Chapter 4 - THE TRUTH ABOUT THOMAS
I stared at the blinking black dot in Marco's palm.
"I didn't put that there!" I gasped, pressing myself flat against the cold stone wall. "I swear! Gilbert—my manager—he grabbed my arm right before I went into the dining room. He must have slipped it into the fabric!"
Marco raised his weapon an inch, his eyes locked on me. "A convenient story."
"Lower the gun, Marco," Lorenzo ordered.
"Lorenzo, she led them right to you."
"If she wanted me dead, she wouldn't have handed me a napkin detailing the trap at exactly 8:52," Lorenzo said, stepping between me and Marco. He held his hand out, taking the bug. He crushed it beneath the heel of his Italian leather shoe. "Gilbert planted it. He was tracking her, not me. They needed to know exactly when she was approaching the table."
Lorenzo turned back to me, extending a large, warm hand.
I hesitated, looking at his palm, then up at his face. The mafia boss. The monster of Chicago. Right now, he was the only thing standing between me and a bullet. I reached out. He pulled me up effortlessly, his grip surprisingly gentle.
"We need to move. The police will be here in three minutes, and half of them are on the Vane payroll," Lorenzo said.
We slipped out a side ventilation shaft that led to an abandoned subway service tunnel. The damp, freezing Chicago air bit through my thin waitress uniform. Lorenzo took off his ruined, blood-stained suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It smelled like expensive cologne and gunpowder.
Marco had a nondescript black sedan waiting three blocks away. I climbed into the back seat, Lorenzo sliding in beside me.
"Where are we going?" I asked, pulling the heavy wool jacket tighter around myself.
"A safe house in Pilsen. Off the books," Lorenzo said. He looked at me, the streetlights flashing across his face in rapid intervals. "You have questions. Ask them."
I gripped the edge of the leather seat. "You said my father was an accountant. You said he didn't abandon me."
Lorenzo sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Thomas Carter was a genius with numbers. He worked for my father, keeping the ledgers clean. Twelve years ago, the Vane family proposed an alliance. But your father found a discrepancy. The Vanes weren't just struggling; they were broke. They had been stealing from our shipping containers to cover their debts, and they were planning a hit on my father to take over the territory before he found out."
A tear slipped hot and fast down my cheek. "My mom told me he went out for milk. He kissed my forehead."
"He knew they were coming for him," Lorenzo said softly. "He came to our compound that night. Handed my father a ledger proving the Vanes' treason. But the Vanes had a mole in our crew. They ambushed the meeting. Both our fathers died that night."
I squeezed my eyes shut, burying my face in my hands. The years of poverty. The freezing nights. The hatred I harbored. It was all built on a lie. He died a hero.
"Why didn't anyone tell us?" I sobbed. "Why did we have to suffer?"
"Because the ledger went missing in the chaos," Lorenzo said, his jaw tight. "Without it, I had no proof to wage war against the Vanes. I had to play nice. I had to agree to marry Celeste to keep the peace while I searched for the proof. I didn't know Thomas had a daughter. He kept you completely off the books to protect you."
I wiped my face, a sudden spark of anger cutting through the grief. "Then how did Celeste find me?"
Before Lorenzo could answer, his burner phone buzzed in the cup holder.
He stared at the unknown number. He hit speaker and answered. "Speak."
"Lorenzo, darling," Celeste's voice purred through the speaker. It sent ice water through my veins. "Such a shame about dinner. You always were so hard to kill."
"The engagement is off, Celeste," Lorenzo said smoothly.
"Oh, I know. But this isn't about you anymore," Celeste laughed. It was a cold, hollow sound. "Put the waitress on the phone."
May you like
Lorenzo’s eyes darted to me. He didn't say a word.
"I know she's sitting right next to you, Lorenzo," Celeste mocked. "Hello, Evelyn. You have your father's nose. And more importantly, you have his pocket watch. Bring it to me at the Navy Pier warehouse in one hour, or the nursing home in Cicero is going to have a terrible gas leak tonight. Specifically, the wing where your mother's sister lives."
