Chapter 3 - THE DEAD MAN’S BROKEN POCKET WATCH
“Where did you get that?”
Michael’s voice shook. He was thirty-two years old, a man who ran the logistical side of the Moretti empire with ruthless efficiency. I had never seen him look terrified.
Until now.
Julian Vance let the tarnished silver watch dangle from its broken chain. The metal was heavily scratched, and the glass face was shattered, frozen at exactly 11:42.
“Your father kept it locked in his desk for two decades,” Julian said. “He gave it to me the night before his heart failed. He said if this watch ever saw the light of day again, it meant the devil had come back to Chicago.”
Luca released Julian’s lapels and took a slow step backward. His eyes were locked on the watch.
“That belonged to Marcus Bellini,” Luca said.
The dining room erupted into frantic murmurs.
I looked at Vanessa. She was Marcus Bellini’s daughter. Her father had been the boss of a rival faction, a man so violent even the old neighborhood butchers refused to speak his name. He had supposedly died in a federal penitentiary ten years ago.
“My father is dead!” Vanessa shrieked, her composure completely breaking. “He died of lung cancer in Florence! You’re lying!”
“I am not lying, Miss Bellini,” Julian replied smoothly. “Your father’s death was faked by a warden he bribed. He has been living quietly in Europe. And three weeks ago, he used an intermediary to trick Sarah Carter into signing away the restaurant.”
I felt the room spinning.
My mother. My sweet, tired mother who worked double shifts just to buy me winter boots. She was tangled up in a war between two mafia families.
“Why?” I blurted out. The fifty wealthy guests stared at me, but I didn’t care. I looked right at Luca. “Why would my mother have the power to sign anything? She washed dishes! She wiped down tables!”
Luca looked at me, his expression softening just a fraction. “Emily. I need you to call her. Right now.”
“I can’t,” I whispered, panic rising in my throat. “She works the night shift at the hospital laundry. They don’t let her have her phone on the floor.”
“Then we go to her,” Luca said. He turned to his head of security, a massive man standing by the doors. “Clear the room. Everyone goes home. The engagement dinner is over.”
Vanessa grabbed Luca’s arm. “You can’t do this! You’re humiliating me in front of everyone because of some delusional lawyer and a crying maid!”
Luca slowly removed her hand from his sleeve.
“If your father is alive, Vanessa, and if he manipulated Emily’s mother into destroying my father’s legacy…” Luca leaned in close, his voice dropping to a lethal octave. “Then this cancelled dinner is the least of your problems.”
He turned away from her and looked at me. “Get your coat.”
Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a black SUV between Luca and Michael. The rain was coming down hard, blurring the streetlights of Chicago.
Nobody spoke.
I clutched my purse against my chest, my mind racing. What happened on Christmas Eve twenty-three years ago? Why was Marcus Bellini’s watch frozen at 11:42?
“My dad told me Marcus tried to extort him,” Michael finally said, breaking the silence. He was staring out the window. “He said Marcus wanted to use the restaurant’s basement to move illegal shipments. Dad refused. There was a fight. That’s all I knew.”
“He lied to us,” Luca said quietly.
Michael looked at his older brother. “Dad never lied.”
“He lied about who owned the building, Mike. He told us it was in a trust for us. He never mentioned Sarah Carter.” Luca rubbed his jaw, his tattoos standing out against his pale skin. “There’s a piece missing. A big one.”
The SUV pulled up to St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital.
We hurried through the sliding glass doors, bypassing the reception desk and heading straight for the basement laundry facilities. The smell of bleach and hot steam hit my face.
“Mom?” I called out, pushing through the heavy double doors.
The massive room was filled with industrial washing machines rumbling loudly. But the sorting tables were empty.
“Mom!” I yelled louder.
A supervisor stepped out of a small glass office. She looked at me, then at the two men in expensive suits standing behind me.
“Emily?” the supervisor asked, looking confused. “What are you doing here?”
“I need my mother,” I said, my voice cracking. “Where is she?”
The supervisor frowned. “Sarah isn’t here.”
Luca stepped forward. “Her shift doesn’t end until 2:00 AM. Where did she go?”
“She didn’t come in tonight,” the supervisor said, pulling a clipboard from a rack. “She called out about three hours ago. Said there was an emergency at home.”
My blood ran cold.
Three hours ago. Right when the engagement dinner was starting.
“Call her,” Luca ordered me.
I pulled out my phone with trembling hands and dialed my mother’s number. It went straight to voicemail.
“She’s not answering,” I choked out.
Michael was already on his phone, calling his security team. “Send three cars to the Carter apartment. Now.”
We ran back to the SUV. The drive to my neighborhood took twelve agonizing minutes. When we pulled up to the small brick duplex, the front door was standing wide open.
“Stay behind me,” Luca ordered, pulling a heavy black pistol from a shoulder holster inside his jacket.
He stepped onto the porch and pushed the door open with his foot.
The living room was destroyed. Couch cushions were slashed, drawers were pulled out, and bookshelves were overturned. They had been looking for something.
“Mom!” I screamed, pushing past Luca into the kitchen.
The kitchen was empty. But on the small dining table, sitting perfectly in the center, was a single object.
It wasn't a note.
It was a faded, child’s drawing.
I picked it up with shaking fingers. It was a picture I had drawn when I was little. A picture of the restaurant. But someone had taken a thick red marker and drawn a large ‘X’ right over the front door.
And taped to the back of the drawing was a rusted iron key.
May you like
Luca stepped up beside me, his gun lowered. He stared at the key.
“I know that key,” he whispered, his face draining of color. “That opens the trapdoor in my father’s office.”
