Chapter 3 - THE RED DOOR
The kitchen spun.
I stared at the wrinkled paper in Luca’s hand, the blue waxy lines of Leo’s crayon glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights.
There was a small smudge of peanut butter in the corner. I remembered wiping it away with my thumb yesterday morning.
"That’s impossible," I breathed, stepping forward despite the sharp pain in my side. "I left that on my fridge. In my apartment. Three miles from here."
Luca stepped closer to me. The mafia boss, the untouchable billionaire, was suddenly just a man desperately trying to connect the dots.
"Are you telling me my mother was kidnapped by someone who broke into your home?"
"I don't know!" Panic clawed at my throat. "My son—oh my God, Leo."
I spun around, ignoring the pain, and lunged for my purse on the employee rack. My hands were shaking so violently I dropped my phone twice before I could dial my babysitter’s number.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
"Pick up, pick up, pick up, Sarah," I chanted.
"Hello?" Sarah’s teenage voice filtered through the speaker, thick with sleep.
"Sarah? Is Leo there? Is he okay?"
"Mrs. Parker? Yeah, he’s asleep. We watched a movie and he crashed on the couch. Why?"
My knees buckled.
I caught the edge of the prep table, letting out a sob of relief. "Don't open the door for anyone, Sarah. I’ll be home as soon as I can."
I hung up, pressing my forehead against the cool stainless steel. He was safe. My boy was safe.
"He's home," I whispered to Luca, who had watched my every move.
Luca nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. But his dark eyes immediately flicked back to the blue crayon drawing.
"If your son is home... how did this get into the car with my mother?"
He turned slowly toward Vanessa.
She was still pressed against the counter, her red dress bright as blood. Her hands were shaking. The confident, cruel woman who had mocked my injury an hour ago was entirely gone.
"Vanessa," Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Did you break into Emily’s apartment?"
"No!" she gasped, her eyes wide. "Luca, I swear to God, I’ve never been to her apartment. I don’t even know where she lives!"
"Then explain the watch. Explain the drawing."
Vanessa shook her head frantically. "I didn't plan this! You have to believe me. The envelope I gave Thomas—it just had money in it. Cash to get her out of town. The man who called me… he said if Eleanor stayed in Chicago tonight, she would die."
Daniel stepped forward. "Who called you?"
"I don't know his name! He called my private cell this morning. He proved he was serious, Luca. He knew about the security rotation. He knew about the catering delivery." She swallowed hard, a tear ruining her perfect makeup. "He said if I didn't send Eleanor to the West Side shipyard tonight, he would tell you what I did."
Luca went very still. "What did you do, Vanessa?"
She squeezed her eyes shut. "I… I found your father's watch. Six months ago. In your mother's private safe."
The silence was deafening.
I held my breath.
Luca’s father had been murdered ten years ago. The missing gold watch was the only clue the police—and the Moretti family—ever had.
And it had been in his mother's safe this whole time?
"You're lying," Luca said, but his voice lacked its usual certainty.
"I'm not!" Vanessa cried. "Eleanor hid it! She knew who killed him, Luca. She’s been protecting them."
Reversal.
Everything shifted. Vanessa hadn't kidnapped Eleanor to hurt her. She had forced her out of the house because she was being blackmailed by someone who knew Eleanor’s darkest secret.
Luca looked down at the child’s drawing in his hand.
If Eleanor was hiding the truth about a murder, why was my six-year-old son’s drawing sitting on the empty passenger seat of her getaway car?
"Daniel," Luca ordered, his eyes snapping up. "Lock down the estate. Nobody leaves. Not the guests, not the staff."
He looked at me. "Emily. You’re coming with me."
I backed away, terrified. "I have to go home to my son!"
"No." Luca’s voice was firm, but suddenly protective. "If this drawing came from your apartment, someone was in your home today. You aren't going back there. Daniel is sending a team to retrieve your son and the babysitter. They’re coming here."
Tears sprang to my eyes. "Mr. Moretti, please—"
"I am not letting you out of my sight," he said, stepping closer until I had to look up at him. "Whoever took my mother knows who you are. And they want us to know they’ve been inside your house."
Before I could argue, Daniel’s radio crackled.
"Boss. You need to come to the front gates."
"What is it?" Luca demanded.
"It's Thomas, sir. The driver." The guard’s voice trembled. "He just walked up to the perimeter."
"Is my mother with him?"
"No, sir." A heavy pause. "He's covered in blood. And he’s holding something."
Luca didn't wait. He grabbed his coat and sprinted for the door.
I followed, ignoring the stabbing pain in my ribs, rushing out into the cold Chicago rain.
The massive iron gates were illuminated by security spotlights.
Thomas, a man who had always worn crisp suits and a polite smile, was kneeling on the wet asphalt. His shirt was soaked in dark crimson.
Luca fell to his knees beside him in the mud. "Thomas. Where is she? Who did this?"
Thomas coughed, a terrible, wet sound. He looked up at Luca, his eyes glassy and unfocused.
"I tried, Boss. I tried to stop them."
"Stop who?" Luca pleaded, pressing his hands against Thomas’s wound.
Thomas didn't answer the question. Instead, his bloody hand reached out and grabbed the sleeve of my cheap, black maid’s uniform.
He looked directly at me.
"He wants his locket back, Emily," Thomas whispered, his grip tightening on my arm. "He said to tell you… he never stopped looking for it."
Thomas’s hand went limp.
I stumbled back, my heart stopping in my chest.
May you like
Because underneath my uniform, cold against my collarbone, rested the silver locket I had worn every day since I was eighteen.
The locket I took from a dead man.
