Chapter 10 - THE COAT
“The coat?” Luca asked, looking over my shoulder at the text message.
It had been three days since Vanessa and Carlo were arrested. The mansion had changed completely. Sunlight poured through the windows, the heavy drapes permanently pulled back. Leo was running through the halls, his laughter chasing away decades of ghosts. Rosa sat in the garden, knitting in the sun.
And I was no longer wearing a maid’s uniform.
“He specifically said ‘the coat’?” Luca frowned. “Antonio hasn’t worn a coat since his stroke. He barely leaves the house.”
“I don’t know,” I said, grabbing my purse. “But I need to go see him. I need to look my dad in the eye and ask him why he lied to me my entire life.”
“I’m coming with you,” Luca said.
We drove to Chicago General in Luca’s private car.
When we entered my father’s room, the frail man in the bed looked up.
He saw me. Then he saw Luca.
Tears immediately pooled in my father’s eyes.
“Little brother,” my dad whispered.
Luca walked over and gently gripped my father’s hand. “You old fool. You let me think you were dead for ten years.”
“It was the only way to keep Clara’s baby safe,” my dad rasped. He looked at me, his eyes begging for forgiveness. “Emma. I’m so sorry.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and hugged him. I didn’t care that he used to be a mob boss. He was my dad.
“You saved us, Dad. Vanessa is in jail. Leo is safe.”
My dad closed his eyes in relief. “Thank God. But the danger isn’t entirely gone, Emma. The Bellinis have allies. You need the insurance.”
“The insurance?” Luca asked.
“The coat,” my dad said, pointing a shaky finger at the small hospital closet. “Emma, fetch the brown wool coat I was wearing when the ambulance brought me in.”
I opened the closet and pulled out his old, battered winter coat.
“Check the lining of the left pocket,” he instructed, coughing weakly.
I reached inside the pocket. The fabric was torn inside. I slipped my fingers into the lining and felt cold, heavy metal.
I pulled it out.
It was a large, ancient iron key.
It looked like something that belonged to a medieval castle, not a Chicago apartment.
“What does this open?” I asked.
“It doesn’t open a door,” my dad said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It opens a chest. A chest our mother hid in the attic of the Moretti estate before she was killed. She knew they were coming for her.”
Luca stepped forward, staring at the key. “I’ve searched the attic a hundred times. There’s no chest.”
My dad smiled weakly.
“That’s because it’s not in the attic of the main house. It’s in the attic of the carriage house.”
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Luca and I exchanged a look. The carriage house had been boarded up since I was a child.
“Go,” my dad urged. “Before anyone else realizes it’s there.”
