Chapter 3 - The Stranger Behind The Desk
I didn’t move.
The air in the room suddenly felt freezing.
Leo’s small finger was still pointing directly at the heavy oak desk in the center of the room.
I looked at Luca.
He hadn't seen the sign language, but he saw my face.
“Emma,” Luca said softly. “What is it?”
“The boy,” I whispered. “He just told me someone else is in the room.”
Vanessa gasped.
Luca didn’t hesitate.
He stood up, placing his body entirely between the desk and the little boy.
His right hand slipped smoothly inside his tuxedo jacket.
“Ferraro,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Take Emma and the boy into the hallway. Now.”
Mr. Ferraro moved quickly for his age.
He grabbed my arm.
I reached down and took Leo’s free hand.
The boy came with us willingly, his small fingers wrapping tight around mine.
We backed out of the blue room, but I couldn't look away from the desk.
“Whoever is back there,” Luca said to the empty room. “You have exactly three seconds to stand up.”
Silence.
“One.”
Nothing.
“Two.”
A shadow shifted in the dark gap beneath the desk.
“Wait.”
The voice was rough, exhausted.
A man slowly stood up from behind the heavy oak wood.
He was tall, wearing a cheap, rain-soaked trench coat.
His face was bruised, and his left arm hung awkwardly at his side.
Vanessa screamed.
“Marco!”
It was her brother.
The man who was supposed to be threatening her.
But Marco didn’t look like a threat.
He looked like a man who had been running for his life.
He raised his one good hand.
“Put the gun away, Moretti. I’m not here to hurt anyone.”
Luca didn’t lower his weapon.
“You broke into my house. You threatened my fiancée.”
Marco let out a bitter, choked laugh.
“I didn't threaten her. I told her to get the boy and run.”
He looked at Vanessa.
“I told you not to bring him to the house, you idiot. They followed me.”
Vanessa clutched the doorframe.
“Who followed you?”
Marco swayed slightly, leaning heavily against Antonio’s dusty desk.
“The people who really killed your father, Moretti.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“My father died of a heart attack.”
“Did he?” Marco coughed, a wet, horrible sound. “Then why did he give the old tailor a key to a room that doesn't exist?”
Mr. Ferraro stepped forward from the hallway.
“How do you know about the key?”
Marco reached into his trench coat.
Luca raised his gun higher.
“Careful.”
“Relax,” Marco breathed.
He pulled out a silver pocket watch.
The chain was broken.
He tossed it onto the dusty desk.
It slid to a stop near the edge, catching the beam of my flashlight.
“I found that in my father’s belongings when I got out of prison yesterday,” Marco said.
Luca stared at the watch.
I saw his shoulders stiffen.
“Where did you get this?”
“Open it,” Marco said.
Luca kept his gun leveled with one hand, using his left hand to pick up the watch.
He clicked it open.
I saw his eyes drop to the inside cover.
Whatever he saw there made the blood drain entirely from his face.
He looked up at Marco.
“This is impossible.”
Marco smiled sadly.
“Answer one question, open two more. Isn't that the Moretti way?”
“What does it say?” Vanessa begged.
Luca didn't answer her.
He turned the watch around so we could see the engraving inside the silver lid.
It read:
To Gianni Ferraro. For your eternal loyalty.
Everyone slowly turned to look at the old tailor.
Mr. Ferraro’s face was completely unreadable.
“Gianni?” Luca asked, his voice cracking. “Why does the man who killed my father have a watch with your name on it?”
The old tailor looked at the watch.
Then he looked at me.
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“Because,” Mr. Ferraro said quietly, “I am not the tailor.”
TITLE: The Man Who Wore The Suit
