Chapter 3 - THE HIDDEN CLASP
The heavy thud of the gun on the mahogany table echoed in the silent room.
I stared at the cold black metal, then at the silver rosary beside it.
My husband, David, had been a civilian. An accountant for a mid-sized logistics firm in the city. Three years ago, his car had gone off a bridge in the rain.
The police called it a tragic accident. Closed case.
They had returned his wedding band and his wallet. But not his rosary. They said it must have been lost in the river.
Now, it was sitting on the dining table of the most dangerous man in the city.
"Start talking, Charles," Dominic said, leaning back in his chair.
Charles didn't look at the gun. He looked at me. His eyes were full of a toxic mix of triumph and desperation.
"You think she's just a maid who needed a job?" Charles scoffed, pointing at me. "Look at her, Dominic. Look at the grieving widow. She’s playing you."
"I don't know what you're talking about!" I cried, clutching the empty coffee tray against my chest like a shield.
"My husband was an innocent man!" I yelled, the fear evaporating into sudden, blinding anger. "He balanced ledgers! He took the train to work! Why do you have his necklace?!"
Matteo, still sitting frozen in his chair, suddenly let out a ragged breath.
"Because he didn't balance ledgers for a logistics firm, Hannah," Matteo said quietly.
I turned to Matteo, my stomach plummeting. "What?"
Matteo wouldn't look me in the eye. He looked at Dominic.
"Tell her, Dom. Tell her who David really worked for."
Dominic’s jaw tightened. He looked at the silver rosary, then up at me. His dark eyes were suddenly filled with something that looked entirely out of place on his face.
Regret.
"David worked for my father, Hannah," Dominic said softly. "He was the chief forensic accountant for the Caruso family."
The coffee tray slipped from my hands.
It hit the floor with a deafening crash, silver bouncing across the hardwood.
"No," I whispered, shaking my head and taking a step back. "No, he hated organized crime. He hated violence. He promised me—"
"He lied to keep you safe," Dominic interrupted gently. "He was uncovering a massive embezzlement scheme within our ranks. Someone was stealing millions from the family trust. David found out who it was."
Dominic’s eyes flicked to Charles. "And the night he was supposed to bring me the proof, his car mysteriously went off a bridge."
I couldn't breathe. My entire marriage. The man I loved. The father of my child.
It was all wrapped in a lie. A terrifying, bloody lie.
"I found the rosary in the old archives today," Charles spat, desperate to save himself. "I knew what it meant! I was trying to bring it to you, Dominic! I swear!"
"You're lying," Dominic said flatly. "You were giving it to Matteo."
"Because Matteo is the one who killed him!" Charles screamed.
The room erupted.
Two of Dominic’s capos drew their weapons, aiming them right at Matteo’s head.
Matteo threw his hands up, tears streaming down his face. "I didn't kill David! I swear on our mother's grave, Dom! I didn't kill him! I was just holding the rosary because I found out what's inside it!"
Dominic froze. "Inside it?"
"The bottom of the cross," Matteo stammered, pointing a shaking finger at the table. "It’s a hollow compartment. David hid the proof inside it."
Dominic picked up the heavy silver cross.
He twisted the bottom of the crucifix.
There was a tiny click.
The bottom slid away.
From inside the hollow silver chamber, a tiny, folded piece of waterproof paper fell onto the table.
The missing proof.
Dominic carefully unfolded it. He read the single line of text written in my dead husband's handwriting.
Whatever he saw made all the color drain from Dominic Caruso's face.
He didn't look at Matteo. He didn't look at Charles.
He slowly turned his head to look down the table.
Sitting silently at the far end, finishing his glass of wine with perfect calm, was Dominic’s uncle.
Salvatore Caruso.
"Uncle Sal," Dominic whispered, the betrayal thick in his throat.
Sal smiled gently, dabbing his mouth with a linen napkin. "He was a very smart accountant, Dominic. Too smart."
Before anyone could move, before Dominic could raise his gun, a sharp, piercing sound cut through the room.
BZZZ. BZZZ.
It was coming from my apron pocket.
A cheap, prepaid burner phone. The one I used for emergencies. The one I was strictly forbidden from having on duty.
The room went dead silent.
Sal chuckled. "You better answer that, Hannah. I believe the babysitter has an update."
My blood ran ice cold.
I pulled the phone out with trembling fingers.
The screen lit up with a text message from an unknown number.
It was a photograph.
I stared at it, and the world stopped spinning. It just fell away completely.
It was a picture of a little boy’s blue dinosaur backpack.
Resting on a mahogany table.
A table I recognized.
It was the table in Dominic’s private upstairs library.
"Who is Leo?" Dominic asked, having stepped close enough to see the screen over my shoulder.
I looked at him, tears streaming down my face, my lungs forgetting how to work.
"He's my seven-year-old son," I choked out. "And he's hiding in the servant's quarters."
May you like
Sal leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands, his eyes gleaming with sheer malice.
"Not anymore, he isn't."
