Chapter 4 - THE COAT IN THE TRUNK
I stared at the red cursive writing on the child’s drawing, my blood turning to ice.
Vanessa’s handwriting.
“She didn't want Mia,” I whispered, the horrific realization washing over me. I looked up at Luca. “She wanted you dead. Paulie wasn't kidnapping Mia to give her to the Bellinis. He was using her as bait to get you down here.”
Luca stared at the dead body of his uncle. His jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth would shatter.
“He betrayed his own blood,” Luca said, his voice entirely hollow.
“Mommy, I’m scared,” Mia whimpered, burying her face against my neck.
“I know, baby,” I hushed her, tightening my grip. “But you’re safe now.”
Suddenly, the heavy metal garage doors at the far end of the basement began to rattle. Someone was overriding the external keypad.
The Bellini extraction team.
“Get in the car,” Luca ordered, shoving Paulie’s keys into my hand. “The black Mercedes. Now.”
I didn't hesitate. I sprinted to the armored Mercedes, threw the back door open, and strapped Mia into her car seat. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely click the buckle.
Luca didn't get in the driver's seat.
He walked to the trunk of the car and popped it open.
“Luca, what are you doing?” I yelled as the garage doors began to slowly grind upward, revealing the headlights of two waiting SUVs outside.
“Paulie was a coward,” Luca said rapidly, tearing through the trunk. “He wouldn’t make a move like this unless he had a guarantee. An insurance policy.”
He pulled out a heavy, dark grey wool coat from the trunk.
“Get in!” I screamed.
Luca grabbed the coat, slammed the trunk shut, and jumped into the driver’s seat just as the garage doors fully opened.
Four men stepped out of the Bellini SUVs, holding automatic weapons.
Luca didn't reach for his gun. He slammed the Mercedes into reverse, the tires shrieking against the concrete. We slammed into the car behind us, creating enough space to shift into drive.
Gunfire erupted.
Bullets hailed against the windshield, spider-webbing the bulletproof glass. Mia screamed. I threw my body over hers in the backseat, covering her ears.
Luca floored the accelerator. The two-ton armored Mercedes rammed directly into the closest Bellini SUV, shoving it violently out of the way. We tore out of the underground garage and into the freezing Chicago night, the engine roaring as we sped down the empty street.
We drove in terrified silence for ten minutes until the flashing lights of the city faded into the dark industrial district.
Luca finally pulled into an abandoned warehouse, killing the headlights.
He leaned against the steering wheel, his chest heaving.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, looking at us in the rearview mirror.
“We’re fine,” I breathed, pulling Mia onto my lap. She had exhausted herself into a fitful sleep.
Luca exhaled a shaky breath. He reached over into the passenger seat and picked up Uncle Paulie’s grey wool coat.
“Let’s see what Paulie sold us out for,” Luca muttered.
He searched the pockets.
From the deep inside breast pocket, he pulled out a folded manila envelope.
He opened it under the dim yellow light of the car’s dome light.
I leaned forward, my heart hammering.
Inside the envelope wasn’t cash. It wasn’t a contract.
It was a photograph.
Luca stared at it, his face draining of all color.
“What is it?” I asked, my voice trembling.
He silently handed it back to me.
I took the photograph.
It was a picture of a woman walking down a sunny street, carrying a bouquet of flowers. She looked young, happy, and entirely oblivious to the camera.
It was me.
But it wasn't a recent photo. I was wearing my old college sweater. My hair was much shorter.
“That was taken ten years ago,” I whispered. “Three years before I even met you.”
I flipped the photograph over.
Written on the back, in the same elegant, cursive handwriting Vanessa used, was a date, an address, and a terrifying sentence.
“The accountant's daughter. Keep her alive until we need leverage.”
My breath caught in my throat.
My father was a quiet, boring accountant who died of a heart attack shortly after I married Luca. He had nothing to do with the mafia.
“Luca,” I said, panic rising in my chest. “Why would the Bellinis be tracking me before we even met?”
Luca slowly turned around in his seat to look at me. His dark eyes were filled with a profound, crushing guilt.
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“Because your father wasn’t just an accountant, Emma,” Luca whispered. “And our marriage wasn’t a coincidence.”
TITLE: THE LIES WE MARRIED
