Chapter 3 - THE BRACELET FROM A HOSPITAL ROOM
The burner phone buzzed violently against the plastic dashboard.
The glowing screen illuminated the dark cabin of the van.
Unknown Caller.
Luca stared at it for a second before reaching in and answering. He put it on speaker.
“Thomas?” Luca demanded, his voice cutting through the sound of the pouring rain.
A man’s voice crackled through the speaker. But it wasn’t Thomas Reed.
“He can’t come to the phone right now, Luca.”
It was Adrian.
“Where is he?” Luca asked, his grip tightening on the steering wheel of the van.
“He’s exactly where he belongs,” Adrian replied smoothly. “And so are you. Running in the dark. How does it feel to be the one chased out of your own home?”
“You’re a dead man, Adrian.”
Adrian laughed softly. “Look in the coat pocket, Luca. The maid’s mother didn’t leave it there by accident.”
The line went dead.
Luca turned to me. The rain was soaking his ruined white shirt, his dark hair plastered against his forehead.
“Check the pockets,” he ordered.
My hands were trembling so badly I almost dropped the heavy navy-blue fabric. Noah huddled against my side, his wide eyes watching me in the dim light.
I reached into the torn left pocket of my mother’s coat.
My fingers brushed against something hard and plastic.
I pulled it out.
It was a hospital identification bracelet.
But the name printed in stark black ink wasn’t my mother’s name.
BELLINI, VANESSA.
I stared at it. “This is your fiancée’s name.”
Luca took the plastic band from my hand. He wiped the rain from his eyes and read the text beneath Vanessa’s name.
It was a maternity ward admission band.
And the date printed on it was exactly six years ago.
“She had a child,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. “Vanessa has a six-year-old child.”
Luca’s face hardened into a mask of pure, terrifying focus.
“Get in the van,” he said.
I lifted Noah into the passenger seat and climbed into the back, clutching my mother’s coat. Luca threw the vehicle into gear and slammed his foot on the gas.
We tore through the service gates, the heavy tires throwing mud into the air as we sped onto the dark, winding roads of the Chicago suburbs.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said, my voice shaking over the roar of the engine. “My mother had heart surgery three days ago. She’s supposed to be in recovery at St. Jude’s. Why does Adrian have her coat? Why is Vanessa’s hospital bracelet inside it?”
“Because nothing in my house has been a coincidence for a very long time,” Luca said, his eyes scanning the rearview mirror for headlights. “Adrian didn’t just infiltrate my security. He’s been pulling strings for years. And somehow, your mother is tied to him.”
“My mother is a retired schoolteacher!” I argued, defensive panic rising in my chest.
“Your mother lied to you,” Luca said coldly.
Noah reached back and gently touched my hand.
“Miss Sophie?” the little boy whispered.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“When the bad man came to our house to take Daddy,” Noah said, his voice trembling, “he brought a lady with him.”
Luca’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. “What lady, Noah?”
“She had gray hair,” Noah said softly. “And she told the bad man to leave me behind because I was too young to know the truth.”
My blood ran cold. My mother had gray hair.
“She isn’t a hostage, Sophie,” Luca said quietly. “Your mother is working with Adrian.”
I slumped against the metal wall of the van. The woman I had been sending half my paycheck to. The woman I thought was fighting for her life in a hospital bed.
Suddenly, the van’s engine sputtered. The dashboard lights flickered, and a loud warning chime echoed through the cabin.
Luca cursed under his breath. “They cut the fuel line. We’re losing gas.”
He swerved off the main road, tearing down a gravel path that led toward the abandoned industrial district near the river. The van coughed and jerked before finally dying completely in the shadow of a massive, rusted shipping warehouse.
“We have to move,” Luca said, unbuckling his seatbelt and grabbing his gun.
We abandoned the van and ran through the freezing rain toward a rusted side door of the warehouse. Luca kicked it open, pushing us inside out of the storm.
The warehouse was pitch black, smelling of old oil and damp concrete.
Luca locked the heavy door behind us and leaned against it, breathing hard.
“We’re safe here for now,” Luca said. “This building is registered to a shell company they don’t know about.”
I wrapped my mother’s coat around Noah, trying to stop the child’s violent shivering.
“What do we do now?” I asked, my voice echoing in the empty space.
Before Luca could answer, a harsh, metallic click echoed from the darkness of the warehouse.
Then, a spotlight snapped on, blinding us.
Standing in the center of the warehouse, holding a shotgun aimed directly at Luca’s chest, was a woman.
May you like
She had gray hair.
“You’re right, Luca,” my mother said, stepping out of the shadows. “This building isn’t registered to you. It’s registered to me.”
