Chapter 5 - THE POCKET WATCH
The gunfire behind us momentarily ceased, replaced by the sounds of tactical boots crunching on broken glass.
Alessio looked from the manifest in my hand to his bleeding bodyguard. The absolute shock on Alessio’s face told me he hadn't known.
"Dante," Alessio’s voice was dangerously calm. "What did you do?"
Dante slid down the brick wall, pressing a hand hard against his bleeding shoulder. He coughed, a wet sound. "I brought her to the estate. But not to frame her, boss. To protect her."
"By putting her in the room where I was supposed to be murdered?" Alessio roared, the fury finally breaking through his composed exterior.
"Marcus sent hitters to her apartment tonight," Dante gasped, his head rolling back against the brick. "I got a tip from a contact in his crew. If she stayed home, she was dead. The only place Marcus wouldn't pull a trigger was inside the Ashworth estate, surrounded by politicians and police. I forged the manifest to get her inside the ballroom. It was the safest place in the city for her."
I backed away, pressing my hands over my mouth. "You knew they were coming to kill me?"
"Marcus finally figured out the clue your father left," Dante looked at me, his cold eyes softening for a fraction of a second. "He knew what Arthur left you."
"He left me nothing!" I sobbed. "A box of old clothes and a watch that doesn't even work!"
Silence fell over the alley, heavy and suffocating.
Alessio turned to me, his golden eyes wide. "A watch?"
"An old silver pocket watch," I stammered, confused by his reaction. "It’s broken. The hands are stuck at 10:14. I keep it in my purse. It's the only thing I have left of him."
I reached for the cheap faux-leather bag still slung across my chest. My hands shook as I dug past my wallet and keys, my fingers finally closing around the cold, heavy metal of my father’s pocket watch. I pulled it out.
Alessio stepped forward, staring at the watch as if it were a bomb.
"Arthur was a master at hiding things in plain sight," Alessio murmured. "May I?"
I hesitated, then placed the watch in his palm.
Alessio didn't try to open the face. Instead, he flipped it over, running his thumb along the intricate engraving on the back. He pressed firmly on the center of the design and twisted counter-clockwise.
With a soft click, the entire back casing of the watch popped open.
I gasped. I had held that watch every day for fifteen years, crying over it, talking to it, and I never knew it opened.
Inside the casing wasn't a picture or a note. It was a tiny, intricately cut brass key.
"A safety deposit box," Dante breathed from the ground. "Or a locker."
"The hands," Alessio said, looking at the frozen time on the front. "10:14. Ten fourteen."
"Locker 1014," I realized, the pieces slamming together in my brain. "At the central train station. He used to take me there on Sundays to watch the trains. We always sat on the bench in front of the 1000-block lockers."
"That’s where the ledger is," Alessio said, snapping the watch shut and handing it back to me. "That’s what Marcus wants."
"We have to go," I said, a sudden surge of determination replacing my fear. I wasn't a victim anymore. I was Arthur Bennett’s daughter.
"I'll hold the alley," Dante grunted, shifting his weight and raising his gun toward the garage. "Get to the station. Finish this, boss."
Alessio gripped Dante’s shoulder, a silent vow passing between the two men. Then, he grabbed my hand, and we ran into the dark streets.
It took us thirty minutes of weaving through back alleys to reach Central Station. It was past 3:00 AM, the massive vaulted concourse mostly empty except for a few sleeping travelers and tired janitors.
We found the locker bay quickly. Row upon row of battered gray metal doors.
1012.
My hands shook as I inserted the tiny brass key into the lock. It slid in perfectly. I turned it, and the heavy metal door popped open.
Alessio stepped up beside me, his body tense, ready to pull out the ledger that would take down his brother and clear my father’s name.
I reached inside the dark space.
My fingers didn't brush against a heavy leather book. They brushed against a single piece of stiff construction paper.
Frowning, I pulled it out into the harsh fluorescent light of the station.
It wasn't a ledger. It was a child’s drawing in crayon. A picture of a little girl holding hands with a man.
Alessio ripped the paper from my hands, his face draining of all blood. He looked like he was going to be sick.
"Who is that?" I asked, terrified by his reaction.
May you like
He flipped the drawing over. On the back, written in elegant, sharp black ink, were five words.
I have the ledger. And Sofia.
