Chapter 3 - THE CEDAR CHEST
“She was in your bedroom?” Luca asked, his voice sharp with confusion.
Teresa didn’t answer right away. She picked up the brass key, her fingers tracing the old metal.
“Elizabeth and I… we had an arrangement,” Teresa said softly.
Vanessa let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “An arrangement? Are you saying the mafia boss’s wife was conspiring with the hired help?”
Marco stepped toward Vanessa, his expression dark. “Keep your mouth shut.”
Vanessa shrank back, crossing her arms defensively.
Luca turned his full attention to his mother. “What kind of arrangement, Mom?”
Teresa looked at me. Her eyes were filled with a deep, sorrowful regret.
“Rachel, your mother wasn’t just a secretary. She was my closest friend in this house. When my husband started losing his strength, he confided in Elizabeth. He knew someone was bleeding the accounts, but he didn’t know who to trust.”
“So he trusted my mother,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“More than anyone,” Teresa confirmed. “He asked her to run a secret audit. But it was dangerous. Elizabeth knew if Carlo or Vincent found out, she’d be a target. So, she needed a place to hide the evidence she gathered. A place no one would ever dare look.”
“Your bedroom,” Luca realized.
“My cedar chest,” Teresa nodded. “It has a double lock. I kept one key. I gave Elizabeth the other. We agreed that if she ever found the definitive proof, she would lock it inside, and I would give it to you, Luca.”
Carlo scoffed from against the wall. “That’s impossible. I had Vincent’s men watching Elizabeth’s apartment for weeks. She never came to the estate the night she died.”
Teresa looked at Carlo with absolute disgust.
“She didn’t come through the front gates, Carlo. She came through the service tunnels.”
Luca’s eyes widened. The service tunnels were built during Prohibition. Only the family knew about them.
“Come with me,” Teresa said, turning toward the grand staircase.
Luca followed her immediately. Marco grabbed Carlo by the arm, shoving him forward.
“Move,” Marco ordered.
Vanessa hesitated, but Marco glared at her. “You too.”
I followed them up the sweeping marble staircase. My heart was hammering against my ribs. I had cleaned Teresa’s bedroom hundreds of times. I had dusted that heavy cedar chest at the foot of her bed every week. I had never known my mother possessed a key to it.
We entered the master suite. The room smelled of lavender and old paper.
Teresa walked directly to the heavy wooden chest. She knelt painfully on the carpet.
Luca knelt beside her. “Let me, Mom.”
He took the brass key and inserted it into the ornate iron lock.
It turned with a heavy click.
Luca lifted the heavy wooden lid.
Inside, the chest was filled with vintage lace linens and old photo albums. But resting on top of the linens was something that made my breath stop.
A dark blue wool coat.
“My mother’s coat,” I whispered, stepping forward. “She wore that every winter.”
Teresa lifted the coat carefully. It smelled faintly of my mother’s perfume—rosewater and vanilla. The scent hit me so hard tears instantly blurred my vision.
“Check the pockets, Luca,” Teresa said.
Luca reached into the right pocket. He pulled out a folded piece of paper.
He opened it.
“It’s a page from the blue ledger,” Luca said, scanning the numbers. “These are the offshore routing numbers Vincent used to funnel the cartel money. This is the proof.”
Carlo let out a long, defeated breath.
Vanessa stared at the paper, her eyes frantic. “That’s just one page! It doesn’t prove anything in a court of law!”
“We aren’t in a court of law, Vanessa,” Luca said coldly. “We’re in my house.”
Vanessa swallowed hard, stepping backward toward the bedroom door.
Luca reached into the left pocket of the coat.
His hand stopped.
He pulled out something small.
It wasn’t a ledger. It wasn’t a bank statement.
It was a piece of folded construction paper. The edges were worn, as if it had been folded and unfolded a hundred times.
Luca opened it.
I saw a burst of bright crayon colors.
It was a child’s drawing. A picture of a house, a tree, and a little boy holding hands with a woman.
“I drew that,” I said, stepping closer. “When I was seven years old. My mother always kept it in her purse. Why was it in her coat?”
Luca didn’t answer. He was staring at the back of the drawing.
His face had gone completely pale.
“Luca?” Teresa asked, alarmed by his expression. “What is it?”
Luca slowly turned the drawing around so we could see the back.
There was a message written in thick black ink. I recognized the handwriting instantly. It was my mother’s script.
But it wasn’t meant for me.
It read: If they find me, they will find the boy. I’ve moved him to the safe house in Vermont. Forgive me, Luca. I had to protect your son.
The silence in the room was deafening.
Luca stared at the paper, his hands trembling.
“My son?” Luca whispered, his voice cracking.
I stared at him in pure shock.
Vanessa suddenly let out a sharp gasp and made a break for the bedroom door.
Marco lunged, grabbing her by the arm before she could reach the hallway.
“Let me go!” she screamed, fighting against him.
Luca turned slowly. The shock in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a terrifying, lethal focus.
He walked up to Vanessa.
“What do you know about my son?” Luca demanded.
Vanessa squeezed her eyes shut. “Nothing! I don’t know anything!”
Luca reached out and grabbed Vanessa’s left wrist. He pulled her sleeve up violently.
Clasped around her wrist was a delicate gold bracelet with a tiny engraved charm.
Teresa gasped. “That belonged to Elena.”
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Elena. Luca’s first love. The woman who died in a car crash eight years ago.
Luca’s voice was a deadly whisper. “Where is my boy, Vanessa?”
