Chapter 4 - THE SILK SCARF
The engine of Luca’s black Maserati roared to life, shattering the quiet of the estate.
I was shoved into the passenger seat, my hands still trembling as I fumbled with the seatbelt.
Luca didn’t wait for the heavy iron gates to fully open. He gunned the engine, squeezing through the gap and tearing onto the damp Chicago streets.
Rain had started to fall.
It streaked across the windshield like tears.
“Tell me everything,” Luca demanded, his eyes fixed on the road.
I swallowed hard.
“Vanessa’s family. Mrs. Carter said you ruined them.”
Luca’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white.
“Her father was a thief,” he said coldly. “He embezzled millions from my family’s legitimate businesses. When my father found out, he didn’t kill him. He bankrupted him. Made sure he could never work in this city again.”
He swerved around a slow-moving truck, the tires squealing.
“I didn’t know she held a grudge. She played the perfect socialite. The perfect fiancée.”
“She played you,” I whispered.
Luca shot me a dark look.
“She played all of us.”
He reached for the dashboard console and pressed a button. A ringing tone filled the cabin.
“Daniel. Talk to me.”
Daniel’s voice crackled through the speakers.
“Boss. I pulled the city traffic cameras. We got a hit on Vanessa’s car. She’s not heading north toward the train station.”
“Where is she?”
“South. Industrial district. Heading toward the old shipyard.”
Luca slammed his hand against the steering wheel.
“The extraction point,” he muttered. “Mercer is a private investigator. He knows the shipyards. He knows how to move cargo without customs checking.”
Cargo.
He was talking about his son.
“Is Elena okay?” Luca asked, his voice suddenly sounding tight. Strained.
There was a pause on the line.
“Daniel. Answer me.”
“Boss… we found Elena’s car abandoned three blocks from her townhouse. Driver’s side window smashed. Blood on the steering wheel.”
I gasped, covering my mouth.
Luca didn’t make a sound.
But the Maserati accelerated. The speedometer needle buried itself past ninety.
“She fought back,” Luca said quietly.
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact. A man who knew exactly who he had married the first time.
“Elena wouldn’t let them take her son without a war.”
I looked at the silver locket still clutched in my hand.
“Mr. Moretti…”
“Luca,” he corrected sharply. “Stop calling me sir. Tonight, we’re past that.”
“Luca. Why did Elena hide him? If she knew Vanessa was dangerous, why not come to you for protection?”
Luca stared at the rain-slicked road.
“Because she didn’t run from Vanessa. She ran from me.”
I blinked.
“I don’t understand.”
Luca exhaled, a ragged, bitter sound.
“Four years ago, my syndicate was at war with a rival family. Our house was attacked. Bullets tore through the living room. Elena was standing near the window.”
He paused, swallowing hard.
“She didn’t tell me she was pregnant. She knew if she stayed, the child would grow up with targets on his back. So she vanished. To protect him from my world.”
It made terrifying sense.
Elena was a mother who sacrificed her own comfort to keep her son safe.
And now, Vanessa was going to use that exact child to destroy the man Elena had tried to protect him from.
We tore into the industrial district.
Massive, rusted shipping containers loomed in the darkness like metal mountains. The smell of salt and diesel hung thick in the air.
Luca cut the headlights.
We rolled in silence down a narrow alley between two warehouses.
“Wait here,” Luca ordered, throwing the car into park.
He reached beneath his seat and pulled out a matte-black pistol. He checked the magazine with a practiced, terrifying efficiency.
“I’m coming with you,” I said, unbuckling my belt.
“No. You’re civilian. You stay in the car.”
“She knows my face, Luca. If Mercer is waiting to ambush you, he won’t shoot a maid. I can distract them.”
Luca stared at me.
He looked at the purple bruise covering my cheekbone. The mark his fiancée had left on me.
Then he reached into the backseat.
He grabbed a heavy, silk scarf—one Vanessa had discarded days ago.
He wrapped it tightly around my neck, tucking the ends under my coat.
“Keep your throat covered,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against my skin. “And stay behind me.”
We stepped out into the freezing rain.
The shipyard was eerily quiet.
We crept toward Pier 4.
Suddenly, a muffled cry echoed through the fog.
A child’s voice.
Luca froze. His entire body went rigid.
We moved faster, rounding a stack of shipping containers.
And there it was.
A black SUV with the engine running.
Standing by the trunk was William Mercer. He was holding a struggling, dark-haired little boy.
And standing directly in front of them, pointing a gun at Mercer’s chest, was Elena.
She was bleeding from a cut on her forehead, her clothes soaked with rain.
But she held the gun perfectly steady.
“Let my son go, William,” Elena screamed over the wind.
Before Mercer could answer, a shadow stepped out from behind the SUV.
Vanessa.
May you like
She raised her own gun and pressed the barrel directly against the back of Elena’s head.
“Drop it, Elena,” Vanessa purred. “Or the boy watches his mother die.”
