Chapter 6 - THE WINTER COAT
The back staircase was narrow, dark, and smelled of old dust and lavender.
I carried Lily up the three flights of stairs, my lungs burning, until we reached the heavy wooden door of the attic. I pushed it open. The massive space was illuminated only by the moonlight filtering through a single, grimy skylight.
Dozens of cardboard boxes and garment bags were stacked in the corners, preserving the ghosts of Luca’s past.
“Which one, Claire?” Lily whispered, clutching my hand tightly as we navigated the shadows.
“Look for a white garment bag,” I told her, my eyes scanning the racks of clothing pushed against the far wall. “Your dad said it was her heavy winter coat.”
We hurried to the back. I unzipped three different bags before I found it.
It was a beautiful, thick cashmere coat, the color of midnight blue. Even after four years in the dark, it still held the faint, lingering scent of expensive vanilla perfume.
I shoved my hands into the deep pockets, frantically searching for the heavy brass keys to the tunnel grate.
My right hand closed around cold metal. I pulled it out.
It wasn't a key.
Answer one: The keys to the tunnel weren't in the coat. Marco must have found them and removed them years ago to ensure nobody could use the escape route.
Open two: If the keys were gone, how were we going to get out? And what on earth had I just pulled from Elena’s pocket?
I held the object up to the moonlight.
It was a heavily folded, blood-stained paper ticket.
A reversal hit me as I carefully unfolded it. It wasn't a train ticket or a bus pass.
It was a one-way ferry ticket to Canada, dated the exact night of the car crash four years ago.
But it wasn't a single ticket. It was printed for two passengers.
“Elena wasn't running away alone,” I whispered to myself, staring at the passenger names printed on the faded ink.
The first name was Elena Moretti.
The second name was Marco Vance.
My mind violently rejected the information.
“They were leaving together?” I gasped, looking at Lily, who was watching me with wide, terrified eyes.
If Marco was threatening Elena, why did they have a ferry ticket together?
Suddenly, the heavy wooden door to the attic creaked open.
The beam of a tactical flashlight swept across the dusty floorboards, stopping directly on the white garment bag I had just unzipped.
“I always hated that coat,” Marco’s voice echoed in the darkness, smooth and devoid of any humanity.
I shoved Lily behind me, backing into the shadows of the clothing racks, clutching the bloody ticket in my hand.
Marco walked slowly into the attic, the flashlight beam hitting my face and blinding me.
“You’re a smart girl, Claire,” Marco sighed, pulling his weapon from his shoulder holster. “I noticed you looking at the child’s drawing downstairs. I knew Luca would send you up here for the keys. I’ve had them in my pocket for four years.”
“You were leaving with her,” I said, my voice trembling as I held up the bloody ticket. “You didn't orchestrate the crash to start a mob war. You did it to cover up your affair. You were running away with the boss’s wife.”
Marco chuckled, a dark, bitter sound.
“Elena and I loved each other long before Luca ever became the boss,” Marco said, stepping closer. “She promised she would leave him. We bought the tickets. We were supposed to meet at the docks.”
Marco stopped, his face tightening with a sudden, ugly rage.
“But she changed her mind at the last second,” Marco spat. “She told me she couldn't leave her precious daughter behind. She said she was going to confess everything to Luca.”
Marco raised the gun, aiming it directly at my chest.
“I couldn't let her destroy me. So I ran her car off the road. I made it look like the Rossi family did it. I got my war, and I kept my position.”
“But she didn't die,” I said, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm.
“No,” Marco growled. “Vanessa found her crawling from the wreckage. Vanessa hid her, blackmailed her, and used her to get to Luca. I didn't know Elena survived until tonight, when I heard Vanessa screaming in the basement.”
Marco clicked the safety off his weapon.
“I’m going to finish the job tonight, Claire. Starting with you and the kid.”
He pulled the trigger.
But the gunshot never came.
A deafening thwack echoed in the dark.
Marco cried out, dropping his gun and stumbling forward.
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Standing behind him, holding a heavy, broken wooden chair leg, was Vanessa Bellini.
And wrapped around Vanessa’s wrist, glinting in the moonlight, was a thick, silver medical bracelet.
