Chapter 3 - The Blood-Stained Note
The dining room emptied in a matter of seconds. The wealthy guests scrambled toward the exits, terrified of being caught in the crossfire of a mafia family’s implosion.
I stood frozen, clutching Ben to my chest.
Adrian remained kneeling on the marble floor, staring at the small, blood-stained square of paper he had pulled from Daniel’s pocket watch. His hands, covered in dark, intricate tattoos, were trembling.
“Mr. Moretti?” I whispered.
He didn’t look up. He slowly stood, his eyes locked on the faded handwriting.
“It’s Daniel’s handwriting,” Adrian said. His voice was hollow. Broken.
I stepped closer, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What does it say?”
Adrian hesitated. He looked at me, a profound, agonizing guilt washing over his sharp features. Then, he turned the paper around so I could read it.
The ink was smeared with dried blood, but the words were unmistakable.
Adrian. Carlo ordered the hit on you. I found out. They took me to spare Nora and Ben. The railyard. Car 409. I’m sorry I couldn’t drive you home.
Tears spilled over my lashes, hot and fast.
He didn’t betray the family. He didn’t run away.
Daniel surrendered himself to Carlo because Carlo had threatened to murder me and Ben. My husband had traded his life for ours, and he had spent four years rotting in captivity while I scrubbed floors in the mansion of the man who took him.
“He saved you,” I sobbed, looking at Adrian. “He knew Carlo was going to assassinate you, and he got in the way.”
Adrian closed his eyes. A single tear slipped down the mafia boss’s cheek.
“Four years,” Adrian whispered. “I thought my closest friend betrayed me. I let my uncle convince me Daniel was a rat.”
He opened his eyes, and the sorrow vanished, replaced by a cold, terrifying fury.
“Marco!” Adrian yelled.
His head of security, a massive man with a scarred jaw, rushed into the room.
“Boss?”
“Gather every man we have,” Adrian ordered. “We are going to the abandoned Southside Railyard. We tear it apart until we find train car 409.”
Marco nodded grimly and pulled out his radio.
“I’m going with you,” I said, my voice shaking but resolute.
Adrian looked at me, shaking his head. “Nora, it’s too dangerous. Carlo might have men guarding the yard. You and Ben need to stay here in the safe room.”
“No,” I refused, stepping toward him. “My husband has been trapped in a train car for four years. I am not waiting in a basement while you find him. I’m going.”
Adrian studied my face. He saw the fierce, unyielding determination of a mother and a wife who had been lied to for too long.
He nodded once. “Marco, put them in my SUV.”
Ten minutes later, we were tearing through the dark streets of Chicago in a convoy of five black vehicles. Ben sat quietly in the backseat next to me, his small hand gripping my fingers.
“Mommy?” Ben whispered, his hazel eyes wide in the passing streetlights. “Are we going to get Daddy?”
“Yes, baby,” I promised, kissing his forehead. “We’re bringing him home.”
Adrian sat in the passenger seat, his phone pressed to his ear.
“What do you mean she’s gone?” Adrian barked into the phone.
I leaned forward.
“I put two men on her door, Boss,” the voice on the radio crackled. “But Isabella slipped out through the adjoining bathroom window. She took one of the estate cars.”
Adrian cursed violently in Italian, slamming his fist against the dashboard.
“She’s heading for the railyard,” Adrian said, looking back at me. “She knows we found the watch. She’s going to warn Carlo’s men to move Daniel before we get there.”
Panic surged in my chest. “Can’t we go faster?”
“We’re ten minutes away,” Adrian said grimly.
He looked down at the blood-stained note again.
“Nora, something doesn’t make sense,” Adrian murmured, his brow furrowing. “If Carlo has been holding Daniel hostage at the railyard for four years, why didn’t Daniel try to escape? He’s a former Marine. He’s trained in survival. A rusted train car couldn’t hold him for this long.”
I swallowed hard. “He wouldn’t escape if Carlo still had leverage.”
“But you and Ben have been living safely in the city this whole time,” Adrian argued. “Carlo hasn’t threatened you. How did Carlo keep him compliant?”
I looked down at Ben’s backpack, sitting on the floorboard.
Ben had insisted on bringing it. It was a faded blue backpack Daniel had bought for him a week before he disappeared. Ben took it everywhere.
Ben noticed me looking at it. He reached down, unzipped the front pocket, and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper.
“Daddy gave me this,” Ben whispered.
My breath caught. “When, Ben? When did he give you this?”
“The night he went away,” Ben said softly. “He came into my room while you were sleeping. He kissed my head, gave me the paper, and told me never to show anyone until he whistled for me.”
My hands shook as I took the paper from my son.
It was a crude, hasty drawing in blue ink.
It showed a train car with the numbers 4-0-9.
But that wasn't what made the blood freeze in my veins.
Drawn next to the train car was a picture of our small apartment building. And standing on the roof of the building, drawn in terrifying detail, was a man holding a sniper rifle aimed directly at Ben’s bedroom window.
May you like
At the bottom of the drawing, Daniel had written a message that finally explained his four years of silence.
If I leave the train, they pull the trigger.
