Chapter 3 - THE PAWN SHOP ON 18TH STREET
The threat hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
Luca didn't blink. He didn't shout.
He simply slipped the pawn ticket and the child’s drawing into his suit pocket.
“If your men so much as look at Emma’s father,” Luca said, his voice stripped of all emotion, “I will burn your empire down while you watch.”
Enzo chuckled, buttoning his suit jacket.
“Midnight, Luca.”
He turned and walked out, his men following like shadows.
The moment the doors closed, the dining room erupted. Guests whispered frantically, pushing away their plates.
Vanessa grabbed Luca’s arm.
“Luca, please. Just give him the ticket. We can fix this.”
Luca pulled his arm away.
“Get the guests out of here.”
“But our engagement—”
“Is over,” Luca said.
Vanessa went completely still. “You can't mean that.”
“Pack your things, Vanessa.”
Luca turned to Frank. “Where is the pawnshop?”
“South side,” Frank said, picking up his lunch pail. “18th Street. But it’s been closed for fifteen years.”
Luca looked at me.
“Emma. Get your coat. We’re moving your father to my private clinic, and then we’re finding that watch.”
I didn't argue. I ran to the staff room, my hands shaking as I grabbed my jacket.
By the time I returned, Luca’s head of security, a giant of a man named Marco, was already coordinating my father’s transfer.
“He’s safe, Emma,” Luca promised as we climbed into the back of his black SUV. Frank sat in the front passenger seat.
“Thank you,” I whispered, gripping the edge of my seat.
The drive to 18th Street was silent and tense.
We pulled up to a boarded-up storefront. The faded painted sign above the door read: Rosa’s Antiques & Loans.
“It’s boarded shut,” Luca said, stepping out into the cold Chicago wind.
Frank walked up to the heavy steel door.
He didn't knock. He reached under the collar of his union jacket, pulled out a small key on a chain, and unlocked the deadbolt.
Luca frowned. “How do you have the key?”
Frank pushed the door open.
“Because Rosa is my sister.”
Answer one. Open two.
Michael Moretti hadn't trusted a random pawnshop. He had trusted Frank's family.
But if Frank knew the ticket was here, why wait twenty years?
We stepped into the dusty, dark shop. Frank turned on a single overhead bulb.
The shelves were empty. The glass display cases were cracked.
From the back room, an elderly woman in a thick cardigan appeared.
She looked at Frank, then at Luca.
“He has his father’s eyes,” Rosa said, her voice raspy.
“He has the ticket, Rosa,” Frank said.
Luca handed her the faded pink slip.
Rosa looked at the number. She didn't go to a safe.
She walked over to a loose floorboard behind the counter, pried it up, and pulled out a small, dusty wooden box.
She placed it on the glass counter.
Luca opened it.
I leaned in, expecting to see a silver pocket watch.
The box was empty.
Except for a single, heavy silver rosary.
Reversal.
“Where is the watch?” Luca demanded.
Rosa shook her head.
“He didn't pawn a watch, Luca. He pawned this.”
Luca picked up the rosary. It was tarnished, heavy, and ornate.
“Enzo Bellini is threatening to kill people over a watch,” Luca said. “Why would my father hide a rosary?”
I looked closely at the silver cross dangling from the beads.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said softly.
He looked at me.
I pointed to the bottom of the cross.
It wasn't a solid piece of silver. There was a tiny seam.
Luca twisted the bottom of the cross.
With a soft click, it unscrewed.
A small, brass key fell into his palm.
I stared at the key. My breath caught in my throat.
“I know that key,” I whispered.
Luca’s head snapped toward me. “What?”
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“I clean Vanessa’s private suite,” I said, my heart racing. “She has an antique rosewood lockbox under her bed. That key goes to it.”
TITLE: THE LETTER IN THE LOCKBOX
