Chapter 4 - The Cedar Closet
The heavy brass key felt cold against my palm.
First National Bank. Box 402.
The same bank where my twelve-thousand-dollar forged check had been cashed. The same bank where Matteo had clearly been hiding something much deeper than stolen charity funds.
Roman gently took the key from my trembling hand. He examined the worn brass, his dark eyes narrowing in thought.
“This isn't a standard deposit key,” Roman murmured, running his thumb over the engraved numbers. “This is a high-security vault key. It requires dual signatures to access. Matteo must have been keeping his leverage inside.”
“Leverage against who?” I asked, wiping the tears from my face. My whole body felt numb. The revelation that my husband had been murdered was sitting heavy in my chest, a dark weight I couldn’t fully process yet.
“Against me,” Roman said grimly. “Matteo knew I would eventually find out about his embezzlement. He must have kept evidence—something powerful enough to stop me from killing him.”
Lily sniffled, clinging to my apron. “Is the bad man coming back, Mom?”
Roman looked at my daughter, his expression softening entirely. “No, sweetheart. I won’t let him anywhere near you. Ever again.”
He stood up, pulling a cell phone from his pocket. He dialed a number, speaking in rapid, hushed Italian. Within seconds, four massive men in dark suits flooded the backstage area. They weren’t Matteo’s men; these were Roman’s personal elite guards.
“Take Grace and Lily to the East Wing of the mansion,” Roman commanded. “Nobody gets in or out without my explicit permission. Post two men at their door. Two at the gate.”
“Yes, Boss,” the lead guard nodded.
I grabbed Roman’s sleeve before he could walk away. “Roman... where are you going?”
“I have to secure the estate,” he said, his hand covering mine warmly. “Matteo just confessed to murdering a civilian to cover up syndicate theft. That violates the highest laws of the Commission. He’s a dead man walking, and he knows it. He’s going to strike first.”
“Please be careful,” I whispered, surprising myself with how desperately I meant it.
Roman’s eyes locked onto mine. For a moment, the chaotic world around us seemed to stop. “I’ll come for you when it’s safe. Trust me.”
An hour later, Lily and I were locked inside the master guest suite of the East Wing.
It was a beautiful room, lined with velvet curtains and mahogany furniture, but it felt like a gilded cage. Lily had cried herself to sleep on the massive king-sized bed, her broken tap shoes resting on the nightstand beside her.
I paced the floor, unable to sit still.
My husband had worked for the mob. He had been terrified. He had tried to go to the police, and he had died for it.
I walked toward the large walk-in closet to find a blanket for Lily.
The closet was huge, lined with cedar wood that smelled rich and earthy. I pulled a cashmere throw from the top shelf. As I reached up, my hand brushed against something heavy hanging in the far back corner, hidden behind a row of winter coats.
I pushed the coats aside.
Hanging in a clear plastic garment bag was a faded, olive-green canvas jacket.
My breath caught in my throat.
It was David’s jacket.
The jacket my husband had worn the night he died. The police had returned it to me in a plastic evidence bag three years ago, stained with blood. I couldn’t bear to look at it, so I had donated it to a charity bin a week after his funeral.
How was it hanging in Roman Bellini’s private cedar closet?
My hands shook violently as I unzipped the garment bag. The familiar scent of David’s old cologne, mixed with the faint metallic tang of dried blood, hit my senses.
I ran my hands over the rough canvas.
I felt a hard lump sewn into the thick inner lining near the hem.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I ran to the bathroom, grabbed a pair of small grooming scissors, and hurried back to the closet. I carefully snipped the heavy yellow stitching along the bottom hem of the jacket.
I reached inside the lining and pulled out a small, waterproof plastic pouch.
Inside the pouch were two items.
A small, black USB flash drive.
And a one-way train ticket to Montreal, dated the exact night of David’s death.
Tears spilled down my cheeks. David hadn’t just been going to the police. He had been planning to run. He had been trying to get us out.
Suddenly, the heavy oak door of the guest suite rattled violently.
I jumped, dropping the jacket.
“Grace! Open the door!”
It was Matteo’s voice.
I backed away, pushing Lily further into the center of the bed as she woke up, rubbing her eyes.
“Mom?” Lily whimpered.
“Stay quiet, baby,” I whispered fiercely.
“I know you’re in there!” Matteo shouted, pounding his fists against the wood. “Roman’s guards are dead! You open this door right now, or I’ll shoot the lock off!”
I looked wildly around the room for a weapon. Nothing but a heavy brass lamp. I grabbed it, standing between my daughter and the door.
“You can’t hide, Grace!” Matteo screamed. “Roman went to the bank! He left you completely alone!”
The doorknob turned violently. Then, the deafening CRACK of a gunshot shattered the lock.
The door kicked open.
May you like
Matteo stood in the doorway, his tuxedo stained with blood, pointing a silenced pistol directly at my chest.
“Give me the USB drive,” Matteo sneered, stepping into the room. “I know David hid it in the coat. Give it to me, or I put a bullet in the little charity case.”
