Chapter 3 - THE EMPTY BED
Luca stared at his own signature.
The loops of the ‘L’, the sharp cross of the ‘t’s. It was flawless. A perfect forgery.
“They aren’t just planning to kill you,” Claire whispered, watching his face. “They’re planning to make it look like you stepped down voluntarily and handed everything—the syndicate, the money, and Leo—to Julian and Vanessa.”
Luca folded the paper, his knuckles turning white. “Julian runs my logistics. He knows my schedule. He knows my security rotations. If they have this signed…”
“Then they just need you out of the way,” Claire finished.
Luca looked at the clock. It was 10:45 P.M.
Vanessa had gone upstairs at 10:14.
Julian had supposedly left the party at 10:30 to handle a “shipping dispute” at the docks.
“The party,” Luca said, his voice dangerously calm. “It’s the perfect alibi. Hundreds of witnesses placing Vanessa downstairs all night.”
“But she went upstairs,” Claire reminded him.
Luca’s eyes widened. “To the west wing.”
He didn’t wait for her. Luca turned and sprinted out of the medical room.
Claire didn’t hesitate. Despite the throbbing pain in her bandaged hand, she ran after him, her sensible black work shoes making no sound on the thick Persian carpets.
The west wing was deliberately isolated. It was supposed to be a sanctuary. The heavy oak doors leading to Leo’s quarters were slightly ajar.
Luca pushed them open.
The nursery was dark. A single nightlight cast a faint blue glow across the room.
“Maria?” Luca called out softly, looking for the night nanny.
There was no answer.
Luca reached the center of the room. He flipped the light switch.
Maria was slumped in the armchair in the corner. Luca checked her pulse. It was steady, but she was completely unresponsive. Drugged.
Claire rushed to the small, racecar-shaped bed in the center of the room.
She threw back the dinosaur blanket.
It was empty.
“He’s gone,” Claire gasped, panic rising in her throat. “Luca, he’s not here.”
It was the first time she had used his first name. Neither of them noticed.
Luca pulled his firearm from his shoulder holster. He checked the bathroom. Empty. He checked the closet. Empty. The window was locked from the inside. There was no sign of a struggle.
“They took him,” Luca growled, a terrifying, violent energy rolling off him. “Julian must have taken him through the service stairs.”
“No,” Claire said suddenly.
Luca turned. Claire was kneeling by the heating vent near the baseboards.
“Look,” she pointed.
A tiny, blue stuffed elephant was wedged against the brass grate. Leo never went anywhere without it.
“He didn’t get kidnapped,” Claire said, her maternal instincts firing rapidly. “Leo is incredibly shy. If a stranger came into his room, he wouldn't scream. He would hide.”
Luca dropped to his knees beside her. “Where?”
Claire looked around the massive room. “Where does a five-year-old go when he’s terrified and knows he’s not supposed to leave the room?”
She stood up and ran to the laundry chute built into the wall of the en-suite bathroom.
She pulled the heavy metal door open.
“Leo?” she called down softly.
A tiny whimper echoed from the darkness.
“Claire?” a small, frightened voice squeaked.
Relief washed over her so intensely she almost collapsed. “I’m here, sweetie. It’s me. Are you stuck?”
“It’s dark,” the little boy cried. “The bad man came in. I got scared.”
Luca stepped up beside her. He reached his long arm down into the chute. “Grab my hand, buddy. I’ve got you.”
A moment later, Luca pulled the trembling five-year-old up into his arms. Leo buried his face in Luca’s neck, sobbing quietly. He was wearing his Batman pajamas, and his little hands were clutching something tightly.
“You’re safe,” Luca murmured, kissing the boy’s dark hair. “I’ve got you.”
Claire gently stroked Leo’s back. “You were so brave, Leo. Did you see the bad man’s face?”
Leo shook his head against Luca’s shoulder. “He wore a mask. But I pulled his tie when he reached for me. It ripped.”
Leo slowly opened his tiny fist.
Resting in his palm was a torn strip of dark blue silk.
Claire looked at it, confused. But Luca stared at the fabric as if it were a venomous snake.
The color drained from the mafia boss’s face.
“Luca?” Claire asked, suddenly terrified by his expression. “Whose tie is that?”
Luca took the torn silk. He traced a very specific, custom-embroidered silver crest near the bottom edge.
“It’s not Julian’s,” Luca whispered, his voice sounding hollow, broken.
“Then whose is it?”
Luca looked up at her, his dark eyes filled with ghosts.
“It belongs to my older brother, Marco.”
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Claire frowned. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“I do,” Luca said. He tightened his grip on Leo. “But Marco died in a car fire five years ago. I buried him myself.”
