Chapter 4 - The Burner Phone In The Snow
The voice on the phone sent a chill straight to my bones.
Luca’s knuckles were white against the steering wheel.
“Victor,” Luca said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. “You were supposed to be dead.”
A dry chuckle echoed through the speaker.
“Death is a very useful tool, Luca. Especially when you need to disappear with forty million dollars of syndicate money.”
I stared at the dashboard.
Victor Rossi. The former business partner who had supposedly died of a heart attack in Geneva three years ago. The man who had embezzled millions from the Moretti family.
“Where is my father?” Luca demanded.
“He’s resting comfortably in the back of my van,” Victor said smoothly. “He’s a stubborn old man, but he understands the stakes.”
“If you touch him—”
“I won’t have to touch him if you cooperate,” Victor interrupted. “Vanessa was supposed to handle this quietly. But she’s always been dramatic. Her little stunt with the trust amendment forced my hand.”
“What do you want?”
“The offshore accounts I left behind require dual biometric authorization to unlock fully. My thumbprint. And your father’s retina scan.”
Victor paused.
“I have your father. Now I need the security token he carries. The one you keep in the estate vault.”
Luca went perfectly still.
“The signet ring,” Luca realized.
“Exactly,” Victor said. “Bring Vittorio’s gold signet ring to the abandoned rail yard on 18th Street. You have thirty minutes. If you call the police, or if you bring your security team, I put a bullet in your father’s head and board flight 842 without the extra cash.”
“And Vanessa?” Luca asked, testing the waters.
Victor laughed. “Vanessa is already on the plane. She’s waiting for me. I sent one of my inside men to pull her out of your basement.”
So the broken window hadn't been Anthony. It was Victor's mole.
“Thirty minutes, Luca. Come alone.”
The line went dead.
Luca tossed the phone onto the dashboard.
He didn’t turn toward the airport. He whipped the steering wheel hard to the right, taking the exit toward the industrial district.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said, my heart pounding. “You don’t have the ring. It’s back at the estate.”
“I know,” Luca said.
“He’s going to kill your father when he sees you don’t have it.”
“He’s going to try.”
Luca reached under his seat and pulled out a heavy, matte-black pistol. He checked the magazine with one hand while steering with the other.
He looked at me.
“Emma. I’m dropping you at the nearest police station. You tell them everything.”
“No,” I said instantly.
Luca frowned. “This isn’t a negotiation. You are a civilian. You are my employee. I am not taking you into a gunfight.”
“Victor doesn't know who I am,” I argued, my voice shaking but determined. “He thinks I’m just a maid. If you go in there empty-handed, he’ll shoot you on sight. You need a distraction.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I have the pen,” I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out Vittorio’s blue fountain pen. “Victor doesn't know what the ring looks like up close. I can walk in holding this. I can tell him you sent me to make the exchange while you hold the perimeter.”
Luca stared at the road, his jaw ticking.
“It’s suicide, Emma.”
“It’s a chance to save your father,” I fired back.
He looked at me. Really looked at me.
For the first time, he wasn’t looking at the girl who poured his coffee. He was looking at an equal.
“Why are you doing this?” Luca asked quietly.
I looked down at the dark bruise on my wrist.
“Because my father died alone in a hospital,” I whispered. “And I won’t let yours die in the back of a van in the snow.”
Luca’s expression softened, just for a fraction of a second.
Then, his eyes hardened into pure resolve.
“Eighteenth Street,” Luca said, pressing the gas pedal to the floor. “We do this together.”
We arrived at the abandoned rail yard twenty-two minutes later.
The snow was coming down in thick, blinding sheets. Rusting train cars sat like metal skeletons in the darkness.
At the center of the yard, the headlights of a white medical transport van cut through the blizzard.
Standing in front of the van was a tall man in a dark trench coat. Victor Rossi.
He held a gun pointed directly at the head of an older man kneeling in the snow.
Vittorio.
Luca parked the SUV fifty yards away.
“Stay behind me,” Luca ordered, chambering a round.
We stepped out into the freezing wind.
Victor squinted through the snow, raising his weapon slightly as we approached.
“I told you to come alone, Luca!” Victor shouted over the wind.
“She’s the one holding the ring,” Luca lied smoothly, keeping his hands visible but ready to draw.
Victor looked at me. He scoffed. “The maid? How poetic. Bring it here, sweetheart.”
I took a deep breath.
I clutched the blue fountain pen in my pocket, ready to pull it out and pretend it was a velvet box.
I took three steps forward.
But as I stepped closer to the headlights, Vittorio Moretti looked up at me.
The old man’s face was bruised, but his eyes were sharp.
He didn’t look at Luca. He looked directly at me.
And Vittorio slowly shook his head.
“Don’t give it to him, Emma,” Vittorio rasped, his voice cutting through the wind. “The ring isn’t for the bank.”
Victor frowned, pressing the gun harder against Vittorio’s temple. “Shut up, old man.”
Vittorio ignored the gun. He kept his eyes locked on me.
May you like
“Open the pen, Emma,” Vittorio commanded. “Twist the gold cap.”
TITLE: The Hidden Memory Drive In The Snow
