Chapter 6 - The Man In The Shadows
Vanessa stared at the rosary as if it were a poisonous snake.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered, backing away from the table. “I bought that at an antique store.”
“You’re lying.” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care about my place as a maid anymore. I stepped toward her. “My father carved those beads himself. The crucifix is bent because it got shut in a car door when I was seven. Where did you get it, Vanessa?”
Luca watched me. He saw the raw, unfiltered shock on my face. He knew I couldn’t fake this.
He grabbed Vanessa by the arm. Not hard, but firmly enough that she couldn’t pull away.
“Who gave it to you?” Luca demanded.
Vanessa burst into tears. Real tears this time. The kind born of absolute terror.
“The man with the scarred hand!” she sobbed, sinking to her knees. “He gave it to me yesterday. He said if the maid got in the way, I should put this in her pocket, too. He said it would make her stop asking questions.”
My blood ran cold.
The scarred man knew who I was.
He knew about my mother’s pawn shop. He knew about my missing father.
He had orchestrated this entire night—the fake ring, the pawn ticket, the watch, the rosary. He was using Vanessa to frame me.
But why?
I was a maid. I swept floors and changed bedsheets. I had no connection to the Chicago mafia.
“Emma,” Luca said, his voice softer now. “When your father vanished ten years ago... what did he do for a living?”
“He was a driver,” I whispered. “He drove delivery trucks.”
Luca’s eyes darkened. “Or he drove getaway cars.”
I shook my head. “No. My dad was a good man. He just left us one night and never came back.”
“People in my world don’t just leave, Emma. They are silenced.” Luca looked at the broken pocket watch. “This watch belonged to my grandfather. But before he died, he had something engraved on the inside of the casing. Numbers. Coordinates to a bank account off the books.”
Answer one: The scarred man wanted the watch for the hidden coordinates, not out of sentiment.
Open two: How did my father fit into this?
“The night my sister died,” Luca continued, his voice tight with grief, “she was taking this watch to a safe house. Someone ran her off the road. But they didn’t steal the watch. The police found it at the scene.”
“Because they were interrupted,” I realized aloud.
Luca nodded. “By a witness.”
I stared at the bent rosary on the table.
“My father,” I said.
“Your father saw who killed my sister,” Luca said. “And he took the watch.”
“But he didn’t keep it,” I argued. “If he had it, why is it here? Why did your sister have it three years ago when she died? My father vanished ten years ago.”
The timeline didn’t make sense.
Unless...
Suddenly, a memory flashed in my mind.
The child’s drawing. Leo’s drawing.
The man who took my mommy’s car.
Leo had drawn the scarred man in the kitchen.
But visitors didn’t come through the kitchen. Only staff did. And security.
I spun around, looking at the heavy oak doors of the dining room.
“Sir,” I said, my voice barely a squeak. “Who was on duty at the kitchen door on Tuesday?”
Luca frowned. “Marco.”
Marco.
The head of security.
The man who had just taken six-year-old Leo upstairs.
I looked at Luca. “Sir... Marco always wears black leather gloves. Even in the summer.”
Luca froze.
A horrifying realization washed over his face.
Before Luca could move, the dining room doors slammed shut, and the lock clicked from the outside.
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And through the thick wood, a loud, muffled gunshot echoed from the second floor.
TITLE: The Traitor In Black Gloves
