Chapter 3 - THE STORAGE KEY
The Chicago rain lashed against the windshield of my ancient Honda Civic. The heater rattled, struggling to clear the condensation, but I didn't dare turn it up. The noise might mask the sound of the sleek black Mercedes SUV driving two blocks ahead of us.
Luca sat in my passenger seat, his broad shoulders making the small car feel even more cramped. He had taken off his tuxedo tie, his eyes fixed relentlessly on Vanessa’s taillights.
"Keep your distance, Emily," he instructed, his voice low. "She's checking her rearview mirror at every intersection."
My hands gripped the worn steering wheel so tightly my knuckles were white. The pain in my lip throbbed in time with my racing heart. Just an hour ago, I was pouring wine for billionaires. Now, I was tailing a mafia boss's fiancé through the grimiest industrial district in the city.
"Why didn't you confront her at the house?" I asked, my voice shaking slightly. "You had Samuel's recording. You had the photograph."
"Because confronting her doesn't find Michael," Luca replied, not looking away from the road. "For nine years, my family turned this city upside down looking for my brother's custom Porsche. If Vanessa knows where it is, she knows how he died. I need to see what she's hiding before she destroys it."
We turned down a desolate street lined with abandoned factories. Ahead of us, Vanessa’s Mercedes slowed, turning into the imposing iron gates of Southside Secure Storage.
"Pull over here," Luca ordered. "Cut the headlights."
I parked in the shadows of a defunct brick warehouse. We watched through the rain-streaked glass as Vanessa punched a code into the security keypad. The heavy gate rolled open. She drove inside, heading straight for a row of private, garage-style units at the far back.
"Wait here," Luca said, reaching for his door handle.
"No," I said, surprising myself.
Luca paused, looking at me.
"She hit me with a door, Mr. Moretti," I said, my voice steadying. "She threatened to ruin my life so I couldn't afford my father's heart medication. I'm not waiting in the car."
Luca studied my face for a long second. The hard edge in his eyes softened just a fraction. He nodded. "Stay behind me. And be quiet."
We slipped out into the freezing rain, hurrying across the wet asphalt. We bypassed the main gate by slipping through a gap in the perimeter chain-link fence, a trick Luca seemed far too comfortable executing.
We crept along the metal corrugated walls of the storage units. Up ahead, unit number 42 was rolled open. A single bare bulb illuminated the interior.
We pressed our backs against the cold metal of the adjacent unit, inching closer until we could see inside.
Answer one: Vanessa hadn't come to move a fancy sports car.
Open two: Then whose car was sitting in the middle of the storage unit?
It wasn't a Porsche. It was a dark blue, remarkably average mid-sized sedan. The kind of car a suburban soccer mom would drive. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, clearly untouched for years.
Vanessa was frantically digging through the trunk, tossing old blankets and cardboard boxes onto the concrete floor. She was crying, her breath hitching in panicked sobs that echoed in the empty unit.
"Where is it?" she muttered frantically. "He said he left it here."
Luca stepped out of the shadows, the rain dripping from his dark hair.
"Looking for this?" Luca asked.
Vanessa shrieked, spinning around. She dropped the flashlight in her hand. When she saw Luca standing there, the blood completely drained from her face.
"Luca," she gasped, stepping back against the dusty sedan. "How... how did you find me?"
"You dropped your valet ticket," Luca said coldly, stepping into the light. I stepped in right behind him. Vanessa’s eyes widened when she saw me.
"You brought the maid?" she spat, a desperate anger replacing her fear. "Are you insane?"
"The maid is the reason I know you assaulted a seventy-six-year-old man today," Luca said, his voice dangerously calm. He looked at the dusty blue sedan. "I expected to find my brother's car, Vanessa. What is this?"
"It's none of your business," Vanessa panicked, moving to block the rear passenger door.
But a reversal shifted the entire room.
I looked at the dusty rear window of the sedan. In the dim light, I could see small, smudged handprints on the inside of the glass.
Not adult hands. Child hands.
"Mr. Moretti," I whispered, pointing at the glass.
Luca saw them. He lunged forward, grabbing Vanessa by the arm and pulling her away from the door. He yanked the rear door open.
The backseat was empty of people, but it wasn't empty. Strapped to the seat was a faded, heavily used child's car seat.
And resting on the center console was a crumpled piece of construction paper.
Luca picked it up with a trembling hand. He slowly unfolded it. I leaned in to look.
It was a crayon drawing of a blue car. But it was the writing at the bottom that made Luca stop breathing.
Written in clumsy, blocky letters were the words: To Daddy Michael. Happy Birthday. Love, Leo. Age 4.
Luca stared at the paper, his hands shaking violently.
"Michael disappeared nine years ago," Luca whispered, his voice cracking. "How could a four-year-old child draw this for him?"
Before Vanessa could answer, a heavy, metallic click echoed behind us.
May you like
We turned around. Standing at the entrance of the storage unit, holding a suppressed pistol aimed directly at Luca's chest, was Silvio—Luca's uncle, and the brutal underboss of the Moretti family.
"I can answer that for you, Luca," Silvio smiled. "But you aren't going to like it."
