Chapter 4 - THE ROSARY IN THE SNOW
The glass shattered inward with a sickening crunch. Cold Chicago rain and shards of safety glass showered over my shoulders as I curled tighter around Leo.
The man in the trench coat reached a gloved hand through the broken window, unlocking the door from the inside. He yanked it open, the interior light illuminating a face scarred by an old knife wound.
"Give me the box, girly, and nobody gets hurt," he growled.
Leo screamed, burying his face in my neck.
I didn't think. I just reacted. I kicked outward with both feet, the heel of my boot connecting squarely with the man's knee. He grunted in pain, stumbling backward onto the wet pavement.
Before he could recover, a shadow moved in the rain.
Nico Bellini grabbed the man by the collar of his trench coat and slammed him against the side of the SUV. The crack of the man's skull against the metal echoed loudly. Nico didn't hesitate; he struck the man across the jaw with the butt of his gun. The attacker slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Nico was breathing heavily, a cut bleeding above his left eyebrow. He threw himself into the driver's seat, started the engine, and slammed on the gas. The SUV tore out of the alleyway, tires screaming as we merged violently onto the main road.
"Are you hurt?" Nico demanded, looking at us in the rearview mirror.
"We're okay," I gasped, brushing glass out of Leo's hair. "Nico... your face."
"It's nothing," he clipped. "They had three men. I handled them, but they knew we were coming. Someone tipped off Vance's crew."
I looked down at the open silver music box in Leo's lap. The photograph and the gold watch were exposed.
"Nico," I said, my voice trembling. "They weren't looking for the estate items. They were looking for this."
I carefully lifted the gold watch and handed it over the console. Nico took it with one hand, steering with the other. The moment his thumb brushed the heavy engraved R on the back of the watch, the color drained from his face.
"This is Carlo Rossi's watch," Nico whispered. Bianca's father. "He reported this stolen five years ago."
"Look at the photo, Nico."
I held the picture up to the rearview mirror so he could see it under the passing streetlights. I read his mother's handwritten note aloud: He paid them.
The silence in the car was suffocating. The only sound was the rain lashing against the windshield.
"My mother knew," Nico said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, terrifying calm. "She knew Carlo Rossi paid the fire department to look the other way when my brother was killed. She found proof. And she hid Matteo's son to protect him."
Leo looked up at me, his brown eyes wide. "Is he mad at me?"
"No, buddy," I whispered, squeezing his shoulder. "He's not mad at you."
"Bianca was never trying to erase my mother's memory," Nico said, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. "She insisted on managing the estate donation. She was looking for the box. Her father used the engagement to get her inside my house to find the proof."
My stomach churned. I had been worried about a torn lace veil. Bianca Rossi had been covering up a murder.
"Where are we going?" I asked as Nico took a sharp turn toward the city limits. "We can't go back to the mansion. Bianca's still there packing."
"We're going to a safe house," Nico said. "Only my top capos know about it."
But as we sped down a deserted stretch of road, my phone buzzed in my apron pocket. I pulled it out.
It was a text from Mrs. Alvarez.
Emma, please help. Bianca locked the gates. She says if you don't bring the box back, she's going to hurt your mother.
My breath caught. "No."
"What?" Nico asked sharply.
"My mother," I choked out, tears instantly flooding my eyes. "Bianca has my mother."
Before Nico could respond, Leo let out a small gasp. He reached into the deep pocket of his oversized coat and pulled out a delicate object.
It was a silver rosary, completely tangled, with a missing crucifix.
"The lady dropped this at my foster house last week," Leo whispered. "She said she was looking for a silver box."
I took the rosary from his small hands. My heart stopped.
"This isn't Lucia's," I said, my voice barely a whisper. I looked up at Nico in the mirror. "I know this rosary. I fixed the clasp on it three days ago."
Nico slammed on the brakes, pulling the SUV over to the shoulder of the road. "Whose is it?"
"It belongs to Claire," I said, my mind racing. "The wedding stylist."
Nico stared at me. "Claire exposed Bianca at the dinner."
"Because she didn't want Bianca to find the box first," I realized, the horrifying puzzle falling into place. "Claire isn't a stylist. She works for the people who bought the auction items. She works for Vance."
My phone rang in my hand.
It was an unknown number.
May you like
I answered it on speaker.
"Hello, Emma," Claire's cool, professional voice echoed in the car. "I believe you have something that belongs to my boss. Bring the boy and the box to your mother's alterations shop. You have thirty minutes, or your mother won't be sewing ever again."
