The Cashier’s Check And The Hidden Boy

“Drive?” I echoed, staring at Luca in disbelief. “He can barely stand!”

My father gritted his teeth, pushing himself up on his good elbow on the medical cot. “I can drive an automatic. Where are we going?”

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Luca said, his voice entirely devoid of panic, replaced by a cold, calculating machine. “I need you behind the wheel of this SUV to extract us. Emma and I are going into Union Station.”

“Me?” My heart hammered against my ribs. “I don’t know how to shoot a gun!”

“I don’t need you to shoot,” Luca said, tossing me a heavy black coat to cover my blood-stained housekeeper uniform. “I need you to look like a mother traveling with her husband. Carlo knows my men. He’ll be watching for a syndicate hit squad. He won’t be looking for a married couple trying to catch a train.”

He was right. But the thought of walking into a public space with a heavily armed mafia boss made my knees weak.

“Let’s go,” Luca ordered.

We left my father in the driver’s seat of the SUV, idling in a dark alley a block away from Union Station. The rain had turned into a torrential downpour, washing the city in a cold, grey haze.

It was 11:15 PM. The Montreal Express was scheduled to depart at midnight.

Luca and I walked through the massive brass doors of the station. He had ditched the tactical vest and the rifle, hiding a suppressed handgun beneath a tailored trench coat.

He slipped his arm around my waist, pulling me tight against his side. To anyone watching, we were just a wealthy couple late for a trip.

But I could feel the rigid tension in his muscles. He was a coiled spring, ready to snap.

“Keep your head down,” Luca murmured into my hair, his breath warm against my ear. “Scan the benches. Carlo will keep him away from the main boarding lines.”

The Great Hall was cavernous, echoing with the sound of rolling luggage and muffled announcements.

We walked past the ticketing counters. Nothing.

We moved toward the VIP lounge.

Then, I saw it.

Sitting on a wooden bench near the darkened service corridor was a little boy. He was wearing the bright yellow raincoat from the photograph. His curly head was bowed, his small hands clutching the hem of his jacket.

Sitting right beside him, reading a newspaper as if he didn’t have a care in the world, was Carlo.

“There,” I whispered, squeezing Luca’s arm.

Luca’s eyes locked onto the underboss. The temperature around us seemed to plummet ten degrees.

“Walk toward the bathrooms,” Luca instructed quietly. “When I move, you grab Leo and run straight to the alley. Do not look back.”

Before we could take another step, a sharp voice cut through the noise of the station.

“Luca.”

We froze.

Stepping out from behind a massive marble pillar, blocking our path to Carlo and the boy, was Vanessa.

She was soaking wet. The beautiful red silk engagement gown was ruined, clinging to her skin. She had no coat, no umbrella, and no purse.

But she was holding a gun.

And it was pointed directly at Luca’s chest.

“Vanessa, put it down,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm. He didn’t reach for his own weapon. He didn’t want to start a shootout in a crowded train station.

“I told him,” Vanessa sobbed, her hands shaking violently. “I called Carlo. I told him you were coming.”

My mind spun. The reversal hit me like a physical blow.

Vanessa hadn’t been trying to save the boy at all.

The child’s drawing in her purse wasn’t a token of love. It was proof that she had found him. She had paid Rossi the ten thousand dollars not to rescue Leo, but to buy his silence so she could arrange this exact sale to the Canadians with Carlo.

She wanted the heir gone so her own future children with Luca would inherit the empire.

“You sold my nephew,” Luca whispered, the betrayal carving deep lines into his face.

“I did it for us, Luca!” Vanessa cried hysterically. “He’s a ghost! He should have stayed a ghost! If the Commission finds out he’s alive, they’ll strip you of your title until he comes of age. I wasn’t going to let that happen to our family!”

“We are not a family,” Luca said coldly.

Vanessa’s finger twitched on the trigger.

“Give me your train ticket, Emma,” Vanessa demanded, turning the gun slightly toward me.

“I don’t have a ticket,” I stammered, raising my hands.

“Don’t lie to me!” Vanessa shrieked. “Carlo bought three tickets to Montreal! One for him, one for the brat, and one for me. But Rossi stole mine during the fight. I need your ticket to get on that train!”

She was completely unhinged. She thought we had intercepted Rossi and taken his ticket.

“Vanessa,” Luca said, taking a slow step forward, shielding my body with his own. “Look at your wrist.”

Vanessa blinked, confused. She glanced down at her shaking arm.

Around her wrist was a heavy, intricate silver bracelet. The one Luca had given her at the engagement dinner.

“That bracelet belonged to my mother,” Luca said softly. “Do you know why I gave it to you?”

“Because… because you loved me,” Vanessa choked out.

“No,” Luca said. “Because my mother wore it the day she was murdered. It’s cursed, Vanessa. Everyone who wears it dies a traitor’s death.”

Vanessa gasped, looking at the silver metal as if it were a venomous snake.

It was a lie, a psychological trick to break her focus, but it worked perfectly.

In the fraction of a second that Vanessa looked down, Luca moved.

He didn’t draw his gun. He lunged forward, sweeping his heavy arm upward, striking Vanessa’s wrist with brutal precision. The gun flew from her hand, clattering noisily across the marble floor.

Vanessa screamed.

The sound echoed through the Great Hall. Heads turned.

And on the bench fifty feet away, Carlo dropped his newspaper.

He saw Luca.

Carlo didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the little boy by the collar of his yellow raincoat, yanked him to his feet, and bolted down the dark service corridor.

“Emma, go!” Luca roared, shoving past Vanessa.