Chapter 3 - THE BLOOD ON THE HEAVY BLUE COAT
The silver rosary gleamed under the crystal chandeliers.
It wasn't just any rosary. It had a distinct, broken crucifix. Everyone in the family knew it had belonged to Celia’s late husband, Arthur.
Celia backed away from the table, shaking her head.
“That… that proves nothing,” she stammered. “Arthur lost that rosary years ago. Julian must have stolen it!”
“Julian was murdered,” Luca said.
His voice didn't rise. It didn't need to.
“You didn't pay him off, Aunt Celia. Your husband killed him to keep him away from Anna. And then you stole her child.”
“I protected this family!” Celia suddenly screamed, the polished society woman vanishing entirely. “Arthur did what was necessary! You think you can rule Chicago without blood on your hands, Luca?! We kept the bloodline pure! We kept the shame out of the newspapers!”
Grace took a terrified step backward.
She bumped into me.
Without thinking, I put my arm around the little girl’s trembling shoulders. She leaned into my housekeeping uniform, hiding her face against my side.
Luca saw it.
His dark eyes flicked to me, acknowledging the protection, before locking back onto his aunt.
“You’re a monster,” Luca said softly.
“I am a Moretti!” Celia spat. “And this girl is my granddaughter! Marcus adopted her! She belongs to me!”
“Marcus is dead,” Luca replied. “And you are no longer part of this family.”
He turned to his security chief.
“Daniel. Pack my aunt’s belongings. Escort her off the property. If she ever sets foot near my sister or my niece again, I won't call the police.”
Celia stared at him in absolute shock.
“You can't do this to me! I raised you!”
“Take her,” Luca ordered.
As Daniel grabbed Celia’s arm, pulling the shrieking woman out of the dining room, the remaining guests began to quickly and quietly excuse themselves. The birthday dinner had turned into a mafia tribunal.
Anna fell to her knees, weeping uncontrollably.
Grace pulled away from me.
She looked at the woman in the faded green dress. The woman who had stood outside the gates for fifteen years just to be near her.
Grace slowly walked over and knelt beside Anna.
“You’re my mom?” Grace whispered.
Anna looked up, terrified to touch her, nodding through her tears. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”
Grace didn't pull away. She reached out and wiped a tear from Anna’s cheek.
It was a beautiful, heartbreaking moment.
But it was interrupted.
The heavy double doors of the dining room crashed open.
A man stumbled into the room.
He was bleeding from a cut above his eye, gasping for air. He wore a caterer’s uniform, but I recognized him instantly as one of Luca’s perimeter guards.
“Boss!” the guard choked out, collapsing against the doorframe.
Luca drew his weapon from his shoulder holster in a fraction of a second.
“Report,” Luca barked.
“The back gates… they’re breached,” the guard wheezed. “They cut the power to the cameras. They’re already inside the house.”
“Who?” Luca demanded.
The guard looked up, pure terror in his eyes.
“It’s Marcus, boss. He’s alive.”
My blood ran cold.
Marcus. Celia’s son. Grace’s adoptive father. The man who had supposedly died in a plane crash two years ago.
“That’s impossible,” Luca said, his jaw clenching.
“He’s here,” the guard insisted. “And he’s heavily armed.”
Luca turned to me.
The fierce, untouchable mafia boss looked me dead in the eyes with absolute, terrifying trust.
“Emma. Take Grace and Anna. Go to the coatroom. Lock the steel door. Do not come out until I come for you.”
I didn't hesitate. “Yes, sir.”
I grabbed Grace’s hand and pulled Anna up from the floor.
We sprinted out of the dining room, down the long, shadowed hallway toward the front of the mansion. The power suddenly flickered, then died completely, plunging the house into darkness.
The emergency backup lights clicked on, casting a dim, red glow over the marble floors.
We reached the heavy oak door of the coatroom.
I pushed the women inside and slammed the door, throwing the heavy steel deadbolt.
The coatroom was large, filled with the expensive furs and jackets of the guests who had fled.
Anna held Grace tightly, both of them trembling in the dark.
“Why is my dad here?” Grace cried quietly. “I thought he was dead!”
“He isn't your dad, sweetheart,” Anna whispered, stroking her hair.
I walked toward the back of the coatroom to check the small ventilation window, making sure it was locked.
As I pushed past the hanging jackets, my hand brushed against something thick and heavy.
It was a massive, dark blue winter coat.
It was damp. Smelling of rain and gasoline.
I frowned. It hadn't rained in Chicago all day.
I reached out and touched the sleeve.
My fingers came away sticky and warm in the dark.
I lifted my hand to the dim red light creeping under the door.
It wasn't water on the coat.
It was fresh blood.
And as I stared at my hands, a low, cruel voice whispered from the absolute darkness at the back of the coatroom.
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“Hello, Emma. I’ve been waiting for you.”
TITLE: THE PHOTOGRAPH HIDDEN IN THE LINING
