Chapter 5 - THE HEAVY COAT
The revelation hit Kate with the physical force of a sledgehammer.
Her grandmother. The sweet, soft-spoken woman who baked apple pies, taught her how to braid hair, and hummed lullabies on the porch in Worcester. A mafia cleaner? The woman who helped a mob boss’s wife hide his firstborn son?
“We have to move,” Roman ordered, grabbing Kate’s elbow and pulling her away from Marco’s lifeless body.
They rushed down the narrow, damp tunnel that led away from the estate. The darkness was suffocating, the only light coming from Roman’s tactical flashlight sweeping the brick walls. Eli buried his face against Kate’s shoulder, his tiny fingers locked around the collar of her uniform.
“My grandmother was a kindergarten teacher,” Kate argued, her voice echoing in the tight space. “She didn't know anything about the syndicate!”
“Margaret Miller was a ghost,” Roman said, his boots crunching over the gravel floor. “She specialized in relocating women and children who needed to disappear from our world. She operated outside the families. Untouchable. I heard rumors she died five years ago.”
“She did die,” Kate insisted, tears stinging her eyes. “I was at her funeral. I saw the casket go into the ground!”
“Did you see her body?” Roman asked sharply.
Kate opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. The memory hit her like cold water. The casket had been closed. A sudden, aggressive illness, the doctors had said. Too traumatic for an open viewing.
“She faked it,” Roman said quietly, reading the realization on Kate’s face. “Silvio must have gotten close to finding Leo. Margaret faked her death to sever the trail and keep your sister's secret safe.”
They reached a heavy steel door at the end of the tunnel. Roman pushed it open, revealing a detached, hidden garage deep in the woods behind the estate. An unassuming, dark gray sedan sat in the center.
Roman threw the driver’s side door open. “Get in. Keep the boy on the floorboards.”
Kate scrambled into the back seat, pulling Eli down with her. Roman jumped into the driver’s seat, hit a button on the visor to open the camouflaged garage door, and floored the accelerator.
The sedan shot out into the freezing night, tearing down a dirt access road without headlights, navigating entirely by moonlight.
For twenty minutes, the car was silent except for the roar of the engine and the sound of Eli’s soft, terrified whimpering. Kate rocked the little boy, humming the six-note lullaby desperately, trying to soothe him.
“Where are we going?” Kate finally asked as Roman merged onto an empty interstate, heading west.
“A safehouse,” Roman said, his eyes scanning the rearview mirror constantly. “Off the books. Even Silvio doesn't know about it.”
“We’re going to Worcester, aren't we?”
Roman didn't answer immediately. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “If Marco was right, your grandmother is alive, and she has my eldest son. We’re going to find them.”
Two hours later, Roman pulled the sedan off a desolate country road and parked behind a rusted, abandoned hunting cabin deep in the Massachusetts woods. The air was freezing, the wind howling through the bare branches of the pines.
Roman unlocked the cabin door, ushering Kate and Eli inside. It was barren and smelled of dust, but it was warm once Roman lit the small gas stove in the corner.
He pulled his ruined, blood-stained jacket off and tossed it onto a wooden chair. He carefully set the heavy mahogany music box on the center table.
Kate wrapped a moth-eaten blanket around Eli, tucking him onto an old sofa. Exhaustion finally overtook the five-year-old’s terror, and he fell into a fitful, restless sleep.
Kate walked into the small back bedroom to look for extra blankets. She opened the creaky wooden closet door.
It was mostly empty, save for a few wire hangers. But pushed into the far corner, hanging heavily from a wooden hook, was a thick, dark wool coat.
Kate stared at it. Her breath caught.
It was the same coat from the Polaroid photograph. Sarah’s coat. Sofia’s coat.
She reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed the rough wool fabric. It smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla. Kate buried her face in the collar, a choked sob escaping her lips. It was the closest she had been to her sister in a decade.
As she pulled back, her hand brushed against something stiff inside the deep right pocket.
She frowned, sliding her hand inside. Her fingers closed around a crumpled, heavy piece of paper.
Kate pulled it out and walked back into the main room, unfolding it under the dim yellow light of the kitchen bulb.
Roman looked up from the table where he was examining the music box. “What is that?”
“It was in her coat,” Kate whispered, spreading the paper flat on the table.
It was a hand-drawn map. It showed the coastline of Boston, with a large red ‘X’ marking a specific, abandoned shipyard on the southern pier.
But it wasn't the map that made Roman’s blood run cold. It was the writing in the margins.
Silvio knows about Margaret. He’s hunting her. If he takes Leo, he will bring him to the Pier. The melody is the key. 6-2-4-8-1-9.
Roman stared at the numbers. “The combination.”
“The lullaby,” Kate realized, her eyes widening. “The six notes. It wasn't just a song. It was a mathematical sequence. She was hiding a vault combination in plain sight.”
“A vault that contains the ledger proving Silvio is a traitor,” Roman said, his jaw tightening.
Before either of them could speak another word, a heavy, deliberate sound shattered the quiet of the cabin.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
Someone was at the front door.
Roman instantly drew his gun, pushing Kate behind him. He motioned for her to stay down.
The knocking didn't repeat. Instead, the handle slowly turned. The door creaked open, letting in a blast of freezing wind.
Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the pale moonlight, was an old woman. Her hair was silver, her face lined with age, and she held a double-barreled shotgun leveled perfectly at Roman’s chest.
Kate gasped, stepping out from behind Roman.
“Grandma?” Kate whispered, her voice breaking.
May you like
Margaret Miller didn't lower the shotgun. Her eyes flicked to Kate, filled with a profound, weary sadness, before locking back onto the mafia boss.
“Put the gun down, Roman,” Margaret said, her voice gravelly and hard. “Or I will blow a hole straight through your heart. We have a lot of work to do if we’re going to get your son back.”
