Chapter 3 - THE CHILD'S DRAWING
The air in the study turned to ice.
"Buried with her?" I whispered, my good hand gripping the edge of a bookshelf to keep my balance.
Luca stared at the open doorway where his fiancée had just disappeared.
"Ten years ago," he repeated, his voice hollow. "My mother died of heart failure. I put that gold bracelet on her wrist myself before they closed the casket. It was a family heirloom. It was never supposed to see the light of day again."
A chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with my injured shoulder.
Vanessa hadn't just stolen a silver watch and sold a painting. She had grave-robbed the Moretti family tomb. Or she knew the people who did.
"I need to go," I blurted out, panic finally overwhelming my professionalism. "Mr. Moretti, I need to go home. My son is waiting for me."
Luca snapped out of his dark trance. He looked at me, realizing how terrified I was.
"You have a child?"
"A six-year-old boy. Toby. My neighbor watches him until midnight, but I can't... I can't stay here. If Vanessa finds out I told you—"
"I will not let her touch you," Luca said, stepping closer. The mafia boss persona returned, absolute and unwavering. "Daniel is going to drive you home. In my armored SUV."
"No, please. I just want to take the bus. I don't want to be noticed."
"Claire," Luca said gently, but it was an order. "You are a witness to her theft. She already physically assaulted you today. You are not taking a bus."
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a bulletproof Escalade. But Daniel wasn't driving.
Luca was.
He had thrown on a dark leather jacket over his dress shirt, completely abandoning his own engagement party.
"You didn't have to do this," I said quietly from the passenger seat as we drove through the dark Chicago streets.
"I needed to clear my head," Luca replied, his eyes scanning the mirrors. "And I need to know why my fiancé is wearing a dead woman's jewelry."
When we pulled up to my small, run-down apartment complex on the South Side, the streetlights were flickering.
I unbuckled my seatbelt. "Thank you, sir. I'll be fine from here."
"I'm walking you to the door."
I didn't argue. My shoulder was screaming in pain, and having a six-foot-two crime boss walk me up the stairs suddenly felt like the only safe option.
We reached the third floor.
I froze.
My apartment door was cracked open.
The cheap deadbolt had been completely shattered, the wood splintered around the frame.
"Toby!" I screamed, lunging forward.
Luca caught my waist with one arm, shoving me behind his broad back. He drew a sleek black handgun from his waistband in less than a second.
He kicked the door open.
The apartment was trashed. The couch cushions were sliced open. My drawers were emptied onto the floor.
"Toby!" I cried again, pushing past Luca.
"Mommy!"
A tiny voice came from the kitchen.
I ran toward the pantry. The door pushed open, and my six-year-old son practically fell into my arms, sobbing.
"Baby, are you okay? Did they hurt you?" I frantically checked his arms, his face. He was unharmed, just terrified.
My neighbor, Mrs. Gable, was unconscious on the kitchen floor, a nasty bruise on her forehead. Luca immediately checked her pulse and called for an ambulance.
"Who did this, Toby?" I asked, pulling my son onto my lap.
Toby sniffled, clutching a crumpled piece of paper in his tiny hands.
"It was a man in a black suit. And a lady. A pretty lady in a red dress."
Vanessa.
She had left her own engagement dinner to ransack my home.
"What were they looking for, buddy?" Luca asked softly, kneeling down so he was eye-level with my son.
May you like
Toby held up the crumpled paper. It was a child's drawing he had made last week. A drawing of a woman holding a special beaded necklace.
"She kept yelling at the man," Toby whispered. "She said they had to find Grandma's rosary before you did."
