Chapter 5 - THE COAT AND THE TICKET
The drive to the train station felt like descending into hell.
I couldn't stop shivering. Luca had draped his heavy cashmere coat over my shoulders, but the cold was inside my bones. My daughter was alive, she was so close I could almost hear her breathing, and now she was gone again.
“Who else knew about the train station?” Luca demanded over the phone, his voice echoing in the confined space of the SUV. “Find the security footage. I want every camera within a ten-mile radius pulled immediately.”
When we arrived at Union Station, the building was cordoned off by Luca’s private security. The police were conspicuously absent. Luca’s men had secured the area before anyone could dial 911.
We walked swiftly through the grand concourse to the luggage storage area. The door to Locker 402 hung wide open.
Inside the metal box was a single, folded piece of paper.
Luca picked it up. He unfolded it, his jaw tightening so hard I thought his teeth would crack.
“What is it?” I asked, stepping closer.
He handed it to me.
It was a boarding pass. A private charter flight. Destination: Palermo, Italy.
The passenger name was blank, but the purchaser's name was printed clearly at the bottom.
Antonio Moretti.
“Your father?” I gasped. “Why would your father take my baby?”
Luca took the paper back, crushing it in his fist. “Because he never wanted me to marry Vanessa. He knew about her infertility. He knew her family paid the hospital to steal your child to secure the bloodline.”
I shook my head, my mind spinning. “But if he knew she was lying, why didn't he just expose her? Why take my daughter?”
“Because in our world, Rachel, information is currency,” Luca said bitterly. “My father is a traditionalist. He believes a boss who is manipulated by his wife is weak. He waited three years, letting Vanessa build her lie, so he could use the child as leverage to force me to step down and hand the family business back to him.”
My stomach churned. My innocent three-year-old girl was just a pawn in a mafia power struggle. She wasn't a child to them; she was a chess piece.
“They’re taking her to Italy,” I whispered, tears spilling over my cheeks. “If she gets on that plane, I will never see her again.”
“She is not getting on that plane,” Luca said. He turned to Marco. “Where is the charter departing from?”
“O'Hare, Private Terminal 3, boss. But they have a twenty-minute head start. If they get in the air, we can't legally force them down without bringing the feds into it, and your father will make the child disappear before they land.”
“Get us to the airstrip,” Luca commanded. “Now.”
We sprinted back to the SUV. As we sped through the empty Chicago streets, my phone vibrated.
It was a text message from a blocked number.
It was a video file.
My hands trembled violently as I tapped play.
The screen flickered, showing the interior of a brightly lit airplane cabin. Sitting in an oversized leather seat was a little girl. She had my dark, curly hair and Daniel’s bright green eyes. She was clutching a worn-out stuffed rabbit, looking terrified as an older man in a tailored suit sat across from her.
“Such a quiet little thing,” Antonio Moretti’s voice echoed through my phone speaker. “Tell your mother hello, Mia.”
Mia. They named her Mia.
The little girl sniffled and buried her face in the rabbit.
The camera flipped to Antonio. “Luca. If you are watching this, you know the terms. Surrender the territory deeds to my men in Chicago, cancel your farce of a wedding, and I will leave the girl at an orphanage in Rome. Follow me, and she goes out the door over the Atlantic.”
The video ended.
I dropped the phone. “He’s going to kill her.”
“He is trying to break me,” Luca said, his eyes burning with a terrifying intensity. “He thinks because I stepped away from his brutal methods, I am soft.”
Luca reached under his seat and pulled out a heavy, matte-black rifle. He checked the magazine and slammed it home with a sharp clack.
“Rachel,” Luca said, looking directly at me. “I promised you that you would go home to your husband. I am adding to that promise. You will go home to your husband with your daughter.”
The SUV tore through the perimeter fencing of O'Hare's private terminal, sending sparks and chain-link flying into the night.
Through the windshield, I saw the sleek white Gulfstream jet at the end of the runway. The engines were already screaming, preparing for takeoff.
We were too late. They were moving.
“Hit the landing gear!” Luca roared at Marco.
Marco slammed his foot on the gas. The heavy SUV accelerated, racing parallel to the accelerating airplane.
I gripped the door handle, screaming as the massive jet engine roared just outside my window.
May you like
Luca rolled down his window, the wind tearing through the car. He raised the rifle, steadying it against the doorframe, and aimed at the front tire of the plane’s landing gear.
He didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger.
