Chapter 5 - THE TICKET STUB
I couldn't look away from the boy at the top of the stairs.
Those green eyes. That slight tilt of his chin. The resemblance was so striking it physically knocked the breath out of me.
“Sarah,” I whispered, the name of my estranged sister tasting like ash in my mouth.
Nicholas walked to the bottom of the staircase and held out his arms.
“It’s okay, Leo. Come here.”
The little boy, who looked to be about eight years old, hurried down the stairs in his pajamas and buried his face into Nicholas’s leg. The feared mafia boss knelt down, completely disregarding the expensive fabric of his suit, and wrapped his arms protectively around the child.
“Who is he?” I asked, my voice shaking so badly I barely recognized it.
“His name is Leo,” Nicholas said quietly, looking up at me. “He is Sarah’s son. And your nephew.”
The floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
Sarah had left home when I was eighteen, screaming that our small-town life was suffocating her. She never called, never wrote. My father spent years trying to find her, spending money we didn't have on private investigators, until his heart finally gave out, and he stopped looking.
“My father knew?” I choked out. “He knew about Leo?”
“He didn't just know,” Nicholas said, standing up and resting a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He was trying to smuggle him out of the city the night he died.”
Nicholas opened the small leather pouch he had taken from my father’s coat. From inside, he pulled out a faded Amtrak train ticket.
He handed it to me.
I looked down at the faded ink. It was a one-way ticket to Chicago, dated November 14th—the day after my father was killed. But it wasn't for one person. It was for two. One adult, one child.
“Sarah got involved with the wrong man,” Nicholas explained, his voice turning grim. “My Uncle Vincent. He’s a monster, Anna. When Sarah realized what he truly was, she tried to run. Vincent found out, and he... he made sure she couldn't.”
A sickening wave of horror crashed over me. “Sarah is dead?”
Nicholas closed his eyes for a brief moment and nodded. “I’m sorry, Anna. Your father found out. He couldn't save his daughter, but he swore to God he would save her son. He came to my father for help.”
I stared at the little boy holding onto Nicholas’s leg. Leo was looking at me cautiously.
“Your dad,” Leo said softly, his voice trembling. “He was my Grandpa Tommy.”
Tears burned my eyes. I dropped to my knees so I was eye-level with him. “You knew my dad?”
Leo nodded. “He used to bring me peppermints. He said he was going to take me on a train to see the snow.”
I reached out, my fingers hovering, unsure if I should touch him. But Leo took a step forward and threw his small arms around my neck. I buried my face in his shoulder, sobbing for the sister I’d lost, the father who had lied to protect me, and the nephew I never knew I had.
When I finally pulled back, Nicholas was watching me with an expression of profound respect.
“My father hid Leo here, in this house,” Nicholas said. “Only a handful of people know he exists. Vincent thinks the boy died in the same fire that killed Sarah.”
“Then why did David call someone tonight?” I asked, wiping my face. “If they think Leo is dead, what do they want from me?”
Nicholas’s jaw clenched. “Because your father didn't just try to steal Leo. He stole Vincent’s private ledger. The real one. The one that proves Vincent has been stealing from the Commission and ordering unsanctioned hits for a decade. If that ledger gets into the hands of the other Families, Vincent is a dead man.”
“And you think my father gave it to me?” I asked, completely bewildered. “I don't have it! I would know if I had a Mafia ledger in my tiny apartment!”
Nicholas leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.
“Your father was a genius with numbers, Anna. He wouldn't just hand you a book. He hid it somewhere, and he left a clue. We’ve searched everywhere for three years. We found nothing.”
Leo tugged on my sleeve.
I looked down at him.
“You sound like the lady from the tape,” the little boy whispered.
Nicholas suddenly went completely still.
“What tape, Leo?” Nicholas asked, his voice sharp but controlled.
Leo looked up at him nervously. “The one Grandpa Tommy made me listen to. In the car, before the bad men came. He played a tape on the radio. It was a lady singing.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Was it... was it a lullaby?” I asked, my heart pounding. “About a yellow bird?”
Leo’s eyes went wide. “Yes! How did you know?”
I looked up at Nicholas, my chest heaving.
“It wasn't a tape of a lady singing,” I whispered. “It was a recording of me. I recorded that lullaby for my dad on a cassette tape when I was ten years old. He used to keep it in his truck.”
Nicholas’s eyes darkened with sudden realization.
“The truck. It was pulled from the river, but it’s been sitting in our private scrapyard for three years.”
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Before Nicholas could say another word, the heavy oak doors of the study burst open.
Standing in the doorway, drenched in rain, was my manager, David. And standing behind him were three men armed with suppressed automatic weapons.
