Chapter 6 - THE CHILD'S DRAWING
Marcus Bellini stared at the oil-stained key in Luca’s hand.
For the first time all night, the older man looked genuinely panicked. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his thick neck.
“Where did you get that?” Marcus demanded, taking a step forward.
Luca didn't flinch.
“When Emily reported the coat missing,” Luca said smoothly, “I checked the security footage. I saw your man take it. But I had already gone through the pockets the night Emily arrived. I noticed the coat smelled like engine oil and fear.”
I stared at Luca in shock. “You went through my pockets?”
Luca looked at me, a flicker of apology in his eyes.
“You were coming to live in a house with my son, Emily. I check everyone. When I found the key sewn into the lining, I kept it. I knew it belonged to a locker somewhere.”
Marcus clenched his fists. “Give it to me, Luca. That’s Bellini property.”
“Nothing in this house is yours,” Luca growled.
Michael, who had been leaning against the wall, finally spoke.
“What does the key open, Luca?”
“A locker at Union Station,” Luca said, never taking his eyes off Marcus. “Thomas Carter was a mechanic. He worked at the Bellini garage on the South Side. He wasn't a gambler, Marcus. He was a witness.”
I covered my mouth as a sob escaped my throat.
My father.
He hadn't abandoned us. He hadn't just died of a random heart attack.
“He saw who cut the brakes on my car,” Michael whispered, the pieces finally falling into place.
Vanessa practically leaped forward.
“He didn't see anything!” she shrieked. “He was a drunk! He didn't understand what he was looking at!”
Luca smiled, but there was no joy in it. It was the smile of a predator who had finally cornered his prey.
“If he didn't understand,” Luca said, “then why did you have to kill him, Vanessa?”
I gasped, stumbling backward. Nicholas held onto my hand tightly, anchoring me to the ground.
My father was murdered.
“I didn't kill him!” Vanessa cried, her composure completely shattered. She pointed frantically at her father. “He did! Marcus ordered it! Thomas found the cut brake lines and threatened to tell the Morettis. Marcus had him poisoned to look like a heart attack!”
“Shut up, you stupid girl!” Marcus roared, raising his hand toward his daughter.
Luca stepped between them, an immovable wall of tailored fury.
“So,” Luca said softly. “Marcus killed the mechanic. Vanessa drugged my brother. But that still leaves one question.”
Luca turned slowly, looking directly at Vanessa.
“Why did you want to kill Michael in the first place? The Bellinis and Morettis were at peace three years ago.”
Vanessa began to cry, sliding down the doorframe until she was sitting on the floor, her red dress pooled around her.
“Because it wasn't supposed to be Michael,” she sobbed.
The room fell dead silent.
Michael frowned, stepping forward. “What do you mean?”
Vanessa looked up, her mascara running down her cheeks in thick black lines.
“The hit wasn't for you, Michael,” she whispered. “It was for Luca.”
Luca’s expression didn't change, but his shoulders stiffened.
“I rarely drove that car,” Luca said.
“But you were supposed to that night!” Vanessa cried. “You were supposed to go to the warehouse. But you sent Michael instead.”
Marcus looked at his daughter with pure disgust. “Stop talking.”
But Vanessa was broken. “My brother, Leo... he died five years ago. Because of you, Luca. Because of your family.”
Luca frowned. “Leo Bellini died in a warehouse fire. It was an accident.”
“It wasn't an accident!” Vanessa screamed. “Someone locked the doors! I wanted you dead, Luca. I wanted you to drown the way Leo burned.”
The revelation hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
Vanessa’s motive wasn't just greed. It was grief. It was revenge.
But suddenly, I felt Nicholas tugging frantically on my apron.
“Emily,” he whispered urgently. “Show Daddy.”
I looked down.
Nicholas had picked up his sketchpad again. He had turned to a different page.
It was a drawing he had made months ago, shortly after I started working here. I had asked him to draw his scariest dream so we could talk about it.
I took the sketchpad and looked at it.
It was a drawing of a car crash. A car going off a bridge into the water.
But there were three figures in the drawing.
One in the car (Michael).
One on the bridge with a rosary (Vanessa).
And a third figure standing in the shadows behind Vanessa.
“Nick,” I whispered. “What is this?”
Nicholas looked at his father.
“Daddy,” Nicholas said clearly, his voice cutting through the tension. “I was in the backseat of Uncle Michael's car that night. Before the crash.”
Luca’s face went completely white. “What?”
“Michael was driving me home from the toy store,” Nicholas continued, his voice shaking. “He stopped to get gas. I got out to look at a dog. When I came back... there was a man under the car.”
Luca knelt down, grabbing his son’s shoulders gently. “Who was the man, Nicholas? Was it Grandpa Bellini?”
Nicholas shook his head.
He pointed to the tall, shadowy figure in his crayon drawing.
Then he lifted his small finger and pointed directly over Luca’s shoulder, out into the hallway.
“No,” Nicholas said. “It was him.”
We all turned to look into the hallway.
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Standing there, holding a silenced pistol, was Dante.
Luca’s most trusted underboss.
