Chapter 3 - THE VELVET POUCH
I stood on the sidewalk outside the Grand Continental, the rain soaking through my thin wool coat, staring at the heavy silver lighter in my hand.
The roaring lion engraved on the metal seemed to mock my reality. I was a catering waitress facing eviction. My brother’s asthma medication was empty. And I had just been handed a golden ticket by the devil himself.
The walk back to my tiny, dilapidated apartment on the South Side took forty minutes. By the time I pushed the broken front door open, I was shivering violently. But the cold was nothing compared to the sound that greeted me from the living room.
A harsh, rattling wheeze.
“Caleb!” I dropped my bag and sprinted into the dim room.
My eight-year-old brother was sitting on the edge of the thrift-store sofa, hunched forward, his hands gripping his knees. His lips were tinged with a terrifying shade of blue, and his chest was heaving with the effort to pull in a single breath of air.
“Dana,” he gasped, his small voice breaking. “It’s tight. The air is tight.”
I fell to my knees in front of him, my heart slamming against my ribs. I grabbed his inhaler from the coffee table, shook it frantically, and pressed it to his mouth.
“Breathe, buddy. Deep breath,” I coaxed, fighting back the panic.
He pressed the canister. A pathetic, weak hiss of air came out. It was empty. I knew it was empty, but desperation made me try anyway.
“Okay, okay, hold on,” I said, wrapping my arms around his small, trembling body, pulling him against my chest so he could feel the steady rhythm of my breathing. “In through the nose, Caleb. Out through the mouth. Follow me.”
We sat there for twenty agonizing minutes. Slowly, painfully, the terrifying blue hue faded from his lips. His breathing remained shallow and ragged, but he was stabilizing.
I rested my chin on the top of his head, squeezing my eyes shut as hot tears spilled down my cheeks. This was my breaking point. I had $42 in my bank account. The eviction notice taped to our door demanded $800 by Friday. I couldn't lose him. I couldn't let him suffer because I was too proud to take dirty money.
I pulled away, looking into Caleb’s exhausted brown eyes. “I’m going to get your medicine tomorrow, Caleb. I promise.”
He nodded weakly, leaning back against the sofa. “Did you get fired?”
“No,” I lied, forcing a bright smile. “I got promoted.”
The next morning, at exactly 7:45 AM, I stood before the towering wrought-iron gates of the Morretti estate in the hills of the North Point district. It didn't look like a home; it looked like a fortress. Ten-foot stone walls, security cameras tracking my every move, and men in dark suits pacing the perimeter with a casual alertness that screamed danger.
I walked up to the guard booth. A massive man with a thick scar across his nose looked down at me, unimpressed.
“Delivery entrance is in the back,” he grunted.
I didn't speak. I reached into my coat pocket and placed the heavy silver lighter on the metal tray beneath the bulletproof glass.
The guard’s expression shifted instantly. He picked up the lighter, examined the roaring lion engraving, and then looked at me with a new, guarded respect. He pressed a button, and the massive iron gates swung open with a heavy groan.
“Mr. Morretti is waiting for you in the sunroom,” the guard said.
A sleek golf cart took me up the half-mile driveway, winding through immaculate, sprawling gardens. The mansion itself was breathtaking—white marble, towering columns, and glass that gleamed in the morning sun. But despite the beauty, it felt completely isolated. A beautiful cage.
I was escorted into a massive, light-filled sunroom at the back of the house. Rosa Morretti was sitting in a plush armchair, wrapped in a cream-colored cashmere shawl, staring blankly out at the rose bushes.
Vincenzo stood near the window, a cup of espresso in his hand. He was wearing a dark, tailored dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing muscular forearms etched with faded tattoos. The danger he projected was quieter today, but no less lethal.
“You came,” Vincenzo said, turning to face me.
“I need the job,” I answered honestly, standing straight. “What exactly am I doing here, Mr. Morretti?”
“You are here to protect her dignity,” Vincenzo said, setting his cup down. He walked over to his mother, his dark eyes softening in a way that felt too intimate to witness. “My mother’s mind is fading rapidly. The nurses treat her like a patient. The staff treat her like a ghost. Last night, you treated her like a human being. I want you to be her personal companion. Keep her grounded. Keep her safe.”
“I’m not a trained nurse,” I warned him.
“I have doctors on staff for that,” Vincenzo replied smoothly. “I will pay you three thousand dollars a week in cash. Medical coverage for your family included.”
Three thousand a week. My knees nearly buckled. It was life-changing money. It was Caleb’s inhalers, a safe apartment, groceries that didn't come from a food pantry.
“I accept,” I said quickly, before he could change his mind.
Vincenzo nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible smile touching the corner of his mouth. “Good. Rosa, look who is here to visit you.”
Rosa turned her head slowly. Her cloudy eyes locked onto my face. For a moment, the blankness remained. But then, a sudden, violent spark of recognition lit up her expression.
She gasped, pushing herself up from the chair with surprising strength. She stumbled toward me, grabbing my wrists with a desperate, crushing grip.
“Elena!” Rosa cried out, tears instantly pooling in her eyes. “Oh, God, Elena, you’re alive! They told me you burned! They told me he killed you!”
I froze, looking frantically at Vincenzo.
Vincenzo’s face had gone completely rigid. The softness was gone, replaced by a terrifying, dark intensity.
“Mama, this is Dana,” Vincenzo said, stepping forward to gently pull her hands away from me. “Elena is gone.”
“No! She’s right here!” Rosa shrieked, fighting against her son’s grip. She reached into the pocket of her cashmere shawl and pulled out a small, faded blue velvet pouch. She shoved it into my hands. “Take it, Elena! Before Beatrice finds it! Hide the ledger!”
I stared at the velvet pouch in my hands, feeling the heavy, solid shape of something metallic hidden inside.
May you like
Before I could ask what it was, the sunroom doors burst open, and a man in a panicked, breathless state rushed in.
“Vincenzo,” the man gasped, ignoring me completely. “It’s Senator Hale. He just ordered a raid on the downtown shipping docks. They’re seizing the containers.”
