Chapter 4 - The Man Who Wore The Suit
The silence in the hallway was absolute.
I felt little Leo squeeze my hand tighter.
Luca slowly lowered his gun, but his eyes never left the old man.
“What did you just say?”
The man we knew as Gianni Ferraro sighed.
He reached up and unbuttoned his suit jacket.
“I said, Luciano, that I am not Gianni Ferraro.”
He pulled the measuring tape from around his neck and dropped it on the floor.
“Gianni Ferraro died three days ago.”
Vanessa stepped back, horrified.
“But I saw you. I went to the shop yesterday. You were there.”
The old man shook his head.
“You saw an old Italian man standing in a dimly lit tailor shop. You saw what you expected to see.”
Luca stepped closer.
“Then who the hell are you?”
The old man looked at Antonio’s portrait hanging above the fireplace.
“My name is Carlo. I was your father’s head of security.”
Luca froze.
“Carlo is dead. He died in the car crash that paralyzed my mother.”
“No,” the old man said gently. “Carlo disappeared to protect your mother. Your father ordered it.”
My mind was spinning.
“Wait,” I said, stepping forward. “If you’re not the tailor, then why did you bring the suit? Why the charade?”
Carlo looked at me.
“Because Gianni called me from his deathbed. He told me Vanessa had come looking for the button. He knew time had run out.”
Marco groaned from inside the blue room.
He was sinking lower against the desk, clutching his side.
“He’s bleeding,” I said, shining the light on Marco’s trench coat.
Dark stains were spreading across the cheap fabric.
Luca finally holstered his weapon.
“Emma, get the first aid kit from the master bath.”
I ran upstairs, leaving Leo with Vanessa.
When I returned, Luca had dragged Marco out of the dusty room and laid him on the Persian rug in the billiard room.
Vanessa was weeping quietly, holding her brother’s hand.
I knelt and pressed a thick gauze pad against Marco’s side.
He winced, but his eyes stayed fixed on Luca.
“They’re coming tonight, Moretti.”
“Who?”
“The Valenti family.”
Luca’s expression darkened.
“The Valentis were exiled from Chicago twenty years ago.”
“They’re back,” Marco choked out. “And they want what Antonio hid in that room.”
Luca stood up.
He looked at Carlo.
“What is in the room, Carlo? What did my father hide?”
Carlo walked over to the open door of the blue room.
He pointed his cane at the heavy velvet curtain where Leo had been hiding.
“Behind that curtain is a floor safe,” Carlo said. “But it requires two keys.”
He pointed to the tiny brass key sitting in the lock of the door.
“That is the first key. The one hidden in the button.”
Luca frowned.
“And the second?”
Carlo turned and looked directly at Vanessa.
“Vanessa has it.”
Vanessa’s head snapped up.
“I do not!”
“You do,” Carlo insisted. “Your father gave it to you on his deathbed.”
“My father gave me nothing but debt!” she cried. “He left me bankrupt!”
“Think, Vanessa,” Marco interrupted, his voice weak. “What did he give you before he died? The only thing you refused to sell?”
Vanessa stared at him.
Then her hand slowly drifted to her neck.
She pulled a heavy silver locket from beneath her silk robe.
“This?” she whispered. “It’s just a locket. It doesn't even open. The clasp is broken.”
Carlo held out his hand.
“May I?”
Vanessa hesitated, then unclasped it and handed it to him.
Carlo didn't try to open it.
He turned it over and pressed his thumb hard against the engraved rose on the back.
With a sharp click, the bottom of the locket slid out.
A heavy, jagged iron key fell into his palm.
Vanessa gasped.
Luca stared at the key.
“My father trusted your father with half the combination to his legacy.”
He took the iron key from Carlo.
“Let’s see what they died to protect.”
Luca walked back into the blue room.
He pulled the velvet curtain completely off the wall.
Behind it, embedded in the plaster, was a large, ancient metal safe.
He inserted the tiny brass key into the top lock.
Then he inserted the heavy iron key into the bottom.
He turned them both at the same time.
Heavy tumblers groaned.
The heavy steel door swung open.
Luca reached inside and pulled out a single, leather-bound book.
He opened it to the first page.
I watched his eyes scan the ink.
He stopped breathing.
He looked up, his face pale, his eyes wide with a terror I had never seen in him.
“Emma,” Luca said, his voice trembling.
“Yes, sir?”
He turned the book around so I could see the page.
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