Chapter 3 - THE RED MARKER
My legs gave out.
I hit the marble floor, the phone clattering beside me. The image of Michael’s face, violently crossed out with red ink, burned into my retinas.
He wasn't driving.
“Claire!” Luca was instantly beside me, his strong hands gripping my shoulders, keeping me from collapsing completely.
“My daughter,” I gasped, struggling to pull air into my lungs. “Lily. They have her.”
The thirty guests in the dining room were whispering in panicked tones, several already edging toward the exits.
“Marco, lock down the estate!” Luca roared over his shoulder. “Get these people out safely, then arm every man we have.”
Luca turned back to me, his dark eyes intensely focused.
“Claire, look at me. Breathe.”
I shook my head frantically. “Vanessa’s father took her! Marcus Bellini! He warned you he was starting a war!”
“Marcus didn't do this,” Luca said, his voice tight.
I stared at him, tears blurring my vision. “How do you know?”
“Because Marcus just left this house five minutes ago,” Luca explained rapidly, helping me to my feet. “The drive to your apartment takes thirty minutes. Whoever kicked your door in and took Lily did it before dinner even started.”
My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “If it wasn't the Bellinis, who was it?”
Luca picked up Marco’s phone from the floor, staring at the picture of Michael.
“Claire,” Luca asked softly, “did Michael ever let anyone else drive his truck?”
I shook my head. “No. He was incredibly strict about it. Coleman Freight had a policy. If an unauthorized driver was behind the wheel, Michael would have lost his job.”
Luca’s jaw clenched. He looked at Marco.
“The police report from the crash seven years ago,” Luca said. “It stated Michael Hayes was the sole occupant of the delivery truck that pulled me from my burning car.”
“Yes, Boss,” Marco confirmed.
“Then what does this mean?” I cried, pointing at the phone. “He wasn't driving. Who else would be in his truck?”
Luca looked at me, a terrifying realization dawning in his eyes.
“The man who caused the crash,” Luca whispered.
The room seemed to drop ten degrees.
“What?” I breathed.
“Seven years ago, my car was T-boned in an intersection by a black SUV,” Luca explained, his voice hollow. “The SUV sped off before the police arrived. Michael’s truck was the only vehicle that stopped to help me.”
Luca paced the floor, his mind racing.
“I always assumed it was a hit and run. A drunk driver who panicked. But if Michael wasn't driving his truck... if someone else was...”
“You think the man who hit you was driving Michael’s truck?” I asked, confused.
“No,” Luca said, stopping dead in his tracks. “I think the man who hit me was the man Michael was protecting.”
My blood ran cold.
“Michael wouldn't protect a criminal!” I shouted defensively.
“Michael was a good man, Claire. I know that,” Luca said gently. “But good men can be blackmailed. Good men can be threatened.”
He turned to Marco.
“Get the old Coleman Freight employment records. I want the name of every person Michael worked with. Every supervisor, every dispatcher, every mechanic.”
Marco nodded and sprinted out of the room.
Luca took my hand, his grip warm and steadying.
“Come with me,” he said.
He led me out of the dining room, down a long, dimly lit corridor, to his private study. He locked the heavy oak door behind us.
“We have to call the police,” I pleaded, pacing the Persian rug. “They have Lily. She’s terrified of the dark. She needs her asthma inhaler.”
“The police cannot help you, Claire,” Luca said firmly, walking over to his massive mahogany desk. “If whoever took her is tied to the crash seven years ago, they are tied to the Chicago underworld. If you involve the police, they will kill her to silence her.”
A sob ripped from my throat. “Then what do we do?”
Luca opened a hidden drawer in his desk and pulled out a heavy, black handgun. He checked the magazine with practiced efficiency.
“We find out what your husband was hiding,” Luca said.
He walked over to a large painting on the wall and swung it open, revealing a wall safe. He punched in a code, and the heavy steel door clicked open.
He reached inside and pulled out a small, worn leather box.
He placed it on the desk and opened it.
Inside was a silver watch, its face cracked and the hands permanently stopped at 11:42.
“This was the watch I was wearing the night of the crash,” Luca said.
I looked at it, confused. “Why did you keep it?”
“Because of what was stuck inside the broken glass,” Luca replied.
He picked up a small pair of tweezers from his desk drawer and carefully extracted a tiny, microscopic piece of blue fabric from the crack in the watch face.
“This didn't come from my car,” Luca said. “It came from the man who pulled me out of the wreckage.”
He looked at me.
“Claire, what color was Michael’s uniform for Coleman Freight?”
“Brown,” I answered immediately. “They only wore brown.”
Luca nodded slowly.
“The man who pulled me out of the car was wearing blue coveralls. Mechanics' coveralls.”
The pieces were snapping together in my mind, forming a picture I didn't want to see.
“Michael wasn't driving,” I whispered, staring at the blue thread. “A mechanic was driving his truck.”
“And Michael covered for him,” Luca finished. “Michael took the credit for saving my life to hide the fact that the mechanic was at the scene of the crime.”
Before I could process the shock, someone knocked frantically on the study door.
“Boss!” Marco yelled through the wood.
Luca unlocked the door. Marco rushed in, holding a printed file.
“I hacked the old Coleman Freight database,” Marco said, out of breath. “Michael had one primary mechanic assigned to his truck seven years ago.”
“What’s the name?” Luca demanded.
“Arthur Vance,” Marco read.
Luca’s face went completely blank. The color drained from his lips.
“Arthur Vance?” Luca repeated, his voice barely a whisper.
“Yes, Boss.”
Luca stumbled backward, catching himself on the edge of the desk.
“Luca, what is it?” I asked, terrified by his reaction. “Who is Arthur Vance?”
Luca looked at me, his eyes filled with a horror I had never seen.
“Arthur Vance wasn't just a mechanic, Claire,” Luca said, his voice shaking. “He was Vanessa’s uncle.”
The world stopped spinning.
Vanessa’s uncle. The Bellini family.
“The Bellinis caused the crash seven years ago,” Luca realized, the rage slowly replacing the shock. “They tried to assassinate me. Arthur Vance hit my car, then used Michael’s truck to flee the scene.”
“And Michael saw it,” I realized, tears spilling down my cheeks. “He saw Arthur Vance try to kill you.”
“And the Bellinis forced Michael to stay quiet,” Luca finished. “They threatened him. They told him to take credit for saving my life, so no one would ever suspect Arthur was there.”
Luca gripped the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white.
“That’s why Vanessa hired you three years ago,” Luca said, looking at me. “She didn't just steal the three million dollars. She hired you to keep you close, to make sure you never found out the truth about why your husband died.”
I froze.
“What do you mean, why my husband died?” I whispered. “He had an aneurysm.”
Luca looked at Marco.
“Marco,” Luca ordered quietly. “Call the medical examiner who signed Michael Hayes’s death certificate three years ago. Ask him how much the Bellini family paid him to lie.”
I let out a broken scream, covering my mouth with both hands.
They had killed him. The Bellinis had killed Michael to tie up a loose end.
Suddenly, my cell phone, sitting on the desk where I had dropped it, buzzed violently.
An unknown number was calling.
Luca nodded at me.
I picked it up with trembling hands and put it on speaker.
“Hello?” I choked out.
“Claire,” a deep, raspy voice said. It wasn't Vanessa. It was her father, Marcus Bellini.
“Where is my daughter?!” I screamed.
“She’s safe. For now,” Marcus replied coldly. “I warned Luca not to start a war. Now, the war has started. But I am a reasonable man.”
“What do you want?” Luca snarled into the phone.
“A trade,” Marcus said calmly. “My brother Arthur’s freedom is in jeopardy. If Luca takes this information to the Mafia Commission, the Bellini family is ruined.”
Marcus paused.
“Bring me the three million dollars Vanessa took from you, Luca. In cash. And bring the widow. Unarmed. To the old shipyard at midnight.”
“I’ll kill you, Marcus!” Luca roared.
“If you bring a single soldier, Luca,” Marcus warned, “I will put a bullet in the little girl’s head and mail her back to her mother.”
The line went dead.
I dropped the phone, sobbing uncontrollably.
“We have to give him the money,” I begged Luca. “Please. I’ll do whatever he wants.”
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Luca picked up his heavy black handgun and shoved it into his waistband.
“We aren't giving him the money, Claire,” Luca said, his eyes burning with a lethal fire. “We’re giving him hell.”
