Chapter 3 - The Empty Velvet Box
The harsh fluorescent lights of the bus terminal seemed to flicker.
Dominic stared at the empty velvet box in his grandfather’s trembling hands.
“What do you mean, who was really driving?” Dominic’s voice was barely a whisper, but it carried a terrifying weight.
For twenty years, the story had remained the same. Dominic’s parents had died in a tragic, accidental car crash on a rainy highway upstate. The police report stated his father lost control of the vehicle. It was a tragedy that had left an eleven-year-old boy in the care of his grieving grandfather.
“It wasn’t an accident, Dominic,” Frank wept, clutching the empty velvet box. “I found an old roll of film hidden in your father’s floorboards last week when I was repairing the baseboards. I developed it myself.”
I knelt frozen beside them, realizing I was hearing a secret that could tear the Manhattan underworld apart.
“What was on the film, Grandpa?” Dominic asked, his dark eyes wide.
“A picture taken by a private investigator your father had hired,” Frank gasped, clutching his chest. “It showed the intersection seconds before the crash. Your father wasn’t driving, Dominic. His car had been forced off the road by a black town car.”
Dominic’s jaw locked. “Whose town car?”
Frank looked up, sheer terror in his eyes.
“It had the Bellini family crest on the license plate,” Frank whispered. “Victoria’s father killed your parents.”
My breath caught in my throat.
Victoria hadn’t just been a snob trying to push away a poor relative. She was a saboteur. Her family had murdered Dominic’s parents, and she was marrying him to merge their empires before Dominic ever found out the truth.
“Victoria saw me looking at the photo in the foyer,” Frank cried. “She snatched it from my hands. She told me if I didn’t leave immediately and never come back, she would have her father’s men kill you tonight at the dinner.”
Dominic stood up slowly. The sadness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating fury that made the air around him feel dangerous.
“She threatened you with my life,” Dominic said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
“I had to leave,” Frank sobbed, struggling to stand. “I had to protect you, my boy.”
Dominic reached down and gently helped his grandfather to his feet.
“You protected me for twenty years, Grandpa. It’s my turn now.”
He turned to me. “Rachel. Take my SUV. Drive my grandfather to my private safe house in Brooklyn. Do not go back to the mansion.”
“What about you?” I asked, terrified.
“I’m taking a cab back to the mansion,” Dominic said, pulling a heavy silver handgun from his shoulder holster. He checked the magazine, the metallic click echoing sharply. “I’m going to have a little chat with my fiancée.”
Before I could argue, a loud crash shattered the noise of the terminal.
The glass doors at the entrance exploded inward.
People screamed, scattering in every direction as four men in dark trench coats stepped through the shattered glass. They weren’t police. They were holding suppressed submachine guns.
And they were looking directly at us.
“Bellini hitmen,” Dominic cursed, grabbing Frank by the collar and pulling him down behind a row of metal benches.
Gunfire erupted. Sparks flew as bullets ricocheted off the metal seats, inches above our heads.
“They tracked us!” I screamed, covering my ears as the deafening pop-pop-pop of suppressed fire chewed through the terminal.
“They didn’t track us,” Dominic growled, returning fire with his handgun. He shot one of the hitmen in the knee, sending the man crashing into a trash can. “They tracked the car. Victoria knew I’d come after him.”
Dominic looked at me, his eyes wild with adrenaline.
“Rachel, there’s a service exit down that hall,” he pointed toward a corridor marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. “Take Frank. Run. Now!”
“I’m not leaving you!” Frank yelled, clutching Dominic’s sleeve.
“You have to!” Dominic shouted over the gunfire. “If they get you, they destroy the only witness to the photograph! Go!”
I didn’t think. I just acted. I grabbed Frank’s arm and hoisted him up, dragging him away from the benches as Dominic laid down a wall of covering fire.
We sprinted down the hallway, bursting through the service doors into a damp, dimly lit alleyway behind the terminal.
The cold rain instantly soaked us again.
“This way!” I yelled, pulling Frank behind a row of massive dumpsters just as the service door kicked open.
Two of the Bellini hitmen stepped into the alley, their flashlights sweeping the darkness.
I clamped my hand over Frank’s mouth, holding my breath as the beam of light passed inches from our hiding spot. My heart hammered so violently I was sure they could hear it.
“Check the street,” one of the men barked. They jogged away, their footsteps splashing in the puddles.
I let out a ragged breath, removing my hand from Frank’s mouth.
“We have to get to Brooklyn,” I whispered. “We have to find a cab.”
But when I looked at Frank, my blood ran cold.
The old man had collapsed against the brick wall. His eyes were rolled back, his breathing coming in shallow, desperate gasps.
“Frank!” I cried softly, shaking his shoulder.
He didn’t respond.
His hand fell open, and something slipped out of his grasp, clattering against the wet pavement.
It wasn’t the velvet box.
It was a heavy, silver pocket watch. The glass face was cracked, and it was stained with dark, dried blood.
I picked it up, my hands shaking. I clicked the latch open.
Inside the watch lid was a tiny, faded picture of Dominic as a baby.
But tucked behind the picture was a folded piece of paper with the Bellini family crest.
It was a contract. Dated twenty years ago.
May you like
And the signature authorizing the hit on Dominic’s parents didn’t belong to Victoria’s father.
It belonged to Frank.
