Chapter 5 - THE BUTTON ON THE COAT AND THE DISPATCH BOX
Dante didn't move. The most feared man in Illinois stood on the braided rug of a suburban cottage, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths as rain dripped from his cuffs.
Nine-year-old Elena tilted her head, studying him with the exact unblinking, analytical intensity I had seen Dante use on city aldermen and syndicate captains.
"You're bleeding on Grandma Sarah's rug," Elena said matter-of-factly, pointing at a thin scrape on Dante's wrist from when he had pinned Marco against the cinder-block wall.
Without waiting for permission, the little girl set her red velvet coat on the hall bench, marched into the downstairs bathroom, and came back with a single cartoon band-aid.
She walked right up to the six-foot-two stranger, took his trembling hand, and pressed the plastic strip over his skin.
"You have to hold your hand still when someone fixes it," Elena told him seriously. "Grandpa Artie taught me that when I fell off my scooter."
Dante dropped to both knees on the hallway floor. He didn't grab her or frighten her with the ten years of grief crushing his chest. He simply held his hand completely still, his voice cracking as he spoke to her at eye level.
"Thank you, Elena," Dante whispered, his dark eyes shining with unshed tears. "Did your Grandpa Artie tell you where that red coat came from?"
Elena nodded, touching the mother-of-pearl buttons on the velvet lapel. "It belonged to my mama when she was nine. Grandma Carmela brings me chocolate cannoli on Sundays and told me my daddy was building a really big castle so nobody could ever break the doors down, and when it was finished, he'd come fix the loose button."
Dante closed his eyes for a second, a single tear cutting down his sharp cheekbone before he pressed his forehead gently against the back of his daughter's small hand.
Standing by the kitchen doorway, I looked at my mother. The shock of seeing her standing in this secret house was slowly giving way to a profound, aching awe.
"Mom," I said softly, walking over and wrapping my arms around her frail shoulders, careful of the dialysis port on her arm. "All those Tuesdays I thought you were resting at Mrs. Gable's house... you were here taking care of Dante's little girl?"
"Your father and I took her home from the neonatal unit when she was four pounds, Clara," my mother said, smoothing my hair back just as she had when I was a child. "Artie built a false wall in the garage behind this cottage and lived here for sixteen years until his heart gave out. We couldn't tell you, baby. Don Vincenzo Rossi had spies in every parish and hospital in Cook County. If anyone knew Artie Miller's daughter was connected to the DeLucas, they would have used you to find Elena."
"They already found her," I said, a chill running down my spine as I remembered how Marco had torn up Carmela's closet floorboards yesterday. "Mom, when you took the ComEd bill out of the mailbox on Tuesday, how did it end up in the laundry room at the DeLuca mansion?"
My mother frowned. "It didn't. I gave last week's utility bill to Carmela on Sunday so she could give it to the estate accountant—the man with the silver glasses who always met Artie at the back alley gate once a month with the trust cash."
Dante stood up slowly from the floor, his protective instincts snapping back into razor focus.
"Wait," Dante said, looking from my mother to Carmela. "Lorenzo's estate accountant was Thomas Moretti. Moretti died four years ago. Who has been bringing the cash to the back alley gate for the last three years?"
"He didn't bring cash for the last three years," my mother said quietly. "Three years ago, when Artie passed away, a younger man came to the gate. He showed me Lorenzo's gold pocket watch as proof he was family. He told me the syndicate accounts were being audited by the feds, so the dialysis money and the cottage upkeep had to be paused—and if I ever tried to contact Dante directly, Vincenzo Rossi would find out about Elena within an hour."
"Marco," Dante said, his voice turning to black ice. "Marco took Papa's watch out of the safe after Ma's stroke, pocketed the trust money, and used the threat of the Rossis to keep Sarah quiet."
"No, Mr. DeLuca," Elena piped up suddenly, reaching into the torn pocket lining of her vintage red velvet coat. "It wasn't the man with the blue jacket who came yesterday afternoon while Grandma Sarah was napping."
Every adult in the hallway went dead still.
"Someone came here yesterday, Elena?" Dante asked, kneeling beside her again, keeping his voice calm and warm.
Elena nodded and pulled a heavy brass locker key on a braided leather fob out of the torn lining behind the loose mother-of-pearl button.
"My piano teacher, Miss Camilla, came to the garden window," Elena said simply.
My blood froze in my veins. Miss Camilla.
"Camilla Rossi has been coming here?" Carmela gasped from her wheelchair. "How?!"
"She's been teaching me piano on Thursdays for six months since Mrs. Gable broke her wrist," Elena said, holding the brass key out to Dante. "Yesterday she told me we were going to play a secret game on Friday where I go on a boat trip to Italy with my Grandpa Vincenzo. And she looked all through Grandpa Artie's workbench in the shed for this key, but I hid it inside my coat button because Grandpa Artie told me never to give the shed key to anybody who didn't know how to fix a carburetor."
Dante took the brass key from his daughter's small fingers, his face pale with fury and terror at how close he had come to losing the child he didn't even know was alive.
Camilla hadn't panicked in the laundry room tonight because she was afraid of Dante finding out about Elm Street.
Camilla had panicked because tomorrow—Friday morning, the exact day Marco was supposed to put Carmela into a locked nursing ward and clear the house for 'inspectors'—Camilla and her father were planning to kidnap Elena and take her to Milan as the ultimate hostage to force Dante to hand over the entire Chicago syndicate at the wedding altar.
Before Dante could speak, the encrypted satellite phone in Enzo’s jacket buzzed sharply.
May you like
Enzo answered it on the porch, listened for five seconds, and burst back into the hallway with his pistol drawn.
"Boss!" Enzo barked, his face grim. "Vincenzo Rossi's men just hit the Lake Forest gatehouse with two armored SUVs. Somebody inside the mansion let them through the security perimeter—and Marco and Camilla are gone!"
