Chapter 2 - THE GRAY COAT
The silence in the dining room was absolute.
Not a single guest moved, not even to set down a wine glass.
Luca Moretti didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. The terrifying stillness radiating from him was enough to freeze the air in the room.
His security chief, a massive man named Marco, stepped forward immediately.
“Lock down the perimeter,” Marco spoke quietly into his earpiece. “No one leaves.”
Vanessa Bellini’s face drained of color.
She looked at the thirty wealthy guests sitting around the table, desperately trying to salvage her dignity.
“Luca, please,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You are making a scene over a misunderstanding. I bought that watch from a dealer in New York. The delivery driver was just a courier.”
Luca didn’t look at her.
He kept his dark eyes fixed on me.
“Emma,” he said softly. “Are you absolutely sure about the scar?”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry.
“Yes, sir. Left eyebrow. It looked like an old burn. And he was wearing a heavy charcoal-gray wool coat.”
Vanessa’s hands gripped the edge of the tablecloth so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“She’s lying,” Vanessa hissed. “She’s trying to ruin this evening because she’s a bitter, jealous little girl who wipes our floors.”
I didn’t defend myself. I didn't need to.
Because Marco’s earpiece crackled in the quiet room.
Marco listened for two seconds before looking at Luca.
“Boss. We got him.”
Luca finally broke his gaze away from me. “Where?”
“He was trying to get through the south gate on foot,” Marco said. “He abandoned his delivery van in the service driveway. He’s in the kitchen now.”
Luca set the silver watch gently on the table.
Then he stood up.
He didn't excuse himself to his guests. He didn't look at his fiancée.
He just started walking toward the kitchen.
Marco followed him.
And, to my horror, Luca stopped at the dining room doors and looked back at me.
“Emma. With me.”
Vanessa let out a sharp gasp. “You cannot take a maid into a security matter, Luca! This is family business!”
“Right now,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, gravelly register, “Emma is the only person in this room who hasn’t lied to me tonight.”
I wiped my sweaty palms on my black apron. My legs felt like lead, but I followed him. I needed this job to save my parents' house, but right now, I just needed to survive the night.
We pushed through the swinging doors into the massive industrial kitchen.
The cooking staff had been cleared out.
Two armed guards stood by the stainless steel prep tables. Between them, forced onto his knees, was the delivery driver.
He was wearing a heavy charcoal-gray wool coat.
And above his left eyebrow, a jagged, puckered scar stood out against his pale skin.
He looked terrified.
Luca walked slowly toward him, his expensive dress shoes clicking against the tile.
“Who sent you?” Luca asked.
The man kept his head down. “I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Moretti. I was just delivering a package.”
Luca stopped two feet away from him.
“You delivered a watch,” Luca said. “A watch that belonged to my brother, Daniel. A watch that someone wound this morning.”
The man flinched. He knew the name Daniel Moretti.
Everyone in Chicago knew what happened to anyone who had crossed Daniel.
“I’m a courier,” the man stammered. “I don't look in the boxes.”
Luca crouched down so he was at eye level with the man.
“If you are just a courier,” Luca asked reasonably, “why did you abandon your van and try to run out the south gate on foot?”
The man didn't answer. He was shaking.
Luca sighed. He reached into his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a cell phone.
“Marco. Strip his coat.”
The guards yanked the gray wool coat off the man’s shoulders. He struggled, but they held him fast.
Marco searched the deep pockets of the coat.
He pulled out a set of car keys, a cheap burner phone, and a thick, brown envelope.
Marco handed the envelope to Luca.
Luca opened it.
He didn't pull out money. He didn't pull out a confession letter.
He pulled out a stack of five by seven photographs.
Luca stared at the first photograph. His jaw tightened so hard I thought his teeth might crack.
“Answer one,” Luca whispered to himself. “Open two.”
He stood up and walked over to me.
He held the photograph out.
“Emma,” he said quietly. “Have you ever seen this before?”
I looked at the glossy paper.
My heart stopped beating.
The air rushed out of my lungs, leaving me dizzy and completely disoriented.
It was a surveillance photograph. Grainy, taken from a distance.
It showed a small, run-down storefront on a rainy street.
The sign above the door read: REED & SON CLOCKWORKS.
My father’s shop in Milwaukee.
But that wasn't what made my stomach turn to ice.
Standing in the doorway of the shop, shaking hands with my father, was a young man with dark, familiar features.
Daniel Moretti.
The timestamp in the corner of the photo read: October 12th, 2018.
The exact day Daniel Moretti disappeared.
“That’s my father’s shop,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “But... that’s impossible. My father never met your brother.”
“This timestamp is from eight years ago,” Luca said, his dark eyes searching my face for any sign of deception. “The day Daniel vanished. And he was standing with your father.”
I looked up at Luca, panic clawing at my throat.
“I didn't know,” I swore, stepping back. “I was in college. I swear to you, Mr. Moretti, I didn't know!”
Before Luca could answer, the scarred man on the floor started laughing.
It was a wet, ugly sound.
“You really think she’s just a maid, Moretti?” the man wheezed, blood on his teeth.
Luca turned slowly toward him.
“What did you say?”
The man looked directly at me.
“Ask her why she really needed a job in your house. Ask her what her father has been hiding in his basement for eight years.”
My entire world tilted.
“Shut up,” I said, my voice shaking. “My father is a good man. He had a stroke. He can’t even speak!”
The man grinned, a grotesque stretch of scar tissue.
“He had a stroke because of what he’s keeping down there, sweetheart. And Vanessa Bellini finally figured it out.”
Luca stepped forward, grabbing the man by the throat and slamming him against the steel counter.
“What is in the basement?” Luca roared.
The man gasped for air, his eyes rolling back.
“Go look,” he choked out. “Before the timer runs out.”
Luca dropped him. He turned to Marco.
“Lock him in the cellar. Do not let anyone near him.”
Then Luca turned to me.
His eyes were entirely different now. The calm, observant boss was gone. In his place was a man who had just realized his enemy had been sleeping under his roof—and serving his meals.
“Get your coat, Emma,” Luca commanded.
May you like
“Where are we going?” I stammered, terrified.
“We’re going to Milwaukee,” Luca said. “To look in your father’s basement.”
