Chapter 11 - THE FLIGHT TO PALERMO
“I’m coming with you,” I said immediately.
Luca shook his head. “Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous.”
“Luca, I didn't marry a mafia boss. I married a partner. Partners don't let their husbands fly to Sicily to chase ghosts alone.”
He looked at me, seeing the stubbornness in my eyes that he loved so much. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Fine. But Leo stays here. With Mark and Mrs. Carter.”
Twenty-four hours later, we were on a private jet crossing the Atlantic.
The flight was quiet. Luca spent hours staring out the window at the dark ocean, turning the tarnished silver key over and over in his fingers.
When we landed in Palermo, the heat of the Sicilian sun hit us like a physical weight.
We checked into a quiet, unassuming hotel under assumed names. Luca didn't want anyone to know the former head of the Chicago Commission was in town.
The next morning, we walked to the Banco di Sicilia in the old quarter. The building was ancient, built of heavy stone and wrought iron.
Luca presented the key and Mateo’s death certificate to the bank manager.
The manager, an old man with tired eyes, looked at the name on the certificate. He paled slightly but nodded.
He led us down into the cool, silent vaults beneath the bank.
Box 404.
Luca slid the silver key into the lock. He turned it.
Click.
He pulled the long metal box out and set it on the viewing table. The manager bowed and left us alone in the vault.
Luca looked at me. I nodded.
He opened the lid.
Inside was a single, leather-bound journal. And a stack of yellowed, fragile birth certificates.
Luca picked up the journal. He opened it to the first page.
It was a ledger. But not for money.
“My God,” Luca whispered.
“What is it?” I asked, leaning closer.
“Mateo didn't steal money,” Luca read, his eyes wide with disbelief. “He was running an underground railroad.”
“For who?”
Luca picked up the stack of birth certificates.
“For the children of the cartel,” Luca said softly. “Whenever a family ordered a hit on a rival, Mateo would intercept the children before they could be killed. He smuggled them out of America, gave them new names, and hid them in Europe.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. “He was saving them.”
“Yes,” Luca said. “And this ledger… it lists every child he saved. And their new identities.”
Suddenly, the heavy iron door of the vault slammed shut with a deafening crash.
The lock clicked from the outside.
We spun around.
Standing on the other side of the iron bars was the bank manager. But he wasn't alone.
Standing next to him was a tall, sharp-featured man with a scar through his left eyebrow.
Mateo.
He wasn't dead.
“Hello, Luca,” Mateo said, his voice echoing through the bars.
“Mateo?” Luca gripped the bars. “You faked your death? Why did you bring me here?”
Mateo looked at us with profound sadness.
“Because I am dying, Luca. For real this time. Cancer.” Mateo coughed into a handkerchief. “And there is a hit squad from the New York Commission currently on a plane to Palermo. They found out about the ledger.”
My blood ran cold.
“I couldn't protect the ledger anymore,” Mateo said. “I needed the one man in the world strong enough to protect these children. A man who walked away from the life, but still has the power to fight it.”
He looked at Luca.
“I need you to take the ledger, Luca. Protect the bloodlines.”
“Mateo, open the door!” Luca shouted.
“I can't,” Mateo said gently. “The New York men will be here in ten minutes. I am going to lock this vault down, and I am going to wait for them upstairs.”
“They’ll kill you!” I cried.
“I am already dead, Anna,” Mateo smiled a sad, peaceful smile. “But you and Luca will live.”
He hit a button on the wall. The heavy steel blast doors of the vault began to slide shut, blocking the iron bars.
May you like
“There is a service tunnel behind the safety deposit boxes,” Mateo shouted over the grinding metal. “It leads to the catacombs. Go, Luca! Protect them!”
The steel doors slammed shut, plunging us into darkness.
