Chapter 3 - THE FADED TICKET
“She was just leaving.”
Luca’s voice didn’t change pitch. He didn’t scramble to hide the business card. He simply slid his phone into his pocket and looked at his fiancée with absolute calm.
Vanessa stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. The click of the lock sounded like a gunshot.
“Leaving with three thousand dollars in cash?” Vanessa’s eyes flicked to my hand. “Generous severance for a girl who doesn’t know how to knock.”
I shoved the money deep into my apron pocket, my palms sweating.
“It’s a loan,” Luca said smoothly. “Emily’s father is facing eviction. She asked for an advance on her salary. I felt charitable.”
Vanessa laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound. “You? Charitable to the help? Since when?”
“Since my wedding is in two weeks and I don’t want my staff crying in the hallways.” Luca walked toward her, his imposing frame blocking her view of me. “Go home, Emily. We’ll discuss your schedule tomorrow.”
I didn’t wait for a second invitation.
I bolted out of the study, my pulse hammering in my ears.
By the time I reached the back exit of the mansion, my hands were shaking so badly I could barely unlock my car. The Chicago wind hit me like a slap, but it wasn’t the cold making me shiver.
It was the realization of what I was holding.
I pulled out the cash. Tucked inside the stack of bills was something else. Luca must have slipped it in when he handed me the money.
It was a faded train ticket.
Dated nine years ago. Chicago to Montreal.
The passenger name was Elena Moretti.
My breath caught. She hadn’t died in Italy in a car crash. She had taken a train out of Chicago. She had run.
I started the engine of my beat-up Honda and drove into the night.
Forty minutes later, I parked two streets away from the address Luca had given me. It was a crumbling brick building with flickering streetlights. My neighborhood. The kind of place wealthy people forgot existed.
I pulled my coat tight and walked up to the building. The directory was half-broken. Apartment 4B just said Rossi.
I climbed the narrow, urine-scented stairwell. My heart hammered against my ribs. Just look. Do not engage.
I reached the fourth floor.
The door to 4B was cracked open.
A cold dread washed over me. The lock was splintered, the wood splintering around the frame. Someone had forced it.
I pushed the door an inch.
“Hello?” I whispered.
Silence.
I stepped inside. The apartment was tiny and freezing. The living room had been torn apart. Cushions slashed, drawers dumped on the floor.
My breath hitched. I turned to leave. I had to call Luca.
Then I heard it.
A ragged, quiet breathing coming from the bedroom closet.
I froze. I should have run. But I thought of the eleven-year-old boy. I thought of the terror that must be in his chest.
I walked slowly to the bedroom. The closet door was shut.
“Hey,” I whispered softly. “I’m not here to hurt you. My name is Emily.”
The breathing stopped.
I knelt down and gently pulled the closet door open.
A boy was huddled in the corner. He had messy dark hair, pale skin, and eyes so fiercely dark they looked exactly like the man sitting in the mansion miles away. Luca’s eyes.
He was clutching a torn piece of paper to his chest. A child’s drawing.
“Are you Daniel?” I asked gently.
He didn’t answer. He just stared at me with pure defiance.
“I was sent by someone who wants to help you,” I lied. Or maybe it wasn’t a lie. I didn’t know anymore. “Where is your mother?”
The boy’s lip trembled, but his voice was dead flat.
“They took her.”
My stomach plummeted. “Who took her?”
“The men in the gray suits.”
Mr. Hale’s men.
Before I could process what that meant, a heavy footstep sounded in the hallway outside the apartment. Then another.
Someone was coming back.
The boy’s eyes went wide with terror. He scrambled backward, dropping the drawing.
As the paper fluttered to the floor, I saw what he had drawn. It wasn’t a picture of his mother.
It was a drawing of a man with a jagged scar across his neck.
May you like
I knew that scar.
It belonged to Vanessa’s brother.
