Chapter 5 - THE WOODEN TOY HORSE
Luca stopped three feet inside the lobby doors.
He didn't move. He didn't breathe.
The boy looked at him, then looked down at his toy horse, running his small thumb over the carved wooden mane.
“Leo?” Margaret called out softly, stepping forward with a warm, grandmotherly smile.
The boy’s eyes lit up slightly. “Mrs. Margaret?”
“Yes, sweetheart,” Margaret said, kneeling down so she was at his eye level. “You remembered me.”
“A lady in a gray car told me you were coming,” Leo said, his voice small, clean, and hesitant. “She said I had to wait here until the tall man came.”
Luca slowly knelt down beside Margaret. His hands, usually so steady and commanding, rested awkwardly on his knees.
“Hello, Leo,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur Emma had never heard from him before.
Leo looked at him closely. “Are you the tall man?”
“I think I am,” Luca said.
Leo held up the wooden horse. “Grace made this. Aunt Clara said Grace painted the saddle blue because blue is the color of brave things.”
Luca choked back a sound that was half a sob and half a breath.
Emma saw the tears welling in Luca’s eyes. He reached out, his finger gently touching the blue painted saddle.
“I remember when she carved it,” Luca said softly. “She sat on the porch in Michigan for three days working on it.”
Luca looked at Margaret, his jaw trembling. “Clara was pregnant when Grace died. But whose child is he, Margaret? Tell me.”
Margaret looked at Luca with deep compassion.
“Luca... eight years ago, before Clara was hidden away, your brother Thomas was still alive.”
Luca went completely rigid.
“Thomas?”
“Thomas and Clara loved each other,” Margaret explained quietly. “They were secretly engaged. But the Bellini family would never allow Clara to marry Thomas Moretti. They saw Thomas as a liability, an outcast. When Thomas died in that warehouse fire, Clara was two months pregnant. She had nobody left. If the Bellinis found out she was carrying a Moretti heir, they would have taken the baby and erased her.”
Luca covered his mouth with one hand.
Thomas. His younger brother. The boy he had tried to protect his entire life, the one whose death had nearly broken him before Grace got sick.
“Leo isn't your son, Luca,” Margaret whispered. “He is your nephew. He is Thomas’s only child.”
Leo tilted his head, watching Luca’s face. “Why are you crying, mister? Are you hurt?”
Luca lowered his hand, his eyes shining with profound reverence.
“No, Leo,” Luca said, reaching out to gently touch the boy’s shoulder. “I'm not hurt. I'm just so glad you’re safe.”
Emma stepped forward, her heart aching for the boy. “Mrs. Gable, who dropped him off? You said a woman?”
Mrs. Gable nodded, handing Luca a manila envelope. “She wouldn't give her name. But she left this for Mr. Arthur Reed. Emma, that’s your father.”
Emma stared at the envelope. “Why my father?”
Luca took the envelope. He opened the clasp and pulled out a single sheet of paper and an old brass key.
Attached to the key was a luggage tag with Arthur Reed’s handwriting on it:
*Locker 114 — Union Station. Kept safe since 2018.*
Emma gasped. “My dad’s transit locker. He had that locker for twenty years.”
Luca looked at Emma, then at the letter.
“It’s Clara’s handwriting,” Margaret said, recognizing the script immediately.
Luca read the letter in silence. As his eyes moved across the lines, his expression darkened into thunderous fury.
May you like
“Emma,” Luca said, his voice deadly cold. “Your father didn't just know Clara. Your father saved Clara’s life eight years ago.”
***
