucchese’s signature. "They think because Richard is gone, they can just step in and take Anthony."
"They're the most powerful syndicate on the East Coast," my mother whispered, her face pale. "Matteo doesn't make empty threats, Vincent. If he says he's expecting Anthony in New York next week, he means it."
I looked out the window. Anthony was still down by the lake, tossing a stick for a stray dog he’d befriended. He looked so carefree. So normal.
"He's not going," I said, my voice hardening. "I didn't burn down one empire just to hand my son over to another."
Vincent walked to the fireplace and tossed the threatening note into the flames. "We need to find out what this key opens. If Matteo sent it, it's not a gift. It's a leash."
I looked at the postmark on the envelope. "It was mailed from a private bank in Seattle. That's only a four-hour drive from here."
"I'll go," Vincent said, grabbing his coat.
"You're still healing," I argued, pointing to his sling. "I'll go with you."
We left Anthony at the cabin with my mother, making up an excuse about meeting with lawyers to finalize the seizure of the Chicago assets.
The drive to Seattle was tense. We were free from my father, but the shadow of New York loomed over us like a thundercloud.
The bank was a discreet, high-end establishment that catered to clients who valued absolute anonymity. The vault manager didn't ask for identification; he simply looked at the gold key, nodded, and escorted us into the subterranean vault.
He left us alone in a small, windowless viewing room with a long metal lockbox.
Vincent used his good arm to turn the key. The box clicked open.
Inside was a single, thick leather folder.
I opened it.
The first page was a property deed. But it wasn't for a house.
"It's the deed to the Port of Seattle," Vincent muttered, reading over my shoulder. "One of the largest shipping hubs on the West Coast."
I flipped the page. There were incorporation documents, holding company registrations, and offshore account balances totaling over a billion dollars.
And at the bottom of every single document, waiting for a signature, was the name: Anthony Lucchese.
"It's an empire," I whispered in horror. "Matteo didn't just send a threat. He sent a dowry. He's trying to buy Anthony's loyalty by making him a king on his eighteenth birthday."
Vincent's jaw clenched. "Matteo is expanding. He wants the West Coast, and he’s using Anthony’s bloodline to legitimize the takeover. If Anthony signs these papers, he becomes the most powerful boss west of the Mississippi."
"We destroy them," I said, reaching to tear the documents in half.
Vincent stopped my hand.
"If we destroy them, Matteo will assume we are declaring war," Vincent warned. "He will send his hitmen to the cabin. We won't survive a war with New York, Evelyn."
"Then what do we do?" I cried, the desperation clawing at my throat.
Vincent stared at the documents, his eyes narrowing as the old tactical brilliance of the Chicago boss flared back to life.
"We don't destroy them," Vincent said slowly. "We sign them."
I looked at him like he was insane. "Are you out of your mind? You want to put my son at the head of a cartel?"
"No," Vincent said, pulling a pen from his pocket. "I want to put myself at the head of it."
He flipped to the signature page.
"Under syndicate law, a father can claim a proxy over an underage heir's assets," Vincent explained, writing furiously. "Anthony doesn't turn eighteen until next week. Until then, I am his legal guardian."
He signed his name with a flourish.
"Matteo wants a West Coast boss?" Vincent smiled grimly. "He just got one."
Suddenly, my cell phone rang. The shrill noise echoed loudly in the quiet vault.
It was my mother.
I answered it immediately. "Mom? Is everything okay?"
"Evelyn," my mother gasped, her voice trembling with sheer terror. "They're here."
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"Who is there?" I demanded, my blood running cold.
"Matteo's men," she cried. "They didn't wait for his birthday. They broke into the cabin. They took Anthony."
