Chapter 6 - THE LOCKBOX
Sebastian didn’t flinch at the sight of the ten rifles aimed at his chest.
He stood calmly in front of me, Sarah, Leo, and Florence.
“Dominic,” Sebastian said smoothly. “You’re late for the champagne toast.”
Dominic ignored the joke.
He snapped his fingers, and two of his men dragged a heavy, rusted metal lockbox into the room.
They dropped it onto the marble floor with a loud clang.
“I don’t care about the vault at the bank,” Dominic said. “I just want what’s inside this box. And since my sister couldn't handle a simple retrieval, I brought it here.”
He pointed at the silver key still clutched in my hand.
“That key opens this box. Open it, and nobody dies tonight.”
Sebastian looked at the rusted box.
“Where did you find that?”
“Buried in the foundation of your father’s old warehouse,” Dominic said. “He hid it well. But not well enough.”
Bianca rushed over to her brother’s side.
“Dominic, they know. The old woman told them about mother’s hit.”
Dominic slapped Bianca across the face.
The crack echoed through the room. Bianca stumbled, holding her cheek in shock.
“You idiot,” Dominic hissed. “You were supposed to get the key quietly.”
He turned his cold eyes to me.
“Maid. Bring the key. Now.”
I looked at Sebastian. He gave me a barely perceptible nod.
I stood up, my legs shaking.
I walked toward the metal lockbox in the center of the room.
I knelt down on the cold marble.
I inserted the heavy silver key into the rusted lock.
It turned with a loud, metallic click.
I slowly opened the lid.
I expected to see cash, or gold, or thick black ledgers of mafia hits.
Instead, the box was almost empty.
Inside sat a single, delicate rosary made of blue glass beads, and a crumpled piece of child’s construction paper.
Dominic cursed. “What is that garbage? Where are the ledgers?”
I reached in and picked up the paper.
I unfolded it.
It was a child's crayon drawing of a house with a yellow sun.
But it wasn't the drawing that made my breath catch.
It was the handwriting on the back.
“Sebastian,” I whispered.
He stepped forward, ignoring the guns pointed at him.
He looked at the blue glass rosary, and his eyes filled with tears.
“That was my mother’s,” he said softly.
Then he looked at the back of the drawing.
His face hardened into stone.
“Read it,” Sebastian commanded.
May you like
I cleared my throat, reading the faded, desperate handwriting of a woman who knew she was about to die.
“My dearest Sebastian. If you are reading this, the Laurents have killed me. But they did not act alone. The man who opened the door for them... was your father.”
