Chapter 3 - THE GREEN BOX
Adrian moved faster than I could blink.
He shoved me down behind the engine block of the Mercedes, covering my body with his own.
Another bullet sparked off the pavement inches from my shoe.
“Keep your head down,” he growled.
His chest pressed against my back, his heart beating with a steady, terrifying calm. He didn’t blindly fire back. He waited.
Counting the seconds.
Analyzing the angles.
“They’re on the second floor,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. “Corner window.”
“They’re shooting at us,” I choked out, clutching the green box to my chest.
“They’re shooting at me, Anna. You’re just in the way.”
He said it to keep me grounded, but the protective grip of his hand on my shoulder told a different story.
He fired three rounds into the darkness.
Wood splintered above us.
Then, silence.
We waited for two agonizing minutes in the freezing rain.
When Adrian finally stood, pulling me up by my elbow, the shooter was gone.
“Back to the SUV,” he ordered.
We didn’t speak until we were miles away, driving back toward the city. The heater blasted, but I was shivering.
I held the green box in my lap like it was a bomb.
Adrian glanced at the box, then at me.
“Your grandfather,” he said quietly. “He repaired pianos.”
“Yes.”
“Did he ever repair things for the Moretti family?”
I swallowed hard. “He never asked names. Men in suits brought him things. He fixed the wood, glued the felt, replaced the brass. He said it was better not to know the music they played.”
Adrian gripped the steering wheel. “My wife died of heart failure seven years ago. At least, that’s what the coroner wrote. You don’t think a coroner lies to a mafia boss unless someone pays him more than I do.”
“You think she was murdered.”
“I think she was hiding.”
I opened the box again.
I picked up my grandfather’s silver watch.
But underneath it, I saw something I hadn’t noticed in the dark.
A stack of envelopes.
All addressed to Elena Moretti.
But the return address wasn’t from a friend.
It was from the State Penitentiary.
I opened the first letter.
My eyes scanned the elegant, looping handwriting.
I stopped. I read it again.
My stomach dropped.
“Adrian,” I whispered.
He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Read it.”
“It’s to Elena.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “It says... ‘Thank you for keeping her safe. If Adrian finds out the truth about the little girl, he’ll use her against me.’”
The SUV swerved slightly before Adrian corrected it.
His jaw locked.
“What?”
I read the next line.
“‘Victoria promised to keep her close to the family. She promised to step in if you died.’”
Adrian slammed on the brakes.
The heavy SUV skidded to a halt on the shoulder of the empty highway.
He turned to me, his face a mask of restrained agony.
“Read the signature, Anna.”
I turned the page over.
My hands were shaking so badly the paper rattled.
“It’s signed... ‘Your loving sister, Maria.’”
Adrian stared at the windshield, the rain pounding against the glass.
“Maria,” he breathed. “The woman who ran the rival cartel. The woman I put in prison eight years ago.”
The reversal hit me like a physical blow.
Victoria wasn’t a gold digger trying to steal Adrian’s wealth.
She was protecting a secret.
“Adrian,” I said softly.
He looked at me. His eyes were completely shattered.
“Lily isn’t your daughter,” I whispered.
Adrian didn’t answer.
He reached into the green box and pulled out a small, folded piece of fabric tucked at the very bottom.
He unfolded it.
It was a baby’s hospital bracelet.
The name printed on it was Lily Rossi. Not Moretti. Rossi.
The rival family.
But as Adrian turned the plastic bracelet over, a small, handwritten note fell into his lap.
He opened it.
I watched all the blood drain from his face.
He handed the note to me.
May you like
It was written in Victoria’s handwriting.
“Adrian knows. I have the girl. Don’t try to find us.”
