THE CHILD’S DRAWING IN THE GREENHOUSE

Union Station was nearly deserted at two in the morning.

The massive vaulted ceilings echoed with the hollow announcements of delayed freight lines and the solitary midnight passenger trains.

Dominic and Claire ran through the main concourse, Bruno trotting faithfully beside them.

Claire scanned the rows of empty wooden benches. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

“Dad!” she shouted.

Her voice bounced off the marble walls.

No answer.

“The Montreal line boards at Gate 4,” Dominic said, checking the massive departure board.

They sprinted toward the northern terminal.

At the very end of the platform, sitting alone on a cold steel bench, was a man in a worn grey coat.

He was staring blankly at a paper coffee cup in his hands.

“Dad!” Claire screamed, bursting through the gate doors.

Samuel Bennett’s head snapped up.

When he saw his daughter running toward him, accompanied by a massive German shepherd and the head of the Chicago mafia, he didn't look relieved.

He looked terrified.

He dropped his coffee, standing up and backing away.

“Claire, what are you doing here?!” Samuel panicked, his eyes darting to Dominic. “Mr. Moretti, please! She doesn't know anything! I’m leaving, just like Caruso said!”

Claire didn't stop. She slammed into her father, throwing her arms around his neck and sobbing into his coat.

Samuel froze, his hands hovering over her back, too terrified to touch her in front of Dominic.

“It’s okay, Dad,” Claire cried, burying her face in his shoulder. “We know. We know everything. Vincent confessed.”

Samuel stopped breathing.

He slowly lowered his arms, wrapping them tightly around his daughter. He closed his eyes, and a single tear slipped down his weathered, exhausted face.

Bruno let out a soft whine.

The old dog walked up to Samuel and sat perfectly still, resting his head against the man’s knee.

Samuel opened his eyes. He looked down at the dog he had raised from a puppy.

“Hello, Captain,” Samuel whispered, his voice cracking. He reached down and stroked the silver fur behind the dog’s ears.

Dominic stood a few feet away, watching the reunion.

The formidable boss swallowed the hard lump in his throat.

“Samuel,” Dominic said quietly.

Samuel looked up. He immediately tried to step in front of Claire protectively.

“Mr. Moretti.”

“You don't have to run anymore,” Dominic said. He bowed his head slightly—a gesture of profound respect he rarely gave to anyone. “I am deeply, profoundly sorry for what my family put you through.”

Samuel stared at him, stunned.

“Vincent told me you fought him,” Dominic continued. “You tried to save my sister.”

Samuel’s posture softened. The years of carrying a false conviction seemed to visibly lift off his shoulders.

“I tried,” Samuel whispered. “But he had a gun. And I had a family.”

“You did the right thing,” Dominic said firmly.

Samuel reached into his pocket.

His hands shook as he pulled out a delicate string of beads.

It was a silver rosary.

“I couldn't save her,” Samuel said, holding the rosary out to Dominic. “But before Caruso knocked me out, Emily shoved this into my hand. She told me to keep it safe.”

Dominic walked forward and took the rosary.

He recognized it instantly. It was the rosary Emily always carried in her coat pocket.

“Why didn't you give this to the police?” Dominic asked.

“Because of what’s inside the cross,” Samuel said softly.

Dominic frowned. He turned the silver crucifix over in his hand.

The back of the cross had a tiny, almost invisible latch.

Dominic pressed it.

The cross popped open, revealing a hollow compartment.

Inside was a tiny, folded piece of paper.

Dominic pulled it out and unfolded it.

It was a pharmacy receipt.

Signed by Vincent Caruso.

For a lethal dose of liquid digitalis.

“Emily found the receipt in Vincent’s office,” Samuel explained. “She realized he was the one buying the poison for your mother. That’s why she ran to the greenhouse. She was hiding from him.”

Dominic stared at the receipt.

Vincent hadn't just covered up the murder. He had purchased the weapon.

Before Dominic could speak, a cold, mocking voice echoed from the end of the platform.

“I always knew you were too smart for your own good, Samuel.”

They all turned.

Standing in the shadows of the terminal archway was a man flanked by four armed enforcers.

It wasn't Vincent.