The Drawing of the Empty Safe

Mrs. Carter’s face was completely unreadable. The warm, grandmotherly wrinkles that usually framed her smile now looked like deep scars cut into stone.

She held the heavy black pistol with shocking stability.

“Put the paper down, Sarah,” Mrs. Carter said softly. Her voice didn’t tremble. It was the voice of a woman who had given orders her entire life.

My heart hammered so hard against my ribs I thought it might crack them. I looked from the barrel of the gun to the torn ledger page in my trembling hand.

Katherine Mitchell. Ten thousand dollars a month.

“Why is my mother’s name on this?” I whispered, backing up until my legs hit the edge of my small, twin-sized bed. “Mrs. Carter, please. What is this?”

“It is none of your concern,” she replied coldly. “Drop it.”

“My mother is sick,” I pleaded, tears finally spilling hot down my cheeks. “She has nothing. We have nothing. If this money is real—”

“It’s very real,” Mrs. Carter interrupted. “But it was never meant for her to spend. It was a retainer. A guarantee of silence.”

I stared at her, completely lost. “Silence about what?”

Before she could answer, the heavy thud of police boots echoed from the main hallway. Muffled shouts drifted through the walls. Luca was stalling them, but it wouldn't last forever.

Mrs. Carter’s eyes darted toward the sound. In that split second of distraction, survival instinct took over.

I didn’t drop the paper. I crumpled it into my apron pocket, grabbed the heavy ceramic lamp from the nightstand with my uninjured hand, and hurled it directly at her.

Mrs. Carter ducked, the lamp shattering against the doorframe.

I didn’t wait. I lunged forward, shoulder-checking the older woman. She grunted, stumbling backward into the hallway. I scrambled past her, sprinting down the dark staff corridor toward the kitchen.

“Sarah, stop!” Mrs. Carter hissed behind me, but she didn’t fire. A gunshot would bring the police straight to us.

I ran blindly, pushing through the swinging doors of the commercial kitchen. It was pitch black, smelling faintly of the roasted garlic and rosemary from the engagement dinner.

I ducked behind the massive stainless-steel prep island, pulling my knees to my chest, trying to quiet my ragged breathing.

My mind was spinning. The ticket connecting Vanessa to a murder. The rival Falcone family. And now, my own mother receiving hush money from the Moretti syndicate.

What was my mother keeping silent about?

Suddenly, the kitchen doors swung open again.

A flashlight beam cut through the darkness, sweeping across the hanging copper pots.

“I know you’re in here, Sarah.”

It wasn’t Mrs. Carter’s voice.

It was Daniel. The head of security.

I clamped a hand over my mouth. If Daniel was here, he was supposed to be locking down the perimeter. Why was he hunting me in the kitchen?

“The police are searching the upstairs,” Daniel said conversationally, his heavy boots squeaking on the tile floor as he walked slowly down the aisle. “They’ll be down here in two minutes. If they find you, they’ll hand you over to the Falcones. You know that.”

He stopped right on the other side of the prep island. I could see the toes of his polished black shoes.

“But if you come out now,” Daniel continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can get you out the back gate. I can keep you safe.”

I hesitated. Daniel was Luca’s right-hand man. He was supposed to protect us.

But then I remembered the diamond bracelet.

One of the guards found this sitting on the pillow in Sarah’s bedroom.

That’s what Daniel had told Luca.

But I had just been in my bedroom. The room was ransacked, yes. But my bed was completely untouched. The cheap quilt was still perfectly made. There had never been a bracelet on that pillow.

Daniel had planted it.

Daniel was the traitor.

A cold sweat broke out across the back of my neck. He wasn’t here to rescue me. He was here to finish the job Vanessa started.

I looked desperately around the dark kitchen. My eyes landed on the massive industrial walk-in freezer just a few feet away. The heavy metal handle gleamed in the faint moonlight filtering through a high window.

If I could reach it, I could lock myself inside.

I gathered my legs beneath me, ready to sprint.

Clack.

The sound of a gun hammer cocking echoed through the kitchen.

“Don’t even think about it,” Daniel said.

I slowly stood up. Daniel had moved to the end of the island. He was pointing his weapon squarely at my head. His flashlight blinded me.

“Give me the ledger page, Sarah,” he commanded.

I raised my hands, my bandaged right hand throbbing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play stupid,” Daniel sneered. “Vanessa told me you’d go snooping. Hand it over, and maybe I’ll make this quick.”

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, trying to stall. “Luca trusted you.”

“Luca is soft,” Daniel spat. “He wants to turn the family legitimate. He wants to stop the violence. You can’t run Chicago with peace treaties. The Falcones understand that. Vanessa understands that.”

He stepped closer, the gun unwavering.

“The page, Sarah. Now.”

I slowly reached into my apron pocket. My fingers brushed against the crumpled paper.

But they also brushed against something else.

The small, heavy glass bottle of Leo’s asthma medication.

I didn’t pull out the paper.

I whipped my hand out and hurled the heavy glass bottle straight at Daniel’s face.

It struck him squarely in the nose. The glass shattered. Daniel roared in pain, stumbling backward, the flashlight dropping from his hand.

I didn’t wait. I bolted for the freezer.

I grabbed the heavy metal handle, threw my weight backward, and yanked the heavy insulated door open.

But I didn’t step inside.

Because the freezer wasn’t empty.

Sitting on the floor, propped up against a crate of frozen meat, was a man. His hands and feet were bound with heavy zip-ties. A thick piece of duct tape covered his mouth. He looked exhausted and terrified.

It was Raymond Bellini.