Chapter 3 - THE CHILD'S DRAWING
“Your son?” I breathed, staring at the tiny blue ticket resting in Dante’s calloused palm.
I had worn that silver necklace for fifteen years. My mother gave it to me on her deathbed. She told me it was a symbol of our family’s love. She never mentioned a hidden compartment. She never mentioned a locker ticket.
“Grab a coat,” Dante ordered, already moving toward my kitchen window, checking the alley below. “Miller will realize you didn't buy his story. His men will be coming up the fire escape in exactly sixty seconds.”
I didn't argue. The tone in his voice wasn't a threat; it was a promise of survival. I grabbed my heavy wool coat and my purse. Dante grabbed my hand, his grip warm and absolute, and pulled me out the front door just as the glass of my kitchen window shattered inward.
We took the stairs two at a time, bypassing the lobby and slipping out through the basement boiler room. A sleek, armored black SUV was waiting in the alley, engine purring. Dante shoved me into the back seat and climbed in beside me.
“Drive,” he told the driver.
The car tore out into the Manhattan night, leaving my entire life behind.
I sat trembling against the leather seats. “What is that ticket? Why did my mother have it?”
Dante looked at me, his sharp profile illuminated by passing streetlights. “Your mother’s name was Sarah Voss. But before she adopted you, she was Sarah Romano. The chief accountant for my father.”
Answer One. My mother wasn't just a sweet woman who baked cookies; she worked for the mafia.
But Open Two. If she adopted me, who were my real parents?
“Twenty years ago,” Dante continued, his voice tight, “my father was murdered. Millions in untraceable bearer bonds vanished the same night. The Falcone family blamed my father’s accountant—your mother. They hunted her. She changed her name, hid in the suburbs, and raised you. But before she ran, she locked the bonds away. That ticket is the key to the vault.”
“And Falcone found out about me,” I realized, the horror sinking in.
“Yes. They traced her alias a week ago. They want the bonds. But more importantly, they want to destroy the Rossi family. Three days ago, they kidnapped my five-year-old son, Leo. They told me I had one week to bring them the locker ticket, or they would mail him back to me in pieces.”
The air left my lungs. A five-year-old boy.
We pulled up to a massive, gated compound in upstate New York. Armed guards opened the iron gates. As we stepped out of the SUV, the front doors of the mansion flew open.
A little boy with messy brown hair and terrified eyes ran out onto the portico. He was clutching a piece of paper.
“Papa!” the boy cried.
Dante dropped to his knees, catching the boy in his arms, burying his face in his son’s neck. For a moment, the terrifying mafia boss disappeared, replaced entirely by a desperate, loving father.
Wait.
I stared at the boy. Dante just said his son was kidnapped.
Dante stood up, holding Leo against his hip. He looked at me, seeing the confusion on my face.
“I told you Falcone kidnapped my son,” Dante said quietly. “I never said I didn't get him back. We rescued him this morning. But Falcone’s men are still hunting us, and until I give them the bonds, we will never be safe.”
Leo peeked at me from over Dante’s shoulder. His large, expressive eyes widened. He scrambled out of Dante’s arms and ran up to me.
He held up the piece of paper he had been clutching. It was a child’s drawing, done in colorful crayons. It showed a tall man holding hands with a little boy. And standing next to them was a woman with long dark hair, wearing a silver necklace.
“Are you Auntie Ellie?” Leo asked, his voice small and hopeful.
My heart stopped. I looked at Dante.
“Why did he call me Auntie Ellie?” I whispered, pointing at the drawing. “He drew me. Before tonight, he drew me.”
Dante looked away, his jaw clenching. “Because, Elena. Sarah Voss didn't just adopt a random orphan. She adopted my late wife’s twin sister.”
Reversal. I wasn't just the accountant's daughter. I was mafia royalty.
Before I could even process the shock, the mansion’s security alarms began to shriek, a deafening, piercing wail that shattered the night.
A guard sprinted out of the front doors, bleeding from a cut on his forehead.
“Boss!” he shouted. “They’re inside! Someone opened the back gates!”
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Dante’s eyes went wide with pure fury. He grabbed my arm, shoved Leo behind his legs, and pulled a heavy gold watch from his pocket. He stared at it for a second, his face draining of color.
“It’s Silas,” Dante whispered, naming his own second-in-command. “He sold us out.”
