Chapter 3 - THE COAT IN THE CLOSET
The walk across the sprawling mansion grounds to the staff quarters felt like a death march.
The night air was bitterly cold, the wind whipping through the ancient oak trees that lined the Caruso estate.
Luca walked beside me, his tailored suit completely out of place on the narrow, cracked pavement leading to the servant’s housing.
Behind us, two massive bodyguards flanked Eleanor Caruso, who had insisted on coming despite her fragile age.
Molly held my hand in a vice grip.
“Mommy,” she whispered, her teeth chattering. “Is the mean lady going to prison?”
“I don’t know, baby,” I murmured, pulling her cardigan tighter around her shoulders. “Just stay close to me.”
My small, one-bedroom apartment was located above the estate’s garages.
For six years, it had been our sanctuary.
Now, with a mafia boss ducking his head to step through my low doorway, it felt like a trap.
Luca looked around the tiny living room.
He took in the secondhand sofa, the small television with a cracked screen, and the crayon drawings Molly had taped to the refrigerator.
A flash of something akin to shame crossed his dark eyes, but he quickly masked it.
“Where is the coat, Rachel?” he asked quietly.
“In my bedroom closet,” I said, my hands shaking as I unlocked the door.
I walked straight to the back of the narrow closet.
Behind a row of my grey housekeeper uniforms hung the heavy navy-blue peacoat.
The plastic dry-cleaning bag over it was yellowed with age.
I pulled it down and laid it carefully on my small twin bed.
Eleanor stood in the doorway, her hands clasped tightly over her chest.
“David told me never to throw it away,” I whispered, running my fingers over the rough wool. “He said it was his lucky coat. He wore it the night he… the night he died.”
“He said to check the lining,” Luca reminded me gently.
He pulled a small silver pocket knife from his trousers and flicked it open.
I nodded, giving him permission.
Luca carefully sliced through the thick silk lining at the bottom hem of the coat.
There was a faint rustling sound.
He reached his large hand inside the gap and pulled out a small, tied plastic bag.
It was covered in dust.
Luca placed it on the mattress and untied the knot.
Three items fell out onto the faded quilt.
The first was a heavy, tarnished silver rosary.
The second was a small, blue hospital admission bracelet.
The third was a crumpled pawn shop ticket.
Eleanor let out a choked sob.
She pushed past the bodyguards and rushed to the bed, her trembling hands reaching for the rosary.
“Oh, God in heaven,” she wept, clutching the beads to her chest. “This is Antonio’s. This is my husband’s rosary.”
Luca stared at the beads. “Mom, are you sure?”
“I bought it for him in Rome for our tenth anniversary,” she cried, pointing to the silver crucifix. “Look at the back. It has his initials engraved. A.C. He never took it off.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“But Eleanor,” I whispered, “you told me he was buried wearing that rosary. You said you saw the mortician place it around his neck in the casket.”
The room fell deathly silent.
Eleanor looked up at me, her eyes wide with sudden horror.
“If David had this…” Luca started, piecing it together.
“Then the body in your father’s casket wasn’t your father,” I finished, my voice shaking.
Luca picked up the blue hospital bracelet.
He held it up to the dim overhead light.
“Patient name: John Doe,” Luca read aloud. “Blood type O-Negative. Time of admission: 11:42 PM.”
“My husband was O-Negative,” Eleanor whispered.
“But Dad supposedly died at 10:15 PM,” Luca said, his voice tightening. “This means he survived the ambulance attack. He made it to a hospital. Someone admitted him as a John Doe to hide him.”
“David did it,” I realized, tears spilling down my cheeks. “David hid him. He saved his life that night.”
“Then where is my father?” Luca demanded, turning to me. “If he survived, where has he been for six years?”
Before I could answer, Molly reached out and touched the crumpled pawn shop ticket resting on the bed.
“Mommy, there’s writing on the back of this paper,” she said innocently.
Luca snatched the ticket.
He flipped it over.
There, written in my husband's rushed, frantic handwriting, was a single sentence.
“He didn’t make it through the night, but the man who finished the job left his watch behind.”
Luca stared at the ticket, his face draining of color.
My husband had pawned the killer's watch as collateral.
“The pawn shop is in the Diamond District,” Luca said, his eyes darkening with a terrifying promise of violence. “It opens at 8:00 AM. We’re going.”
Just then, Luca’s cell phone rang.
He answered it, putting it on speaker.
“Boss,” his head of security’s frantic voice echoed in my small bedroom. “You need to get back to the main house right now.”
“What is it, Marco? Is Vanessa secured in the cellar?”
“No, Boss,” Marco said, sounding terrified. “We opened the cellar door to give her water. The grate to the old servant tunnels was kicked open. Vanessa is gone.”
I gasped, pulling Molly tightly against me.
“Lock down the gates!” Luca roared.
“We tried, Boss,” Marco stammered. “But she didn’t run away. She went upstairs. She broke into your private safe.”
Luca’s face went completely blank. “What did she take?”
“Everything,” Marco said. “The cash, the offshore account codes. But Boss… she also took the file. The file on Rachel’s husband.”
I stopped breathing.
I didn’t know there was a file on my husband.
I looked at Luca, my heart shattering with a sudden, horrible betrayal.
“Why do you have a file on David?” I whispered, stepping away from him.
May you like
Luca couldn’t meet my eyes.
“Because Rachel,” he said softly, “Vanessa isn’t the only one who has been lying to you for six years.”
