THE SCISSORS IN THE STUDY

Union Station was nearly deserted at this hour. The echoing footsteps of late-night commuters bounced off the massive marble columns.

Dominic and Claire moved quickly through the concourse, bypassing the ticket counters and heading straight for the basement levels, where the long-term rental lockers were kept.

They found section C. Locker 402.

Dominic slid the old, yellowed baggage claim ticket into the automated slot. The machine whirred, verifying the ancient barcode.

A heavy clack echoed through the corridor. The metal door popped open.

Claire held her breath as Dominic reached inside.

He didn't pull out stacks of cash or gold bars. He pulled out a heavy, fireproof steel lockbox.

Dominic set it on the floor. It required a key they didn't have.

Without hesitation, Dominic drew his weapon, attached a heavy silencer from his coat pocket, aimed at the lock, and pulled the trigger.

The metal shattered.

Dominic pried the lid open.

Inside lay a thick stack of handwritten letters bound with twine.

But resting on top of the letters was an object that made Dominic freeze completely.

It was a delicate, silver charm bracelet. It was heavily tarnished, but the unique charms—a tiny sparrow, a silver heart, a small anchor—were unmistakable.

Dominic’s breathing turned ragged. He reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the bracelet.

“Dominic?” Claire asked gently, seeing the sheer devastation wash over the mafia boss’s face. “What is it?”

“This belonged to my mother,” Dominic whispered, his voice cracking.

Claire frowned. “I thought your mother died in a car accident when you were a teenager.”

“She did,” Dominic said, staring at the silver charms. “Seventeen years ago. Just two months before Joseph Mercer disappeared.”

He set the bracelet down and grabbed the stack of letters. He tore the twine off and opened the top letter. It was written in a hurried, panicked script.

If anyone reads this, my name is Joseph Mercer. I am a dead man. Victor Hale didn't just sell ledgers to the Morettis. He sold out the Boss’s wife. Victor tampered with the brakes on Mrs. Bellini’s car. I heard him laughing about it with the Moretti underboss in my shop. I took the bracelet from the wreckage to prove Victor was there. I am hiding this to give to the Grandfather. May God forgive me.

Dominic stopped reading. The silence in the basement corridor was deafening.

The truth hit him like a freight train. Victor hadn't just stolen money. Victor had murdered Dominic’s mother to destabilize the family and hand the empire to their rivals.

“He killed her,” Dominic breathed, his eyes turning pitch black with a rage so profound it made the air in the room feel heavy.

Claire read the letter over his shoulder. Her heart broke for the man beside her. But then, a terrifying realization dawned on her.

“Dominic,” Claire said, her voice shaking. “If Joseph Mercer knew Victor tampered with the car...”

Dominic looked up at her.

“...then my mother knew, too,” Claire finished.

Dominic stood up slowly, putting the letters and the bracelet into his coat pocket.

“Marcus Gallo isn't holding your mother for leverage,” Dominic said, chambering a round into his weapon. “Victor ordered him to tie up the final loose end. Marcus is going to execute her.”