Chapter 3 - THE BROKEN CLASP AND THE RUSSIAN COURIER
The silver bracelet hung limply from Nora’s trembling fingers, the dark, rusted stain catching the light from the chandeliers above.
“It’s not yours?” Luca repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn't reach for the jewelry. He stared at it as if it were a venomous snake.
“No,” Nora shook her head, tears spilling over her eyelashes again. “I didn't recognize it when the police handed it to me. But they said... they said his hand was closed in a fist around it. Like he was trying to protect it when the car went off the road.”
I stood by the service doors, my heart hammering against my ribs. I knew Nico had died in a horrific crash on a slick, winding road outside the city. The police report had cited black ice and excessive speed. A tragic, unavoidable accident.
But watching Luca’s face now, the word 'accident' felt completely wrong.
“Let me see it,” Luca said, his voice tight.
He gently took the delicate silver chain from Nora. He held it up to the light. It was a simple, elegant piece—a thin chain holding a small, silver charm shaped like a crescent moon.
But it wasn't the charm that Luca was staring at. It was the broken clasp.
“This wasn't broken in the crash,” Luca murmured, his thumb tracing the jagged edge of the metal. “The links are warped. This was ripped off someone’s wrist with force.”
Nora gasped, covering her mouth. “Luca, what are you saying? Was someone else in the car with him?”
“The police report said he was alone,” Luca replied, his jaw clenching. He turned the crescent moon charm over in his palm.
On the back of the charm, engraved in tiny, elegant cursive, were two initials.
C.V.
I saw Luca’s chest stop moving. He held his breath for three agonizing seconds.
“Mr. Moretti?” I asked hesitantly, alarmed by the sudden, terrifying blankness in his eyes.
“C.V.,” Luca whispered, the letters tasting like ash in his mouth.
He looked at Nora. The profound pity in his eyes had been replaced by a fierce, agonizing realization.
“Nora, I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a lethal, vibrating hum. “Did Nico ever mention a woman named Caterina Volkov?”
Nora frowned, confused by the question. “Volkov? The Russian family? No. Nico always said the Volkov syndicate was strictly off-limits. Why?”
Luca didn't answer her. He closed his fist around the silver bracelet.
“Marco!” Luca roared, his voice echoing violently in the vast dining room.
The heavy mahogany doors flew open instantly. Marco stepped in, his hand resting casually but purposefully near the holster under his suit jacket. “Boss.”
“Get the cars ready,” Luca commanded, marching toward the door. “We are going to the Volkov compound. Now.”
Marco’s scarred face tightened. “Boss, we have a peace treaty with the Volkovs. If we show up unannounced, heavily armed—”
“I don't care about the treaty!” Luca shouted, the restraint finally snapping. “Caterina Volkov’s bracelet was in my brother’s hand when he died! I want to know why!”
Marco didn't argue. He nodded sharply. “I’ll prep the convoy.”
“Luca, wait!” Nora cried, grabbing his arm before he could leave. “What does this mean? Was Nico... was he having an affair?”
The sheer heartbreak in her voice made Luca stop in his tracks. He turned to his sister-in-law, his expression softening instantly.
“No, Nora,” Luca said firmly, placing a reassuring hand over hers. “Nico loved you more than his own life. He would never betray you.”
“Then why did he have a Russian woman’s bracelet?” she wept.
“I’m going to find out,” Luca promised. “Marco, put three guards on Nora. Take her to the safe room in the east wing. Nobody gets in or out until I return.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Luca turned to me. “Hannah. Come with me.”
I blinked in surprise. “Me, sir?”
“You speak Russian, don't you?” Luca asked, recalling a detail from my employment file I had long forgotten.
“My grandmother was Russian, yes,” I stammered. “But I’m just a housekeeper, I—”
“You’re the Head of Household now,” Luca corrected, tossing me a dark wool coat from a nearby chair. “And I need someone I can trust to translate if the Volkovs decide to play games with me. Let’s go.”
Ten minutes later, I was strapped into the back seat of a heavily armored black SUV, speeding through the rainy streets of Chicago. Luca sat next to me, loading a magazine into a sleek black handgun with terrifying, practiced precision.
The drive to the Volkov compound took twenty agonizing minutes. It was located in an industrial sector on the north side—a massive, fortified warehouse surrounded by razor wire and heavy steel gates.
Our convoy of four SUVs didn't slow down as we approached. Marco, driving the lead car, flashed his headlights in a specific sequence.
The heavy steel gates slowly ground open, revealing a courtyard filled with armed men in tactical gear.
“Stay behind me,” Luca ordered as the SUV rolled to a stop.
We stepped out into the pouring rain. Ten heavily armed Russian guards immediately raised their assault rifles, pointing them directly at us.
Luca didn't flinch. He didn't raise his hands. He simply walked forward, Marco and his men fanning out behind him, weapons drawn but pointed at the ground.
A large, imposing man with a thick gray beard and a tailored overcoat stepped out from the warehouse entrance.
Dmitri Volkov. The head of the Russian syndicate.
“Luca Moretti,” Dmitri said, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble, his accent thick. “You violate our treaty by bringing an army to my door.”
“I’m not here for a war, Dmitri,” Luca said coldly, stopping ten feet away from the mob boss. “I’m here for answers.”
Dmitri narrowed his eyes. “Answers to what?”
Luca reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver crescent moon bracelet. He held it up in the rain, the headlights of the SUVs catching the tarnished silver.
“I found this in my brother’s effects from the crash,” Luca said. “It belongs to your daughter, Caterina.”
Dmitri’s expression didn't change, but I saw the slight tightening of the muscles in his jaw.
“My daughter lost that bracelet a year ago,” Dmitri said smoothly. “Perhaps your brother found it on the street.”
“My brother’s car went off a cliff, Dmitri,” Luca growled, stepping closer, ignoring the rifles aimed at his chest. “The police said he lost control on black ice. But the clasp on this bracelet is ripped. There was a struggle in that car.”
Dmitri crossed his arms. “Are you accusing me of killing your brother, Luca?”
“I’m asking you to bring Caterina out here right now, and let me ask her why her jewelry was in my dead brother’s hand!” Luca demanded.
Dmitri stared at Luca for a long, tense moment.
Then, he spoke rapidly in Russian to the guards beside him.
I swallowed hard, stepping closer to Luca to translate.
“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “He just told his men to shoot us if you take one more step.”
Luca didn't back down. He glared at Dmitri.
“Bring her out,” Luca repeated.
Dmitri sighed, a heavy, exhausted sound. He looked at Luca with a mixture of pity and resolve.
“I cannot bring Caterina out to you, Luca,” Dmitri said softly, his gravelly voice losing its edge.
“Why not?” Luca demanded.
Dmitri looked down at the wet asphalt.
“Because Caterina is dead.”
Luca froze. “Dead?”
“She died eleven months ago,” Dmitri said, looking back up at Luca, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “In a car crash. On a winding, icy road outside the city.”
The world seemed to stop spinning.
Eleven months ago. A car crash. On an icy road.
“She was in the car with Nico,” Luca whispered, the horrifying realization crashing into him like a tidal wave.
Dmitri nodded slowly.
“Yes, she was,” Dmitri said. “But it wasn't an affair, Luca. And it wasn't an accident.”
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Dmitri pulled a small, folded piece of paper from his overcoat pocket and held it out.
“Your brother wasn't taking my daughter to a hotel,” Dmitri said, his voice thick with grief. “He was trying to smuggle her out of the city. Because Caterina had discovered a traitor inside your family, Luca. And the traitor cut the brake lines on Nico’s car to silence them both.”
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