Chapter 3 - THE ARCADIA TICKET
Celia’s fingernails dug painfully into my skin. The polished, unbothered facade of the party organizer had completely vanished. Underneath the heavy chandelier light, she looked desperate.
“Let go of me,” I whispered, trying to pull my arm back without making a scene. The rest of the room was entirely focused on Matteo and Harlan.
“You don’t understand what you’re holding,” Celia muttered, her perfectly painted lips barely moving. She tried to pry my fingers open, but I curled them into a tight fist around the crumpled yellow valet ticket and the silver locket.
“I know it means he wasn’t here prepping the presentation,” I shot back softly. “And I know you helped him seat Mr. Price in the back to keep him quiet.”
“To keep him alive,” Celia breathed, her eyes darting toward Harlan, who was still cursing and dabbing at his soaked suit with a linen napkin. “If Harlan thinks the deal is off, he’ll make a phone call. You have no idea what’s inside that hotel room.”
My blood ran cold. Lily.
Before Celia could wrestle the ticket away from me, a shadow fell over us.
Matteo Leone stood there.
He didn’t shout. He didn’t demand attention. But his mere presence radiated a terrifying gravity. Celia instantly dropped my wrist and took a hurried step back, smoothing her skirt as if she hadn’t just been clawing at a server.
“Is there an injury, Alice?” Matteo asked, his deep voice slicing through the remaining tension in the room.
“No, Mr. Leone,” I said, rising slowly to my feet. I kept my fist tightly closed.
Matteo looked at the shattered crystal, the soaked tablecloth, and the dripping underboss. Then, his dark eyes shifted back to me. He was observant. He missed nothing. He saw the way Celia was breathing too fast, and he saw how tightly my hand was clenched against my apron.
“You dropped something, Harlan,” Matteo said casually, not looking at the man.
Harlan stopped dabbing his suit. He patted his breast pocket, his face going pale when he realized the locket was gone. “Where is it?” he snapped, stepping toward me.
Matteo raised one hand. It was a tiny gesture, just lifting his fingers a few inches, but two massive men in dark suits immediately stepped out from the shadows of the dining room and blocked Harlan’s path.
“Show me, Alice,” Matteo commanded softly.
I opened my hand. The silver locket sat in my palm, glinting in the light. Beside it lay the crumpled yellow Arcadia Hotel valet ticket.
Matteo reached out and gently picked up the locket. He looked at it for a long time, his jaw tightening. Then he picked up the valet ticket.
He read the timestamp. 6:15 PM.
“Arcadia,” Matteo murmured. He slowly turned his head to look at Harlan. The air in the room grew suffocating. “You told me you were at the docks all afternoon. Finalizing the paperwork for the missing shipment.”
“I was,” Harlan lied smoothly, though sweat was beading on his forehead. “I just… stopped at the hotel on the way here. For a drink.”
“A drink,” Matteo repeated. He looked at Mr. Price, who was leaning heavily on his cane, weeping silently for his granddaughter. Then Matteo looked at Celia.
“And you,” Matteo said to the party planner. “You were so eager to move Mr. Price to a quiet corner. To manage the room.”
Celia swallowed hard. “Matteo, I was just following the guest list protocol—”
“Liar.” Matteo’s voice cracked like a whip. It was the first time he had raised it all night. The word echoed off the high ceilings.
He tossed the valet ticket onto the table.
“My family built this syndicate on trust and respect,” Matteo said, pacing slowly toward Harlan. “We don’t steal from our own. And we certainly don’t use children as bargaining chips.”
Harlan’s arrogance finally snapped. He sneered, showing his teeth. “You’re getting old, Matteo! The syndicate needs cash. The shipment I diverted to the wrong warehouse? It wasn’t just electronics or textiles. It was the payout from the east side development. Four million in untraceable cash. And it’s gone. It’s mine now.”
The room erupted into shocked murmurs. The guests—captains and lieutenants of the Leone family—stared at Harlan in disbelief.
“And the little girl?” Matteo asked, his voice deadly quiet.
“Insurance,” Harlan spat. “She’s sitting in a room at the Arcadia. I have two men watching her. If I don’t walk out of this house with your signature on that agreement, declaring the waterfront mine, they get a text. And Leonard never sees his precious Lily again.”
Mr. Price let out a broken sob and collapsed into the chair. I rushed to his side, gripping his trembling shoulder.
Matteo stopped walking. He stood directly in front of Harlan. The boss looked remarkably calm.
“You think you hold the cards, Owen,” Matteo said. “You think you’ve outsmarted me.”
“I have the girl, Matteo. You touch me, and she pays.”
Matteo reached into his own coat pocket. He pulled out a sleek black cell phone and dialed a number. He put it on speaker and set it next to the ruined valet ticket.
It rang twice.
“Yeah, boss?” a gruff voice answered.
“Vinnie,” Matteo said. “What’s the status at the Arcadia?”
Harlan’s smug expression instantly vanished.
“Room 412 is clear, Mr. Leone,” Vinnie replied through the speaker. “We took care of the two goons. Found the little girl holding a coloring book. She’s safe. We’re bringing her to the estate now.”
Harlan stumbled backward, his face a mask of absolute horror. “No. No, that’s impossible. How did you know?”
Matteo picked up the phone and ended the call. He looked at Harlan with utter disgust.
“Did you really think I didn’t know my own underboss was stealing from me?” Matteo asked coldly. “I’ve known about the missing money for three days. I knew about the hotel. What I didn’t know was why you diverted the shipment to Leonard’s warehouse instead of your own.”
Matteo turned his gaze to Celia, who was shrinking against the sideboard.
“I didn’t know,” Matteo continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “until I saw the seating chart tonight. Until I saw who was trying to keep Leonard from speaking.”
Celia squeezed her eyes shut.
Harlan lunged for his coat, reaching frantically for a weapon. But before his hand even cleared his lapel, Matteo’s men were on him. They slammed him face-first into the ruined dining table, pinning his arms behind his back. The sound of his jaw hitting the wood made me flinch.
Mr. Price was weeping openly now, burying his face in his hands. “Thank God,” the old man sobbed. “Thank God.”
I let out a breath I felt like I had been holding for an hour. The little girl was safe. Harlan was caught. It was over.
But as the guards dragged a struggling, cursing Harlan away from the table, his heavy wool coat caught on the edge of the chair. The coat ripped, and something fell from the inner lining.
It hit the floor with a heavy thud, rolling to a stop right at my feet.
I looked down.
It was a small, ornate wooden puzzle box. Intricately carved, inlaid with gold.
Matteo froze. The calm, composed mafia boss suddenly looked as though all the air had been punched out of his lungs.
He stared at the wooden box, his face completely bloodless.
“Owen,” Matteo whispered, his voice trembling for the first time. “Where did you get that?”
Harlan, pinned between the guards, looked back at the box. He didn’t look angry anymore. He looked terrified.
“I swear to God, Matteo,” Harlan choked out. “I didn’t open it. I just took it from the shipment. I didn’t know it was hers.”
Matteo dropped to his knees right in front of me, ignoring the broken glass. He reached out with shaking hands and picked up the puzzle box.
“Hers?” I whispered without thinking.
May you like
Matteo didn’t answer. He just stared at the box.
“Lock the doors,” Matteo ordered, his voice raw with a sudden, devastating grief. “No one leaves this house.”
