Chapter 3 - THE BOY WITH EMERALD EYES
The cold Chicago wind swept through the open front doors, chilling the grand foyer. Nobody moved. Luca stared at the five-year-old boy. The child was wearing a faded blue winter jacket that was at least one size too small. He was shivering, his tiny fingers clinging tightly to the elderly man’s weathered hand. But it was the boy's eyes that held everyone captive. Emerald green. Piercing, intense, and painfully familiar. They were Luca's eyes. “Who are you?” Luca finally spoke, his voice hoarse, completely stripped of his usual mafia-boss authority. The elderly man coughed, a deep, rattling sound in his chest. “My name is Arthur. I’m the groundskeeper at the St. Jude Orphanage on the south side. The boy’s name is Leo.” “Orphanage?” Natalie gasped, stepping out from behind me, tears streaming down her face. “My sister put her baby in an orphanage?” Arthur shook his head slowly. “No, ma'am. The boy was dropped at our back steps three days ago. Whoever left him there slipped this note into his pocket.” Arthur held out the folded piece of paper. Luca stepped forward, his hands trembling as he took the note. He unfolded it carefully. I watched from a few feet away as Luca’s eyes scanned the words. His broad shoulders slumped, and a sound escaped his throat—a sound of pure, agonizing grief. “What does it say?” Vanessa demanded, her voice shrill and desperate as she struggled against Marco's grip. “It's a trick, Luca! It's a scam to get your money!” Luca slowly turned his head to look at Vanessa. The look in his eyes was so terrifyingly cold that Vanessa instantly clamped her mouth shut. “It’s Caroline’s handwriting,” Luca whispered. He turned the paper around so we could see it. The ink was smudged, written hastily, as if the writer had been in a state of absolute terror. Luca. They are moving me tonight. I can't protect him anymore. His name is Leo. He is yours. Please, save our son before she finds him. The paper slipped from Luca’s fingers, fluttering to the marble floor. He looked down at the little boy. Six years ago, Caroline had died in a boating accident. Or so the world thought. Now, standing in the foyer, was the undeniable proof that Caroline hadn't just survived. She had been pregnant. Luca fell to his knees on the cold marble floor. He didn't care about his expensive suit. He didn't care that his guards were watching. He looked at the shivering child, his own flesh and blood. “Leo,” Luca said softly, holding out a trembling hand. The boy shrank back, hiding behind Arthur’s leg. “Are you the bad man?” Leo asked, his voice a tiny, frightened squeak. Luca’s face crumpled. “No, sweetheart. I’m not the bad man. Why would you think that?” Leo peeked out from behind the old man's coat. “The lady with the red lips said my daddy was a bad man who hurt my mommy. She said if I ever saw him, I had to run away.” The entire room seemed to suck in a breath. Every eye slowly turned to Vanessa, who was still wearing her fitted red silk gown. “I didn't say that!” Vanessa shrieked, panic completely consuming her. “The boy is lying! He’s a street rat!” “Shut her up,” Luca growled to Marco. Marco swiftly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and shoved it into Vanessa’s mouth, silencing her protests into muffled screams. I stepped forward slowly. I knew what it felt like to be terrified in this massive, intimidating house. I knelt on the floor beside Luca, making myself small so I wouldn't scare the boy. “Hi, Leo,” I said gently, offering a warm smile. “My name is Emily. You look very cold. Would you like a cup of hot chocolate? I make the best hot chocolate in Chicago. It has marshmallows.” Leo’s emerald eyes flicked to me. He chewed on his bottom lip. “With extra marshmallows?” “As many as you want,” I promised. Leo slowly let go of Arthur’s hand. He took a hesitant step toward me, and then another. When he was close enough, Luca gently wrapped his arms around the boy, pulling him into a fierce, desperate embrace. Luca buried his face in the boy's dark hair, his massive shoulders shaking as he wept silently. Leo patted Luca's back awkwardly. “Don't cry, mister. I have something for you.” Luca pulled back, wiping the tears from his face. “You do?” Leo reached into the pocket of his faded jacket. He pulled out a heavy object that gleamed in the chandelier light. He handed it to Luca. It was an antique gold pocket watch. I saw Marco’s eyes widen in shock. “Boss... that’s your father’s watch.” Luca stared at the heavy gold timepiece resting in his palm. It was a Moretti family heirloom, passed down for four generations. The intricate engraving on the front depicted a roaring lion. “Where did you get this, Leo?” Luca asked, his voice hoarse. “My mommy gave it to me,” Leo answered innocently. “She told me to keep it hidden in my sock. She said if I ever found you, I had to give it to you. She said the magic secret was inside.” Luca didn't hesitate. His thumbs pressed against the latch on the side of the watch. With a soft click, the gold casing popped open. Inside the lid, where a portrait of Luca’s grandfather used to sit, there was a small, folded piece of thick cardstock. Luca pulled it out with shaking fingers. He unfolded it. It was a photograph. But it wasn't a picture of Caroline or Leo. It was a photograph of a man handing a thick briefcase to Vanessa on a dark dock. The timestamp in the corner read exactly six years ago—the night Caroline’s boat exploded. But the revelation that made Luca’s blood run cold wasn't Vanessa. It was the man handing her the briefcase. The man whose face was perfectly illuminated by a streetlamp. Luca slowly looked up from the photograph. His gaze bypassed Vanessa. It bypassed Natalie, who was sobbing into her hands. His emerald eyes locked onto the man standing right beside him. “Marco,” Luca whispered, the betrayal slicing through the air like a blade. Marco’s face went completely blank. In a fraction of a second, the loyal head of security raised his dark handgun. But he didn't aim it at Luca. He aimed it directly at five-year-old Leo. “Back away from the kid, Boss,” Marco said, his voice devoid of all emotion. “Or the Moretti bloodline ends right here on this floor.”
