Chapter 7 - THE TRAIN TICKET
The accusation struck Alessandro like a physical blow. He staggered back half a step, the gun in his hand wavering for a fraction of a second before locking back onto Marco’s chest.
"You're lying," Alessandro spat. "Giovanni loved her. He went to war for her."
"He went to war for control of the South Side," Marco corrected calmly, dusting invisible lint off his suit jacket. "Aunt Sofia found out he was laundering cartel money through her charity foundation. She was going to the feds, Sandro. He cut her brakes to silence her."
I looked at the cheap wooden rosary in the silver box.
"How do you know this?" I asked, keeping my voice steady.
Marco glanced at me, his lips curling into a sneer. "The maid speaks. I found the rosary in Giovanni's private safe in Sicily. It was her favorite. He kept it as a trophy."
"If you have the key," Alessandro said, his jaw tight, "why haven't you opened the box?"
"Because," Marco smiled thinly, "the box is at a private Swiss bank in Zurich. It requires dual authentication. The key, and the biometric scan of her designated heir. You."
Marco stood up slowly, raising his hands in a mock gesture of surrender.
"Here is the deal, cousin. You sign over the shipping company and the waterfront properties to me tonight. In exchange, I give you the boy, and I give you the key. You can fly to Zurich, open the box, and find out the truth about your beloved father."
"You want my legitimate empire," Alessandro said.
"I want what should have been mine," Marco hissed, his calm facade finally cracking. "Giovanni exiled me, and you took everything. Sign the papers, Sandro. Or Leo doesn't live to see his seventh birthday."
Alessandro stared at Marco. Then, slowly, he lowered his gun.
"Rossi," Alessandro said into his earpiece. "Bring the legal team to the library. Draft the transfer papers for the waterfront holdings."
Marco grinned triumphantly. "Smart boy."
"I need ten minutes to get the documents ready," Alessandro said coldly. "Stay here."
Alessandro grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the nursery, pulling the heavy door shut behind us. He dragged me down the hall to his private study and locked the door.
As soon as the lock clicked, his entire demeanor changed. The defeated man vanished.
"He's lying," Alessandro said, moving rapidly to his desk and pulling open a hidden drawer. "My mother didn't use a Swiss bank. She didn't trust them."
"Then what does the key go to?" I asked.
"I don't know yet," Alessandro said, pulling out two sleek black earpieces and handing me one. "Put this in."
I did. It buzzed slightly as it synced to his encrypted channel.
"Rossi," Alessandro spoke quietly. "Status on the perimeter."
“Lockdown holds, Boss,” Rossi’s voice crackled in my ear. “Nobody gets in or out.”
"Marco claims his men took Leo to an airstrip. That's a bluff. My men would have seen a car breach the gates. Leo is still on the property."
Alessandro turned to me. "Claire, when you found Leo at the airport... what exactly was he wearing?"
I blinked, trying to recall the frantic moments. "A blue winter coat. Dark jeans. Little sneakers."
"Did you check his pockets?"
"Just the one where the drawing fell out."
Alessandro closed his eyes, thinking rapidly. "When I hugged him downstairs... I felt something stiff in the lining of his coat. Like paper."
"Where is his coat now?"
"I left it in the mudroom when we brought him inside."
"I'll go get it," I said, already moving toward the door.
"Wait," Alessandro grabbed my arm. "Marco has men inside the house. You have to be careful."
He reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a small, compact taser. He handed it to me.
"Aim for the center of mass," he said softly, his eyes dark and intense. "Be safe."
I nodded, slipping the taser into my pocket.
I slipped out of the study and made my way down the back servant staircase. The house was eerily quiet on this side, the distant jazz music from the gala muffled by heavy walls.
I crept into the mudroom. It was dark, smelling of wet wool and cedar.
I found the small blue coat hanging on a low hook. I frantically patted down the pockets, slipping my fingers into the inner lining.
There was a small tear in the fabric. I reached inside and pulled out a heavy piece of cardstock.
It was a train ticket.
Union Station to Montreal. Departing 1:00 AM.
Marco wasn't flying Leo out of a private airstrip. He was smuggling him out on a freight train to Canada. And the departure time was in less than two hours.
I tapped my earpiece. "Alessandro. I found a train ticket. Montreal, 1 AM."
“Copy that,” Alessandro replied. “That means Marco’s men are holding him in the old service tunnels beneath the estate until they can slip him out during the shift change.”
Suddenly, a heavy hand clamped over my mouth from behind.
I screamed, but the sound was muffled against a leather glove. An arm wrapped around my waist, lifting me off my feet.
"Well, well," a voice whispered in my ear. It was one of Marco's thugs. "Look what the rat dragged in."
I panicked, thrashing against him. Then I remembered what Alessandro said.
I reached into my pocket, grabbed the taser, twisted my body backward, and jammed it directly into the man's ribs.
I pulled the trigger.
The man convulsed, letting out a strangled groan, and collapsed onto the tile floor.
I stood over him, breathing heavily, my hands shaking.
Then, my earpiece cracked.
But it wasn't Alessandro's voice.
“Claire?” a small, terrified voice whispered.
"Leo?" I gasped. "Leo, where are you?"
“I’m in the dark place with the wine bottles,” the little boy whispered, crying. “The bad man dropped his walkie-talkie. It’s scary down here.”
He was in the wine cellar.
"Leo, hide behind the big barrels," I said quickly. "We're coming for you."
I turned to run toward the cellar doors, but stopped dead in my tracks.
Standing in the doorway of the mudroom, holding a suppressed pistol aimed right at my head, was Camille.
May you like
She looked ruined. Her makeup was smeared, her designer dress wrinkled.
"I lost everything tonight because of you," Camille hissed, stepping into the room. "And I'm not leaving empty-handed."
