Chapter 3 - THE GOLD BRACELET AND THE MISSING GRANDSON
The world narrowed to the thin gold chain resting against Brooke’s pale skin.
“Where is Lily?” I asked again, my voice dropping so low it barely sounded like my own. I didn't recognize the woman speaking. For three decades, I had been the peacemaker, the quiet shadow behind a violent man. But right now, a terrifying, icy clarity washed over me.
Vincent lunged forward, grabbing Brooke by the shoulders. “What did you do?” he roared, the polished boss entirely gone. “You swore to me your family wouldn't touch them! You swore that was the deal!”
Brooke didn't flinch. She looked up at him with a mixture of pity and contempt. “Deals change, Vince. You're losing your grip on the city, and my uncle needed collateral. Did you really think you could just marry me and keep your precious little runaway daughter safe in the suburbs?”
I stared at my husband. The pieces clicked together with horrifying precision.
“You knew,” I whispered, stepping back. “You knew they were watching her.”
Vincent turned to me, his hands shaking as he released Brooke. “Helen, listen to me. I was trying to protect them. Your uncle—Brooke’s uncle—is Thomas Rossi. He runs the East Side. He found out where Lily was living two years ago.”
“And you didn't tell me?” My chest heaved. “You let me believe my daughter just didn't want to speak to me? You let me spend every holiday staring at the door, hoping she’d bring my grandson home, while you were busy making deals with the cartel that was stalking her?”
“I had to keep you out of it!” Vincent pleaded, stepping toward me. “If Rossi knew you were in contact with her, he would have used you too. Taking Brooke in... playing this role... it was the only way to keep them pacified.”
Brooke laughed, a sharp, ugly sound that echoed in my beautiful music room.
“Playing a role?” she mocked, walking over to the bar cart and pouring herself a drink. “Don't make yourself sound like a martyr, Vince. You enjoyed my bed just fine. You liked feeling young again. Don't pretend you brought me into your house just to save your little grandson.”
I felt physically sick. My husband was a monster, but I had always believed he was a monster who loved his family. Now I realized he was just a coward who couldn't protect us, trying to hide his failures behind a sordid affair.
“Is she alive?” I asked Brooke directly, ignoring Vincent completely.
Brooke took a sip of her bourbon, the ice clinking against the crystal. “For now. She’s safe. The kid too. But that depends entirely on your husband handing over the shipping routes by Friday.”
“I’ll kill Rossi,” Vincent snarled, his fists clenched. “I’ll tear his empire down to the studs.”
“With what army, Vince?” Brooke sneered. “Half your capos are already taking money from my uncle. That broken rosary on your desk? That wasn't just a threat. That was a message from your own men. They know your dead brother’s ghost is coming back to haunt you, and they’re jumping ship.”
I couldn't process the mafia politics. I didn't care about the shipping routes or the capos. I only cared about the three diamond stars on Brooke's wrist.
“Take it off,” I said.
Brooke paused, her glass halfway to her lips. “Excuse me?”
“The bracelet. Take it off right now, or I will break your hand to remove it.”
Brooke looked at me, an amused smirk playing on her lips. But when she saw the absolute deadness in my eyes, her smile faltered. She looked at Vincent for help, but he was staring at the floor, utterly defeated.
With an exaggerated sigh, Brooke unclasped the bracelet and tossed it onto the piano next to the silver rosary.
I picked it up. The gold was still warm from her skin. I closed my fist around it, the sharp edges of the diamonds biting into my palm. It grounded me.
“Helen,” Vincent said softly. “Go upstairs. Pack a bag. I have a car waiting. I’m sending you to the safe house in Montreal.”
I turned to him. “I’m not going to Montreal.”
“You have to. If Rossi has Lily, he’ll come for you next to ensure I sign over the routes.”
“I am not leaving Chicago while my daughter and grandson are in the hands of this woman’s family.”
“You can’t help them!” Vincent shouted, his frustration boiling over. “You play the piano, Helen! You plant hydrangeas! You don't know how this world works. If you stay, you're a liability.”
The words felt like a physical slap. For thirty years, I had mended his wounds, hidden his secrets, and swallowed my pride to keep his home a sanctuary. And now, when our family was actively bleeding, he reduced me to a helpless liability.
“You're right,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “I play the piano.”
I walked over to the heavy velvet drapes that framed the tall windows and pulled them shut, plunging the room into shadows.
“What are you doing?” Brooke asked, irritation lacing her tone.
I ignored her. I walked to the fireplace, reached up to the ornate wooden mantle, and pressed my thumb against the small, hidden latch underneath. A hidden panel clicked open.
Vincent’s eyes widened in genuine shock. “How do you know about that?”
I reached inside the dark cavity and pulled out a heavy, leather-bound ledger. It wasn't the fake one he kept in his office safe. It was the real one. The one that chronicled every bribe, every dirty politician, and every hidden offshore account holding the Rossi family’s money.
“I’ve lived in this house for thirty years, Vincent,” I said, clutching the ledger to my chest. “Did you really think I spent all that time just practicing scales?”
Brooke’s glass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the hardwood.
“Give me that,” she demanded, stepping forward.
I pulled a small, silver lighter from my pocket—the same one Vincent had left on his nightstand years ago. I flicked it open, bringing the flame inches from the brittle pages of the ledger.
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“No!” Vincent yelled, freezing in his tracks.
I looked directly at Brooke. “Call your uncle. Tell him I want to speak to my daughter. Right now. Or I burn his entire empire to the ground before midnight.”
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