Chapter 5 - THE SAPPHIRE BROOCH
“He’s my grandson.”
The dining room descended into a stunned, breathless silence. Even Dominic, a man who built his life on knowing everyone’s secrets, looked completely blindsided.
“Your grandson?” Dominic repeated, his voice barely a whisper. He looked at the seventy-eight-year-old housekeeper who had practically raised him. “Marion, my father had an affair with your daughter?”
Marion nodded slowly, tears tracing the deep lines of her face. “My Sarah. She moved to Chicago to start fresh. She didn't know who your father was when they met. When she found out she was pregnant, she came to me. But she died in childbirth.”
Answer one: The boy’s mother was Marion’s daughter, making the child Marion’s flesh and blood. Open two: If Eleanor knew this, why didn't she let Marion raise her own grandson?
“Why didn't you tell me?” Dominic asked, his voice filled with a heartbreaking betrayal. “Why did you let my mother give him to Rossi?”
“I didn't have a choice,” Marion wept. “Eleanor found out. She knew your father’s enemies would kill the boy to end the bloodline. Rossi was the only man powerful enough to protect him, and Eleanor struck the deal to save his life. The brooch was her way of apologizing to me. A secret promise that one day, when the war was over, I would see him again.”
I looked down at the velvet pouch in my trembling hands. This wasn't just a piece of jewelry Victoria had tried to steal. It was a grandmother’s only connection to a child she had never been allowed to hold.
“Take it, Claire,” Marion pleaded, her hands clasping mine. “If Rossi’s men are there, the boy won’t trust a stranger. But Rossi knows about the brooch. Show it to him. He’ll know you came from me.”
Dominic’s expression hardened from grief back into the ruthless resolve of a boss.
“Let’s go,” Dominic said.
Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a tinted SUV, speeding through the rain-slicked streets toward the central train station. Dominic sat beside me, loading a matte-black pistol with terrifying efficiency.
“I can’t go inside,” Dominic said, his eyes scanning the dark streets. “Rossi’s lieutenants will have spotters at the entrances. If they see me, they’ll shoot the boy to send a message. You have to do this alone, Claire.”
I nodded, my throat dry. “How will I recognize him?”
Dominic handed me the torn photograph from the pocket watch. “He’s twelve. Dark hair. He’ll be with a man with a scar on his jaw. Rossi.”
The SUV screeched to a halt in the alleyway behind the station. The rain was pouring down in sheets.
“Platform 4,” Dominic said, gripping my shoulder. “Get him on that train. Once it departs, my men will intercept it at the next stop.”
I slipped out of the SUV and pulled my raincoat tight. The station was massive, echoing with the sounds of late-night commuters and the hiss of steam. My heart hammered against my ribs as I kept my head down, blending in with the crowd.
I reached Platform 4. The midnight train to Vancouver was idling, its doors open. The platform was sparsely populated, but I immediately noticed two men in heavy leather jackets lingering near the ticket kiosk. Spotters. Rossi’s lieutenants were already here.
I walked past them, keeping my eyes fixed on the wet concrete.
Near the back of the train, by the sleeper cars, I saw them.
An older man in a wool coat, leaning heavily on a cane, coughing violently into a handkerchief. Beside him stood a young boy in a dark jacket, clutching a small backpack. The boy looked terrified.
I hurried toward them, slipping out of the rain and under the platform awning.
“Mr. Rossi?” I whispered as I approached.
The older man spun around with terrifying speed, a suppressed pistol instantly appearing in his hand, aimed directly at my stomach. The reversal of his frailty was shocking; cancer or not, he was a killer.
“Who sent you?” Rossi rasped, his eyes cold and hollow.
“Dominic Romano,” I breathed, raising my hands slowly. “Victoria couldn't come. I’m here to get the boy on the train.”
Rossi’s eyes narrowed. “Dominic doesn't know about this arrangement. Victoria swore she kept him in the dark. If Dominic sent you, this is a trap.”
He raised the gun toward my chest. The boy flinched, hiding his face against Rossi’s coat.
“Wait!” I pulled the velvet pouch from my pocket with trembling fingers. I dumped the sapphire brooch into my palm and held it out into the dim station light. “I came from Marion. His grandmother.”
Rossi stared at the brooch. The tension in his shoulders broke. He lowered the gun, a look of profound relief washing over his scarred face.
“Eleanor kept her word,” Rossi whispered.
He turned to the boy, kneeling down with great effort. He pulled the boy into a tight, desperate hug. “Go with her, Leo. She’s going to take you to your family.”
Leo clung to the old mobster, crying quietly. “I don't want to leave you.”
“You have to,” Rossi said, his voice cracking. He stood up and pushed the boy gently toward me.
I took Leo’s hand. It was freezing cold.
“The spotters are at the north entrance,” Rossi told me, his eyes scanning the platform. “Get him in the sleeper car. Lock the door. Don't open it until Dominic comes.”
I nodded and turned toward the train.
But as I stepped toward the open doors, a voice rang out across the platform.
“Well, well. Look what we have here.”
I froze.
Standing ten feet away, blocking the entrance to the train, was Charles Whitmore. The family attorney.
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But he wasn't alone. He was flanked by the two men in leather jackets.
“Give me the boy, Claire,” Charles said smoothly, drawing a gun from his tailored suit jacket.
