Chapter 2 - THE SECRET IN THE ENVELOPE
Luca stared at his father’s handwriting.
The engagement dinner around us had gone completely still.
Vanessa reached for the envelope.
“Luca, this is ridiculous. He’s an old man playing games.”
Luca didn’t even look at her. He just caught her wrist.
Gently. But firmly enough that she stopped moving.
“Don’t touch it,” he said.
He released her hand.
Then he slid his finger under the flap of the yellowed envelope.
The paper was brittle. It tore with a dry, sharp sound.
Every guest watched.
Luca tipped the envelope over the table.
Two things fell out.
The first was a pawn ticket. Faded pink paper, dated twenty years ago.
The second was a child’s drawing.
Crayon on construction paper. A house with a red roof, a blue car, and two stick figures holding hands.
I recognized the drawing style immediately. I had seen similar ones saved in boxes in the mansion’s attic.
Luca had drawn it when he was a boy.
Vanessa let out a breath that sounded like relief.
“A pawn ticket and a drawing,” she laughed softly. “Darling, your father was sentimental. That’s all this is.”
Luca didn’t laugh.
He was staring at the back of the drawing.
He turned it over so Frank could see.
Written in heavy black ink, in Michael Moretti’s handwriting, was a short list of numbers.
Dates.
And next to each date, a dollar amount.
Massive amounts. Hundreds of thousands of dollars.
“This isn’t sentiment,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “This is a ledger.”
He looked at Frank.
“Where did this money come from?”
Frank’s old hands rested on his metal lunch pail.
“Enzo Bellini.”
Vanessa stood up.
“That’s a lie. My father would never pay Michael Moretti.”
“He didn’t pay him,” Frank corrected, looking up at her. “He paid him off.”
Answer one. Open two.
Michael Moretti hadn’t just been a victim of the Bellini family. He had been blackmailing them.
But why? What did a forklift mechanic know that could terrify a mafia boss?
“My father was a good man,” Luca said, his jaw tightening. “He wouldn’t extort someone without a reason.”
“He didn’t do it for himself,” Frank said gently. “He did it to protect what Enzo hid in the warehouse.”
Luca leaned forward.
“What did he hide?”
Before Frank could answer, the heavy double doors of the dining room swung open.
Standing in the doorway was Enzo Bellini.
Sixty-five. Tailored Italian suit. Silver hair brushed back.
He was flanked by three men who clearly weren't on the guest list.
Enzo looked past the crystal. Past the terrified guests.
He looked directly at the pink pawn ticket on the table.
“He hid a silver pocket watch, Luca,” Enzo said, his voice echoing in the quiet room.
Vanessa gasped. “Dad. You weren't supposed to be here until dessert.”
Enzo ignored his daughter. He walked slowly toward the head of the table.
“Your father stole that watch from me the night of the fire,” Enzo said, stopping across from Luca.
Luca stood up, matching the older man's stare.
“Then why did my father write your name on the incident report?”
Enzo smiled. It was a cold, empty expression.
“Because Michael didn't start the fire, Luca. He set the blaze to destroy the evidence of what I did.”
Reversal.
Michael hadn’t been murdered in the fire. He had started it himself.
But Enzo was still looking at the pawn ticket.
“I’ve looked for that ticket for twenty years,” Enzo said quietly. “Hand it over, son.”
Luca picked up the pink slip of paper.
“No.”
Enzo sighed. He looked around the room, his eyes finally landing on me.
“Emma Reed, isn't it?” Enzo asked.
My heart slammed against my ribs. “Yes.”
“How is your father doing?” Enzo asked pleasantly. “Stroke recovery is so unpredictable. My men were just outside his rehab clinic tonight. They said the security there is terribly lax.”
My blood ran cold.
Enzo looked back at Luca.
May you like
“You have until midnight, Luca. Bring me the watch, or the housekeeper’s father has another stroke.”
TITLE: THE PAWN SHOP ON 18TH STREET
