Chapter 3 - [THE SECRET BEHIND THE LOCKED DOOR]
Nico stared at the drawing in my shaking hand.
The color drained from his face. For the first time since I’d known the feared Chicago boss, he looked terrified.
“Where did you find that?” he demanded, his voice thick with emotion.
“It fell out of Veronica’s purse,” I said softly.
He snatched the paper from my fingers. His eyes scanned the messy crayon lines. “This is Leo’s handwriting. My nephew.”
I knew about Leo. Nico’s older brother had died in a car accident two years ago. Leo, who was only six, had supposedly been sent to an elite, secure boarding school in Switzerland for his own safety.
“Is Leo not in Switzerland?” I asked.
“He’s supposed to be,” Nico muttered. “Veronica handles all the correspondence. She said the headmaster advised against phone calls… said it disrupted his grief counseling.”
A terrible realization hit us both at the exact same time.
Nico turned to the remaining dinner guests. “Everyone out. Now.”
Within three minutes, the mansion was cleared of outsiders. Nico grabbed his radio. “Guards, lock down the perimeter. No one gets in or out.”
He looked at me. “Hannah, come with me. You know this house better than anyone.”
We rushed up the grand staircase.
“When you clean the east wing,” Nico asked, his breathing heavy, “have you ever noticed anything strange?”
I thought back. “The old nursery at the end of the hall. Veronica told me it was under renovation for the last six months. She locked it and said the contractors had the only key.”
Nico’s jaw tightened. We reached the heavy oak door at the end of the corridor.
Nico didn't bother looking for a key. He stepped back and kicked the door right below the handle. The wood splintered. He kicked it again, and the door flew open.
Inside, it was pitch black. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight.
I flicked the light switch. Nothing happened.
I pulled out my phone flashlight and shined it into the corner of the room.
A small, terrified gasp echoed in the dark.
Huddled under a thin blanket on a bare mattress was a little boy. But as the beam of light hit his hands, I saw what he was clutching.
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It wasn't a toy. It was a silver rosary, completely stained with dried blood.
TITLE: THE BLOODSTAINED ROSARY
