Chapter 5 - THE WINTER COAT
The moment Silvio crushed the phone, my eyes darted to the heavy winter coat he had tossed onto the hood of the sedan.
I recognized that coat. It was the same thick, navy blue peacoat Luca’s father used to wear before he died. Silvio must have worn it the night he killed Michael, leaving it in the car when Vanessa’s sister escaped.
But I wasn't looking at the bloodstain. I was looking at the heavy brass fire extinguisher mounted on the wall just inches from my shoulder.
I didn't think. I just reacted.
I grabbed the heavy red cylinder off its bracket, yanked the pin, and slammed my hand on the trigger.
A massive, blinding cloud of thick white chemical foam exploded directly into the faces of the two armed men stepping into the unit.
"Luca, run!" I screamed.
The men cursed, firing blindly into the thick fog. The deafening cracks of their unsuppressed weapons echoed like thunder.
Luca didn't run away. He dove forward, tackling Vanessa to the ground beneath the spray of bullets. Then he grabbed the bloody winter coat off the hood and seized my hand.
"The back door!" Vanessa coughed through the foam, pointing to a small utility door at the rear of the storage unit.
We scrambled through the white cloud, practically throwing ourselves against the metal door. It burst open into the freezing rain of the alleyway behind the facility.
"Where is the boy, Vanessa?!" Luca shouted over the storm, pinning her against the brick wall. "Where is my nephew?!"
"He's at St. Catherine's!" Vanessa sobbed, rain washing the blood and glass from her face. "Father Michael lets him sleep in the old bell tower room! That’s why I was at the chapel today! I was bringing him food when that old man Samuel showed up!"
Answer one: Vanessa wasn't at the chapel to stop Samuel; she was there to protect Leo.
Open two: If the ledger wasn't in the car, where had Vanessa’s sister hidden the proof that could destroy Silvio?
"We have to get to the church," I said, my teeth chattering as the adrenaline began to wear off. "Those men on the phone... they’re breaking in right now."
"My car is parked on the street," I added, fumbling in my apron pocket for my keys.
We sprinted through the dark alleys, slipping in the mud, until we reached my battered Honda. Luca jumped into the driver's seat this time, the engine roaring to life with a desperate whine. Vanessa scrambled into the back, and I threw myself into the passenger seat.
Luca drove like a madman, tires squealing as we tore through the slick Chicago streets toward the family parish.
The heater finally kicked on, blowing warm air over the bloody winter coat Luca had thrown into my lap.
"Why did you grab this?" I asked, looking at the heavy wool.
"Because it belonged to my father," Luca said, his jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth would crack. "Silvio wore it to frame my father for Michael’s murder, just in case the police ever found the body. But feel the inside pocket, Emily."
I reached my trembling hand into the deep, silk-lined pocket of the coat. My fingers brushed against cold metal. I pulled it out.
It was a heavy, silver pocket watch. It was engraved with the Moretti family crest.
Reversal: The watch didn't belong to Silvio. It belonged to Michael.
"Vanessa," Luca said, glancing in the rearview mirror. "Did your sister put this watch in the coat?"
Vanessa leaned forward, her eyes wide as she stared at the silver timepiece. "No. My sister told me Michael gave her something the night he died. He said if anything happened to him, the secret to destroying Silvio was inside his watch. But she lost it in the panic. She thought Silvio took it."
"He didn't," Luca realized. "Silvio didn't know it was in the pocket of the coat he left behind in the struggle."
I pressed the small latch on the side of the watch. The silver cover popped open.
The face of the clock was shattered. But tucked behind the broken glass wasn't a piece of paper or a microchip.
It was a tiny, perfectly folded photograph.
I carefully unfolded it. It was a picture of Silvio, standing in a dimly lit warehouse, shaking hands with a man in a police uniform.
"Mr. Moretti," I gasped, holding it up.
Luca glanced at it, and the color drained from his face entirely.
"That’s Police Commissioner Higgins," Luca whispered. "The man who led the investigation into Michael’s disappearance. Silvio didn't just murder my brother. He owns the police."
We screeched around the final corner, the towering stone spires of St. Catherine's looming against the stormy sky.
But we were too late.
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Parked on the curb directly in front of the heavy wooden chapel doors were three black SUVs.
And standing on the chapel steps, holding a struggling, dark-haired little boy by the collar of his pajamas, was Silvio’s lead enforcer.
