The Woman in Room Twelve

“Why did you lock her in my house?”

Luca didn’t shout.

He didn’t have to.

His voice dropped so low it seemed to vibrate against the crystal glasses on the table.

Vanessa stepped backward, her red satin gown catching the light.

“Luca, you don’t understand—”

“Give me the keys, Emma.”

I didn’t hesitate.

I unclipped the master ring from my apron and placed it in his outstretched hand.

Luca turned his back on his fiancé and the thirty-one guests.

He walked toward the grand staircase.

Dr. Mercer stood frozen by the table, his elderly hands trembling as he leaned heavily on his cane.

I followed Luca.

Vanessa grabbed my arm as I passed.

“If you open that door,” she hissed, “you will destroy this family.”

I looked down at her fingers digging into my skin.

“You already did that, Mrs. Bellini.”

I pulled away and ran up the stairs.

The third-floor hallway was completely silent.

The heavy oak door of Room Twelve stood at the very end, casting a long shadow across the carpet.

Luca was already there.

He didn’t look angry anymore.

He looked terrified.

The man who ran Chicago’s most feared syndicate was staring at a brass doorknob with shaking hands.

“Mr. Moretti,” I said softly.

He didn’t move.

“What if she hates me, Emma?”

The vulnerability in his voice broke my heart.

“She knocked, sir. She wants to be found.”

Luca exhaled a sharp breath.

He slid the master key into the lock.

It clicked.

He turned the handle and pushed the door open.

The room was dark.

Only the moonlight from the large arched window illuminated the space.

Sitting in a high-backed leather chair, perfectly still, was a woman.

She wore a heavy gray wool coat, even though the room was warm.

Her dark hair was pulled back.

And as she turned her head, my breath caught in my throat.

It was the woman from Vanessa’s photograph.

She had Luca’s eyes.

His jawline.

The exact same slight curve of his nose.

It was like looking into a softer, haunted mirror of the man standing beside me.

Luca stepped into the room.

The woman stood up.

She didn’t look afraid.

She looked exhausted.

“Hello, Luca,” she said.

Her voice was steady. It sounded like his.

Luca stared at her. Thirty-eight years of a life he never knew existed, standing three feet away.

“You’re my sister.”

She nodded slowly. “My name is Sofia.”

Luca closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, they were wet.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” he whispered. “If you knew who I was, why didn’t you just walk through the front door?”

Sofia looked down at her hands.

“Because I didn’t come here to meet you, Luca.”

The warmth in the room suddenly vanished.

“What do you mean?”

She reached into the deep pocket of her wool coat.

My muscles tensed, but she didn’t pull out a weapon.

She pulled out an antique gold watch.

It was heavy, intricately engraved, and immediately familiar.

Luca stepped back as if he had been struck.

“That’s my father’s watch,” he breathed. “He was buried with it.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Sofia said quietly. “He gave it to the man who smuggled me out of the hospital thirty-eight years ago. It was supposed to pay for my new identity.”

Luca looked at the watch, then at her.

“If my father paid to hide you, why are you here now?”

Sofia’s dark eyes locked onto his.

“Because Vanessa found me two weeks ago.”

“And she locked you in here?”

“She didn’t have to lock the door to keep me here, Luca.”

Sofia’s voice finally cracked.

“She locked the door so your security wouldn’t see me. I stayed inside willingly.”

Luca looked completely lost. “Why?”

“Because she made a deal with the Commission,” Sofia whispered, a tear finally escaping and trailing down her cheek. “Vanessa owes them six million dollars. She offered them the one thing they’ve wanted since our father died.”

Luca’s jaw tightened. “The deed to the downtown territory.”

Sofia shook her head.

“No, Luca.”

She opened her hand, revealing the gold watch again.

But this time, I saw what was tied around the chain.

A small, brightly colored child’s drawing.

It was a picture of a house, drawn in blue crayon.