Chapter 4 - THE WOODEN ROSARY
The door slammed against the wall with a crack like a gunshot.
Vanessa screamed, dropping her designer handbag.
Sister Margaret gasped, clutching her chest as she fell back into her leather chair.
Luca walked into the room. He didn't pull his gun. He didn't need to. The pure, lethal authority radiating from him was enough to freeze the air in the room.
Vanessa stumbled backward, her face draining of color. She was still wearing her red silk engagement gown, looking entirely out of place in the drab orphanage office.
“Luca…” she stammered, her voice shaking. “What are you doing here? The guests—”
“Where is my son?”
The words were spoken so quietly, but they echoed off the walls.
Vanessa’s eyes darted to me, standing in the doorway. Pure hatred flashed in her gaze. “She’s lying to you, Luca. This maid, she’s crazy—”
Luca moved faster than I thought possible.
He crossed the room, grabbed the heavy wooden chair Vanessa had been leaning on, and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the bookshelf.
Vanessa flinched, covering her face.
“I won't ask again,” Luca said, his voice dropping an octave. “Where is he?”
Sister Margaret looked from Vanessa to Luca, her hands trembling. She recognized the danger.
“Second floor,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Room 14. He’s the only one in there.”
Luca didn't look at Vanessa again. He turned and walked out of the office, his strides long and determined.
I followed him, my heart in my throat.
We ran up the dark, familiar staircase. The floorboards groaned under our weight.
Room 14.
Luca stopped in front of the door. His hand hovered over the brass knob. He was trembling. The man who controlled half the city was terrified to open a wooden door.
I reached out and gently placed my hand over his.
“I’m right here,” I whispered.
He looked at me, a flicker of gratitude in his dark eyes, and turned the knob.
The room was bathed in moonlight filtering through the grated window. A small bed sat in the corner.
A little boy was sitting up, his knees pulled to his chest.
He had Luca’s dark hair. Elena’s soft jawline. And eyes that belonged entirely to the man standing next to me.
Mateo.
The boy flinched when we entered, clutching something tightly to his chest.
Luca slowly sank to his knees, making himself smaller, less intimidating.
“Hey,” Luca whispered, his voice cracking.
The boy stared at him. Then, he looked at me.
“Are you here to take me to the scary lady?” Mateo asked. His voice was so small, so fragile.
“No,” I said immediately, stepping forward. I knelt beside Luca. “We’re here to take you home.”
Mateo didn't move. He just gripped the object in his hands tighter.
Luca’s eyes fell to the boy’s hands.
My breath caught.
It wasn't a toy.
It was a wooden rosary.
Black beads, worn smooth from years of prayer. A silver cross with a distinctive bend on the left arm.
Luca reached out, his fingers shaking, and touched the cross.
“Where did you get this?” Luca asked, tears finally spilling over his eyelashes.
“My mommy,” Mateo whispered. “She said my daddy left it for his daddy. And that it would keep me safe.”
I knew that story. Everyone in Chicago knew that story. Luca Moretti had left his personal rosary on his father’s grave the day he took over the family business.
Elena had taken it. She had given it to their son.
Luca pulled the boy into his arms.
Mateo hesitated for a second before burying his face in Luca’s shoulder.
I wiped a tear from my own cheek, but the moment was shattered by a sound behind us.
The unmistakable click of a gun being cocked.
We turned.
May you like
Vanessa was standing in the doorway, holding Luca’s own gun—the one he had left in the SUV.
“How touching,” she sneered. “Too bad neither of you are leaving this room.”
