Chapter 11 - The Boy In Plain Sight
The interrogation room felt as though all the air had been sucked out of it.
I stared at Carmine, my heart hammering furiously against my ribs.
“In the dining room?” I repeated.
Carmine smiled, a sickly, triumphant grin. “Oh, yes. I spent decades tearing Chicago apart looking for the boy with the heirloom. And there he was, sitting at your table, completely unaware of who he really is.”
Matteo slammed his hands on the metal table, leaning over Carmine.
“Who, Carmine? Give me a name.”
“I don't need to,” Carmine wheezed. “You’ve already let him go.”
My mind raced back to the chaotic dinner party. Thirty-eight guests. Politicians, business moguls, socialites. It could have been any of them.
But then I remembered what my father’s journal had said.
I must hide him in plain sight. I will leave him with someone loyal.
I grabbed Matteo’s arm.
“Matteo,” I whispered urgently. “Arthur Hayes.”
Matteo frowned. “Arthur? He’s an old hardware store owner.”
“But he knew your father,” I said, the pieces snapping together in my mind. “Victoria said Arthur got shot robbing a Moretti pawn shop. What if he wasn't robbing it? What if he was working for Don Carlo? What if he was protecting something?”
Matteo’s eyes widened. “And Arthur brought a son to the dinner tonight.”
We both realized it at the exact same moment.
Andrew.
“He said he quit school at sixteen to take care of Victoria,” I said quickly. “He said he bought her prom dress and paid for her college. He’s the most loyal, protective person I’ve ever seen. Exactly the kind of man Don Carlo would want his son to be raised by.”
Carmine stopped smiling. He glared at me, realizing I had solved his riddle.
Matteo grabbed Carmine by the collar of his ruined suit.
“If Andrew is my brother,” Matteo snarled, “what is the heirloom? What proves it?”
Carmine spat blood onto the floor. “Go ask the old man. If he’s still alive.”
Matteo dropped him and shoved past me toward the door.
“Call the mansion,” Matteo barked to his security chief in the hallway. “Get a team to the Hayes residence immediately.”
I scrambled into the SUV beside Matteo.
“If Andrew is my twin,” I said, my voice shaking, “then Arthur knew who I was the moment he saw me. He said I had kind eyes. He said I looked like the woman in the photograph.”
“Arthur has been keeping the greatest secret in Chicago mafia history,” Matteo said, flooring the gas pedal. “And Carmine’s men are probably already on their way to silence him.”
We tore through the downtown streets, running red lights.
Arthur’s small, modest house was in a quiet suburb on the south side. When we pulled up, the front door was wide open.
Shattered glass covered the porch.
“Stay behind me,” Matteo ordered, drawing his weapon.
We rushed inside.
The living room was destroyed. Furniture was overturned, lamps smashed.
“Andrew!” I screamed.
A groan came from the kitchen.
We ran in to find Arthur slumped against the cabinets, clutching a bleeding wound on his arm.
“Arthur!” I dropped to my knees beside him. “Who did this? Where is Andrew?”
Arthur coughed, his face pale. “They took him. Three men in black masks. They took Andrew and little Leo.”
Matteo clenched his fists. “Carmine’s loyalists. They want the Genesis Account.”
“They tore the house apart,” Arthur wheezed. “They were looking for it. The proof.”
“The heirloom,” I said. “Arthur, please. What did my father leave with you?”
Arthur looked at me, tears in his tired eyes.
“Don Carlo saved my life,” Arthur whispered. “He paid for my medical bills when the Morettis paralyzed my legs. He asked me to raise his son as my own. He said the boy needed a normal life.”
“Where is the heirloom, Arthur?” Matteo asked gently.
Arthur reached a shaking hand toward the old fireplace in the corner of the kitchen.
“Behind the loose brick,” Arthur gasped. “I hid it the day he gave it to me.”
Matteo rushed to the fireplace, prying out a loose, soot-covered brick.
He reached inside and pulled out a small, wooden box.
He opened it.
Inside sat a child’s drawing.
It was a crude, crayon sketch of a man, a woman, a baby girl, and a baby boy.
But tucked behind the drawing was something else.
A heavy, solid gold pocket watch.
It was identical in size and shape to the silver Moretti watch Arthur carried, but this one bore the crest of the Russo family.
“The boy was always meant to lead,” Arthur whispered. “The watch contains the account codes.”
Suddenly, Matteo’s phone rang.
He answered it on speaker.
May you like
A distorted voice came through the line.
“We have the boy and the child, Russo. Bring the gold watch to the old shipping yards at midnight. Come alone, or we drop them both in the river.”
