Chapter 4 - THE TORN TICKET
I didn’t stay in the medical room. I couldn’t. The thought of sitting on that crinkling white paper while men shot each other in the rooms above me was paralyzing. I slipped out the door, keeping my back pressed against the expensive silk wallpaper of the second-floor corridor. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I crept toward the grand staircase, listening. The faint sound of classical music drifted up from the dining room below. The guests were still drinking their wine, laughing, oblivious to the fact that their host was currently walking into an assassination attempt. I reached the landing just outside Luca’s private master suite. The heavy mahogany door was slightly ajar. I peeked through the narrow opening. Inside the dim, sprawling bedroom, Julian stood near the massive fireplace. He was thirty-eight, handsome, usually quick with a joke and a pour of whiskey. Tonight, he looked like a ghost. He held a silenced 9mm pistol in his right hand. It was aimed directly at the door. Waiting for Luca to return. But Luca hadn’t come through the front door. He had used the servant’s passage. Suddenly, Luca stepped out from the shadows behind Julian. He didn’t raise his weapon. He didn’t yell. He simply said, “Put it down, Julian.” Julian spun around, raising his gun toward Luca’s chest. His hands were shaking violently. Tears streamed down his face, tracking through the light stubble on his jaw. “I’m sorry, Luca,” Julian choked out, his voice cracking. “I swear to God, I am so sorry. But I don’t have a choice.” Luca stood perfectly still. He looked at the barrel of the gun pointed at his heart. “You always have a choice,” Luca said softly. He slowly reached into his suit pocket. Julian flinched, tightening his grip on the trigger. “Don’t move!” Luca didn’t pull out a weapon. He pulled out the crumpled crayon drawing. He tossed it gently onto the Persian rug between them. The paper landed face up. HELP ME DADDY. Julian looked down. The moment he saw his son’s handwriting, the mafia underboss completely broke. A ragged, agonizing sob tore from his throat. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the floor, the heavy pistol slipping from his fingers and clattering against the hardwood. Luca kicked the gun away. He didn’t execute his traitorous friend. He knelt in front of him. “Where is he, Julian?” Luca asked, his voice filled with a heartbreaking gentleness. Julian buried his face in his hands, weeping uncontrollably. “She took him,” Julian sobbed. “Vanessa took Leo three weeks ago. She sent me a video of him locked in a dark room. She said if I didn't steal the South Side deed for her rival buyers, she would kill him. And if I didn't kill you before the wedding, she would ship him out of the country.” I gasped softly from the hallway. Vanessa wasn’t just a thief. She was a monster. Luca grabbed Julian by the shoulders, forcing him to look up. “Why didn’t you come to me?” Luca demanded. “I would have burned Chicago to the ground to find him!” “Because she said she had eyes inside your security detail!” Julian cried. “If I told you, she promised the boy would die before you even left the driveway.” Luca’s jaw clenched. A mole in his own security team. I had just gotten the answer to why Julian was trying to kill Luca. But now I faced two terrifying new realities. Someone guarding this house was working for Vanessa. And little Leo was running out of time. “Julian,” Luca said firmly. “I am not dead. Which means Vanessa’s timeline just accelerated. Where is the boy now?” Julian shook his head frantically. “I don’t know! But she gave me this.” Julian reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, rectangular piece of cardstock. He handed it to Luca. I strained my eyes to see it through the crack in the door. It was a train ticket. A private sleeper cabin on the midnight express to Montreal. “She told me that once you were dead, I was supposed to take this ticket to Union Station,” Julian explained, wiping his face. “She said Leo would be waiting in the cabin. She gave it to me as proof she was going to let him go.” Luca stared at the ticket. He flipped it over. Then, a cold, dark realization washed over his face. “She lied to you, Julian,” Luca said. Julian froze. “What?” “This ticket isn’t for tonight,” Luca said, pointing to the date printed in small red ink at the bottom. “It’s for yesterday.” Julian stared at the expired date. The hope drained from his eyes, replaced by pure, blinding panic. “She was never going to give him back,” Julian whispered. “She’s going to kill my son.” “No, she isn’t,” I said. Both men snapped their heads toward the door. I pushed it open and stepped into the room. I shouldn’t have interrupted. I was just a maid. But I had spent nine months cleaning the dirt from this family’s shoes, and I knew how to read the stains they left behind. Luca stood up. “Claire. What are you doing?” I walked over to the Persian rug and pointed at the train ticket. “Vanessa isn’t taking him to Montreal,” I said confidently. “She’s framing you.” Julian looked at me as if I were crazy. “What are you talking about?” “I do her laundry,” I said, looking at Luca. “This morning, I cleaned a pair of her expensive suede boots. They were covered in thick, red clay mud.” Luca frowned. “Red clay?” “Yes. The kind you only find in one specific place on this entire estate.” I looked out the massive bedroom window, pointing toward the dark, sprawling grounds behind the mansion. “The old botanical greenhouse,” I said. “It’s been abandoned for years. But three weeks ago, Vanessa ordered the groundskeepers to stay away from it. She claimed she was treating it for toxic mold.” Luca’s eyes widened. Vanessa hadn’t smuggled the boy out of the city. She was holding him hostage right here in our own backyard.
