Chapter 3 - THE SILVER KEY BURIED IN THE COAT
“What did you just say?” Matteo’s voice was dangerously low, a calm storm threatening to break.
Every eye in the dining room turned to me.
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard it physically hurt. I stepped back, my shoulder hitting the heavy wooden doorframe.
“I… I didn’t,” I stammered, the tray trembling in my hands. “Mr. Russo, I swear I have nothing to do with this.”
Arthur chuckled, a wet, ugly sound that echoed in the cavernous room. He tossed a folded bank receipt onto the table.
“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart,” Arthur sneered. “The offshore account Mrs. Sterling wired the four million into? It’s registered under the name Margaret Mitchell. Your stroke-victim mother.”
The blood drained from my face.
My mother’s name.
How did he know my mother’s name?
I looked at Scarlett. She had stopped crying. In fact, the terrified tears from a moment ago had vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating smirk.
She had set me up.
She knew I needed money. She knew I had access to Evelyn’s private rooms. They were using my mother’s medical tragedy as the perfect scapegoat to steal the Russo estate.
“Matteo,” Scarlett said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. “I tried to warn you about hiring cheap help. The girl is desperate. She obviously manipulated your mother into signing those preliminary papers, and then forged your signature while you were in the hospital.”
“She’s twenty-six years old,” Matteo said, not taking his eyes off Arthur. “You expect me to believe a maid orchestrated a four-million-dollar real estate fraud under the nose of the Chicago syndicate?”
“Desperate people do desperate things,” Arthur said, casually swirling the wine in his glass. “I suggest you call the police, Matteo. Let them arrest the girl. And as for your mother… she still has to vacate by midnight. A contract is a contract.”
“No!”
Evelyn suddenly stood up.
For the first time all evening, the frail eighty-one-year-old woman didn’t look like a victim. She looked like the matriarch of a mafia empire.
She shrugged off the worn brown coat, letting it fall onto the back of her chair, and took a step toward Arthur.
“Anna is innocent,” Evelyn said, her voice ringing clear across the silent room. “And nobody is taking my home.”
Arthur laughed. “Evelyn, you’re confused. Your mind is going. That’s why Scarlett found you a nice, quiet ward.”
“My mind is perfectly fine,” Evelyn snapped. She turned to Matteo. “Son, kick these animals out of my house.”
Matteo didn’t hesitate.
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers once.
The heavy mahogany doors to the dining room swung open. Twelve men in dark suits stepped into the room. They didn’t carry weapons openly, but the way they moved made it clear they were armed.
The thirty-six guests gasped. Some pushed their chairs back in panic.
“The engagement is canceled,” Matteo announced, his voice devoid of emotion. “Everyone out. Now.”
Scarlett’s jaw dropped. “Matteo! You can’t do this! The wedding is tomorrow! My dress—”
“Leave the dress,” Matteo said coldly. “Take your father. And if either of you ever steps foot on my property again, you won’t leave it.”
Arthur’s face turned purple with rage. He stood up, knocking his chair backward.
“You’re making a mistake, boy,” Arthur growled. “You think you run this city? You’re nothing without my family’s backing. You touch that girl, and I’ll have the Commission strip you of your title by morning.”
“Let them try,” Matteo whispered.
Within two minutes, the dining room was completely empty.
The crystal glasses sat half-full. The expensive catered food grew cold.
It was just Matteo, Evelyn, and me.
My knees finally gave out. I collapsed against the wall, burying my face in my hands, trying to fight back the hysterical tears.
“My mom,” I sobbed. “If they put that money in her name, the feds will arrest her. She can’t even speak, Mr. Russo! She’ll die in prison!”
“Nobody is going to prison, Anna,” Matteo said gently.
He walked over and handed me his own crisp, white handkerchief.
“They used your mother’s name to create a paper trail,” Matteo explained, his mind already working through the tactical problem. “Scarlett needed a scapegoat to keep the Commission from realizing her father was stealing from a boss. But the routing numbers mean the money is currently sitting in an account only you or your mother can legally access.”
I looked up, wiping my eyes. “But I don’t have the account information.”
“No,” a frail voice said. “But I do.”
Matteo and I both turned.
Evelyn was standing by her chair. She reached down and picked up her husband’s ugly, worn brown winter coat.
With shaking hands, she dug her fingers into the thick, frayed lining of the left pocket. She pulled hard, ripping the ancient stitching apart.
From deep inside the lining, she pulled out a heavy, antique silver key.
She held it out to Matteo.
“I knew Arthur was planning something the day your father died,” Evelyn whispered, tears finally pooling in her eyes. “Your father didn’t die of a heart attack, Matteo. He was poisoned. Just like you were last month.”
Matteo stared at the key, the color draining from his face.
“What is this, Mom?”
“It’s the key to your father’s private vault beneath the old basilica,” Evelyn said. “The money from the house sale didn’t go to a random offshore account, Anna. It went into the vault. Arthur thinks he has the only key.”
Evelyn walked over and placed the cold silver key into my trembling palm.
“But my husband made a copy,” she said. “He told me to keep it hidden until I found someone I could trust with my life.”
I stared at the key. “Why me?”
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Evelyn looked at me with a sorrow that cut straight to my soul.
“Because, Anna,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “The vault doesn’t just hold the stolen money. It holds the photograph of the man who ordered the hit on your father twenty years ago.”
