Chapter 3 - THE SCENT OF THE MATCH
“She wasn't wearing that when she died,” Rico repeated, his thumb pressing into the melted silver star. “Her sister, Sofia, took this bracelet when she moved to Chicago. Sofia died of leukemia two years ago. This hasn't been in my house for thirty-six months.”
Clara took a slow step back, the hairs on her arms standing up.
“Then how did it get in his toy box?” Clara asked softly. “And why does it smell like a fire?”
Rico’s eyes snapped to hers. He lifted the bracelet to his face, inhaling sharply. His chest heaved, a sudden, violent reaction to the scent of the smoke. The ambush that killed his wife, Elena, had ended in a car fire. The police said the heat was so intense it destroyed everything.
“Someone put this here,” Rico said, his voice dropping to a lethal frequency. “Someone who has access to my son’s room. Someone trying to send a message.”
Before Clara could process the danger she had just walked into, heavy footsteps echoed in the marble hallway.
A man appeared in the doorway. He was tall, impeccably dressed in a navy suit, with sharp features and a relaxed, arrogant posture. This was Dante, Rico’s underboss and oldest friend.
“Rico, the perimeter is secure,” Dante said, glancing at Clara with mild amusement. “I see the waitress handled the tantrum. You want me to pay her out and send her home?”
“She stays the night,” Rico said smoothly, slipping the burnt bracelet into his suit pocket in a blink. He didn’t miss a beat. “Leo is finally asleep. Don’t wake him.”
“Whatever you say, boss,” Dante smirked. He stepped fully into the room, holding out a thick manila folder. “Our accountant found the leak. The Rossi family is skimming from the docks. You want me to handle it?”
As Dante reached out, his suit sleeve pulled back.
Clara froze.
It wasn't the folder that caught her attention. It was Dante’s cologne.
In the close quarters of the nursery, the scent hit her perfectly. It was expensive, heavy on the cedar and bergamot. But beneath it was a sharp, chemical undertone. The exact same acrid scent of scorched gasoline that was clinging to the melted silver bracelet.
Clara’s eyes dropped instinctively to Dante’s extended hand.
Just below his expensive Rolex, etched deep into the skin of his wrist, was a fresh, angry red scratch. It wasn't a straight line. It was jagged, shaped exactly like the sharp points of a broken metal star.
Like the melted star charm on the bracelet Rico just put in his pocket.
Dante saw her looking. His smirk vanished.
“Something wrong, sweetheart?” Dante asked, his voice dropping an octave, the threat completely unmasked.
Clara’s heart slammed against her ribs. “No,” she lied, forcing a polite waitress smile. “Just admiring the watch. It’s beautiful.”
Dante stared at her for a second too long. Then he handed the file to Rico. “Read it over. I’ll be downstairs.”
As Dante turned and walked away, Rico looked at Clara. He noticed her pale face.
“What did you see?” Rico demanded quietly.
Clara looked at the door, then back to the most dangerous man in Brooklyn.
May you like
“Answer me,” Rico said.
Clara took a breath. “That file he just handed you. Open it.”
