Chapter 3 - THE WOLF IN THE MANSION
The rain came down in sheets, hammering against the tinted windows of Luca’s armored SUV. The windshield wipers beat a frantic, rhythmic pulse that matched the pounding in my chest.
I sat in the back seat, holding Daniel tightly against my side. He had fallen asleep, his small head resting on my shoulder, exhausted by the emotional terror of the evening.
Luca drove in complete silence. He hadn’t called for a driver. He hadn't brought any of his men. After discovering Marco’s betrayal, the mafia boss suddenly realized he couldn’t trust a single soul in his own empire. Except, inexplicably, his nine-year-old son’s maid.
I looked down at the coordinates Luca had punched into the GPS. They matched the numbers engraved inside the fake ring, leading us to an old, unincorporated county road thirty miles outside of Chicago. The brick building from Daniel's drawing.
“Emily,” Luca’s voice broke the silence. It was gravelly, heavy with exhaustion.
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Call me Luca. Tonight, titles mean nothing.” He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white under the dashboard lights. “You knew about his drawings. The woman behind the glass.”
“I did,” I admitted softly. “I thought... I thought they were just manifestations of his grief. I tried to tell Mrs. Bellini, but she threatened to fire me. She said if I encouraged his 'delusions,' I wouldn't be able to pay for Thomas’s clinic.”
Luca glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Your brother’s rehabilitation.”
“Yes. He was paralyzed in a car accident two years ago. Your salary pays for his physical therapy.”
Luca was quiet for a long moment. “You’re a good sister. I should have paid more attention to my own home. I was so blinded by the syndicate, by the grief of losing Elena... I let a monster raise my son.”
“You’re here now,” I said softly.
The GPS chimed. Destination approaching on the right.
Luca killed the headlights. We rolled to a stop in front of a massive, wrought-iron gate that had rusted off its hinges. Beyond the gate, illuminated only by lightning, stood the brick building from the photograph. It was an abandoned orphanage—St. Jude’s.
“Stay here,” Luca commanded, pulling a heavy black pistol from a holster at his waist.
“No,” I whispered fiercely, surprising myself. “If Marco is in there, you can’t watch your back alone. And Daniel won't wake up if I lay him down. He’s out cold.”
Luca stared at me, perhaps realizing for the first time that the quiet maid in the gray uniform had a spine of steel. He gave a single, curt nod.
I gently laid Daniel across the backseat, covering him with my coat, and locked the doors from the outside. I followed Luca through the pouring rain, my flats sinking into the mud.
The heavy wooden doors of the orphanage were already cracked open. Inside, the air smelled of mildew, dust, and something sharper—bleach. Someone had been cleaning recently.
We moved down a dark, arched hallway. Flashlight beams cut through the gloom. At the end of the corridor, a door was slightly ajar, spilling a faint, yellow light onto the floorboards.
Luca kicked the door open, his gun raised.
The room was empty, but it wasn't abandoned. There was a small cot against the wall with fresh pink blankets. A battery-powered lantern sat on a wooden crate. And taped to the peeling wallpaper were dozens of crayon drawings.
They were exactly like Daniel’s. Little houses. Birds. But these were signed in clumsy, loopy letters: Sophia.
My breath caught. I walked over to a small wooden table. On it sat a tin music box. I recognized it instantly. It used to sit in the main hallway of the Moretti mansion. Elena’s favorite antique.
I turned the small crank. A haunting, chiming lullaby filled the damp room.
As the music played, a false bottom in the wooden table popped open with a soft click.
Luca rushed over. Inside the hidden compartment was a folded piece of white fabric. He pulled it out, his hands trembling. It was a wedding veil. Elena’s wedding veil.
But the delicate white lace was stained with a massive, dark smear of fresh blood.
Luca dropped to his knees, his gun clattering to the floor. A sound tore from his throat—a sound of absolute, agonizing defeat. “No. No, we’re too late.”
I stared at the blood, feeling sick to my stomach. But then I looked closer at the hidden compartment. Underneath where the veil had been, there was a glossy piece of paper.
I reached in and pulled it out. It was a printed train ticket to Seattle, departing at 3:00 AM tonight.
But it wasn't the destination that made the room spin. It was the passenger name printed at the top.
E. Carter.
My name.
Before I could speak, Luca’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered it on speaker, his eyes dead, staring at the bloody veil.
“Hello, Boss,” Marco’s voice sneered through the speaker. “I see you found the orphanage. Beautiful place, isn't it? Such a shame Elena couldn't stay.”
“I’m going to tear your heart out through your ribs, Marco,” Luca whispered.
Marco laughed. “You can try. But right now, you need to check your messages. I just sent you a video.”
Luca pulled the phone away from his ear and opened the text. The screen illuminated his pale face. He turned it toward me.
It was a live security feed. I instantly recognized the pristine white walls and the sterile blue curtains. It was a hospital room at Mercy Care—my brother’s rehabilitation clinic.
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Thomas was strapped into his wheelchair, his head slumped forward in sleep. Standing behind him, wearing a surgical mask and holding a terrifyingly large syringe to my brother’s neck, was a man in a doctor's coat.
“You brought the maid, didn't you?” Marco’s voice echoed from the phone. “Bring Daniel to the clinic, Luca. Trade the boy for the maid’s brother. Or I push this plunger, and Thomas Carter's heart stops beating.”
