Chapter 7 - THE TRAIN TICKET TO NOWHERE
Giovanni set the empty crystal glass on the table with a soft clink.
Carlo stared at him, his silver cane trembling in his grip.
“You’re a dead man, Giovanni,” Carlo hissed, taking a step backward. “That toxin kills in minutes.”
Giovanni calmly adjusted his cuffs.
“It would have,” the older Italian man said. “If the vial contained poison.”
He reached into his own jacket pocket and pulled out an identical small glass vial.
“But I replaced your toxin with bitter almond water three hours ago, Carlo. While you were busy threatening the catering staff.”
The heavy oak doors flew open, and six Chicago police officers stormed into the dining room.
“Nobody move!” the lead detective shouted.
Carlo immediately pointed his cane at me.
“Arrest her!” Carlo demanded. “She tried to poison Michael Moretti! I saw her slip something into his drink!”
The detective walked forward, looking at the chaos—the spilled wine, the broken glass, Michael recovering on the floor, and me, standing with a stained apron and an empty vial in my hand.
“Is this true, Mr. Moretti?” the detective asked Luca.
Luca stood up slowly, adjusting his black suit jacket. The raw fury was gone from his face, replaced by the cold, calculating mask of a mafia boss who had just won the game.
“No, Detective,” Luca said smoothly. “Emily is my most trusted employee. The man you need to arrest is Carlo Bellini.”
“On what charges?” Carlo sneered. “You have no proof of anything. A fake video? A swapped vial? It’s your word against mine, Luca. And I have the best lawyers in Chicago.”
“I’m not charging you for tonight,” Luca said.
Luca reached into his pocket and pulled out the battered silver pocket watch.
He opened the back panel again, but this time, he didn’t pull out the crayon drawing.
He pulled out a faded, yellowed piece of paper.
A train ticket.
Dated October 14, 1996. The night of the fire.
“You said my father paid Rosa two million dollars to disappear,” Luca said, holding up the ticket. “But Rosa didn’t buy a ticket out of Chicago that night. My father did.”
Carlo’s face turned the color of chalk.
“And he didn’t buy it for Rosa,” Luca continued. “He bought it for you, Carlo.”
Luca handed the ticket to the detective.
“Twenty years ago, Carlo Bellini embezzled two million dollars from our company. When my father confronted him, Carlo burned our summer house down to destroy the evidence, killing an innocent man in the process.”
“You can’t prove that!” Carlo shouted, losing his composure. “That ticket proves nothing! Enzo bought that ticket because he was the one running away!”
“He wasn’t running,” I spoke up, my voice steady.
I reached behind my neck and unclasped the cheap silver chain I always wore.
I had worn it since the day my grandmother died. She told me never to take it off. She told me it was the only thing of value our family had left.
I placed the chain on the table.
Hanging from it wasn’t a pendant.
It was a small, heavy brass key.
“My grandmother told me this key opened a safety deposit box at the First Bank of Chicago,” I said, looking directly at Carlo. “She said if anyone ever questioned her honor, I was to give it to Enzo Moretti’s sons.”
Luca picked up the key. He looked at the serial number engraved on the side.
“Box 402,” Luca read aloud.
Giovanni nodded. “Enzo’s personal vault. Only he and Rosa knew it existed.”
“And what’s inside it?” the detective asked.
Giovanni turned to Carlo.
“The original ledger from 1996. The one Carlo thought he burned. It has his signature on every stolen transaction.”
Carlo let out a roar of rage and lunged at Giovanni with his cane, but Luca intercepted him, grabbing Carlo by the collar and throwing him against the wall.
“You’re done,” Luca whispered, pinning Carlo’s arm behind his back.
The officers quickly moved in, snapping handcuffs onto Carlo’s wrists.
As they dragged him away, Carlo twisted around, glaring at Vanessa, who was sobbing by the door.
“Do something, Vanessa!” Carlo screamed. “Use the bracelet! Use the bracelet!”
The doors slammed shut, taking Carlo Bellini out of our lives.
The room was silent, save for Michael’s heavy breathing as he sat up.
Luca turned to Vanessa.
“What bracelet?” Luca asked.
May you like
Vanessa slowly wiped her tears. She looked at me, her eyes filled with a desperate, cornered venom.
“Oh, didn’t you know, Luca?” Vanessa smiled bitterly. “Your precious maid is wearing stolen property.”
