Chapter 2 - THE BRASS TAG
The dining room fell into a suffocating silence.
Twenty-six of Chicago’s wealthiest elites stopped breathing.
Luca Moretti stared at the woman he was supposed to marry.
“What do you mean, a second animal?” Luca asked, his voice dropping to a terrifying, deadly calm.
Vanessa’s hands fluttered nervously over her expensive red silk gown.
“It’s nothing, Luca,” she stammered, her eyes darting toward the security guards. “Just a stray. A feral cat that wandered onto the property. I didn’t want it giving Bruno diseases, so I had the groundskeeper lock it in the back room until animal control could get it.”
She reached for his arm, offering a desperate, painted smile.
“Please, darling. The guests are waiting. Let Emma take the dog to the kitchen, and let’s sit down.”
Luca looked down at Vanessa’s hand on his tailored suit sleeve.
He didn’t pull away.
He just stared at it until she slowly let go.
“Daniel,” Luca said, not looking at his head of security.
“Yes, boss.”
“Lock the dining room doors. Nobody leaves.”
A collective gasp echoed around the crystal-lit room.
Vanessa’s face went chalk-white.
Luca turned to me.
“Emma,” he said softly, his dark eyes meeting mine. “Bring Bruno.”
I nodded, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I gently placed my hand on the old German shepherd’s head. Bruno leaned into my apron, his wet fur soaking through my dress, but he followed as I walked behind Luca out of the dining room.
We walked through the grand foyer, past the sprawling marble staircase, and out the heavy oak side doors into the cold, driving rain.
The security men followed close behind, their flashlights cutting through the storm.
We reached the old maintenance garage.
It was a detached brick building that hadn’t been used for vehicles in years, mostly storing old landscaping equipment and discarded furniture.
The heavy metal door at the back—the one Vanessa had begged Luca not to open—was secured with a thick, rusted padlock.
“The key,” Luca demanded, holding his hand out to Daniel.
Daniel shook his head. “Mrs. Bellini changed the locks on this building three days ago, sir. She said she was turning it into a private storage unit.”
Luca didn’t hesitate.
He stepped back and kicked the door right beside the lock.
The rusted wood splintered, but the padlock held.
He kicked it again. Harder.
The metal bracket tore free from the doorframe with a harsh, screaming crack.
The heavy door swung open, revealing absolute, pitch-black darkness.
The smell hit me first.
Damp concrete, motor oil, and something else.
Something terribly stale.
Daniel clicked on his heavy tactical flashlight, sweeping the blinding beam across the dusty floor, over stacks of cardboard boxes and old tires.
Bruno let out a low, desperate whine.
The old dog didn’t wait for Luca. He limped past us, pushing his gray muzzle into the darkness, his back legs trembling as he headed toward the very back corner of the garage.
“Bruno, wait,” Luca called out, following the dog’s path.
Daniel aimed the flashlight where Bruno had stopped.
My breath caught in my throat.
Tucked behind a stack of rotting wooden pallets was a small, filthy mattress.
Sitting on the mattress wasn’t a feral cat.
It was a child.
A little boy, no older than five or six.
He was wearing an oversized, threadbare gray coat that swallowed his small frame. His dark, curly hair was matted with sweat and dirt, and his face was pale, his large brown eyes wide with absolute terror as the flashlight beam hit him.
He scrambled backward, pressing his small back against the cold brick wall, pulling his knees tightly to his chest.
“Turn the light down,” Luca ordered sharply.
Daniel immediately lowered the beam so it only illuminated the floor.
Luca slowly dropped to his knees, ignoring the motor oil seeping into his expensive suit trousers.
“Hey,” Luca whispered, his voice incredibly soft. “It’s okay. Nobody is going to hurt you.”
The little boy didn’t speak.
He just sat there, trembling violently in the oversized coat.
But Bruno didn’t hesitate.
The old German shepherd limped right up to the mattress, let out a soft, familiar huff, and gently laid his massive head right on the little boy’s lap.
The boy’s rigid posture broke.
He let out a tiny, broken sob and wrapped his small, dirty arms around Bruno’s thick neck, burying his face in the dog’s wet fur.
I covered my mouth with my hand.
Bruno hadn’t just been locked in this garage by accident.
He had been locked in here because he refused to leave this child.
“Emma,” Luca said, not looking back. “Come here.”
I stepped forward, kneeling beside Luca on the cold concrete.
“He’s terrified of the men,” Luca whispered to me. “See if he’ll let you touch him.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I said gently, keeping my hands visible. “My name is Emma. What’s your name?”
The boy peeked at me from behind Bruno’s ears.
He didn’t answer.
But as he shifted his weight, his small hand slipped out of the oversized coat sleeve.
He was clutching something tightly in his fist.
He slowly opened his fingers, holding his hand out to me as if offering a peace offering.
Resting in his dirty palm was a small piece of metal.
I took it gently.
It was a heavily scratched, circular brass tag.
Engraved on the metal was the name BRUNO, along with a phone number that had been scratched out.
“You kept his tag safe,” I whispered, looking into the boy’s terrified eyes. “Thank you.”
The boy nodded once.
Then, he reached into the deep pocket of his oversized coat.
He pulled out a second object.
He didn’t hand this one to me.
He held it out directly to Luca.
Luca’s breath hitched as he reached out and took it.
It was a heavy, silver pocket watch. The silver was tarnished, and the glass face was cracked, but the intricate engraving of a roaring lion on the cover was unmistakable.
It was the Moretti family crest.
Luca stared at the watch, his hands trembling so badly he almost dropped it.
He clicked the small latch on the side. The watch sprang open.
Inside the cover was a tiny, faded photograph of a beautiful woman with dark hair and a brilliant smile.
Luca let out a sound that I will never forget.
It wasn’t a cry. It was the sound of a man having his soul ripped in half.
“Elena,” Luca whispered, staring at the photograph.
He looked up at the little boy.
He looked at the boy’s dark curls. His brown eyes. The exact shape of his jaw.
“Who gave you this watch?” Luca asked, tears spilling freely down his face.
The boy finally spoke.
May you like
His voice was hoarse, barely more than a scratchy whisper.
“My mommy,” the boy said. “Before the bad lady made the car crash.”
