Chapter 4 - THE WOODEN MUSIC BOX
Carmine stepped into the humid greenhouse, his polished leather shoes clicking against the stone floor. He was a man in his late sixties, with silver hair and warm, crinkling eyes that perfectly masked the monster underneath.
Vincent shoved the uncropped photograph deep into his trouser pocket just as Carmine approached.
“Carmine,” Vincent said, his voice terrifyingly steady. “You’re early.”
“I couldn't miss my favorite niece’s birthday,” Carmine smiled, looking around the empty greenhouse. He noticed the heavy gray coat draped over the potting table, but his expression didn't change. “Is Sofia not down here? Patricia said you were looking for her.”
“She’s resting,” Vincent lied smoothly. “She had a stomach ache.”
Carmine’s smile didn't reach his eyes. “A shame. I brought her a very special gift.”
He reached into his tailored jacket and pulled out a small, flat velvet box. He flipped it open.
Resting inside was a delicate, antique silver necklace with a tiny diamond pendant shaped like a teardrop.
I felt Isabella’s hand clamp onto my wrist like a vice.
I looked down. Isabella was staring at the necklace, her eyes wide with a terror so profound it made my own stomach twist. She began signing rapidly against her leg, where Carmine couldn't see.
Elena. That belonged to Elena.
I didn't know who Elena was, but the sheer panic radiating from the old woman told me everything I needed to know.
“It’s beautiful, Carmine,” Vincent said, reaching for the box. “I’ll make sure she wears it later.”
“Actually,” Carmine pulled the box back slightly, his smile tightening. “I’d like to put it on her myself. It’s a family tradition, isn't it? A protector’s gift.”
“She’s asleep, Carmine. Let the girl rest.”
The tension in the air was suddenly thick enough to choke on. The two men stared at each other, a silent war being waged in the space between them. Carmine was testing him. He knew Sofia wasn't upstairs.
“Of course, Boss,” Carmine finally yielded, snapping the box shut and handing it to Vincent. “I’ll go mingle with the guests. Don't be too long. People are asking questions.”
Carmine turned and walked out of the greenhouse. Through the glass, we watched him signal to two massive men in dark suits standing near the patio. They began slowly patrolling the perimeter of the estate.
“He knows she’s missing,” Vincent whispered, his eyes locked on his underboss.
“Mr. DeLuca,” I said urgently, pulling his attention back to his mother. “Who is Elena?”
Vincent looked at me, confused. “Elena was Marco’s fiancé. She died in a car accident five years ago, right before Marco was exiled.”
Isabella shook her head violently. She pointed to the velvet box in Vincent’s hand, then made the sign for murder.
Vincent’s breath hitched. “Carmine killed Elena? Because she knew about the betrayal?”
Isabella nodded. Then, she pointed frantically to a massive, overturned terracotta pot in the far corner of the greenhouse. She signed, Dig.
Vincent didn't ask questions. He ran to the corner and shoved the heavy pot aside. Using his bare hands, he began tearing through the dark, damp soil underneath.
A moment later, his fingers hit something hard.
He pulled it out and brushed the dirt away.
It was a small, ornate wooden music box.
Vincent stared at it, his hands shaking. “This was Sofia’s favorite toy when she was a baby. Marco carved it for her.”
He carefully opened the lid. A tinny, haunting lullaby began to play.
Inside the music box wasn't jewelry. It was a single, folded train ticket.
Union Station to Montreal. Departing today at 4:00 PM.
I looked at my watch. It was 1:15 PM.
“He’s trying to get her out of the country,” I said.
Vincent pulled the ticket out. Beneath it, carved into the velvet lining of the music box, was a message.
V — I will wait at the old church until the bells ring at three. Do not bring the wolves. — M.
Vincent closed the box, the lullaby cutting off abruptly.
“St. Jude’s,” Vincent said, his eyes blazing with a desperate fire. “It’s not just an empty lot. The old chapel is still standing on the edge of the property. That’s where Marco is hiding her.”
He looked at me. “Rachel. I need your help.”
“Me?” I stepped back. “Mr. DeLuca, I’m just a maid. I need to go home to my daughter.”
“If I leave this estate right now, Carmine will know I found the trail,” Vincent said, his voice dropping to a desperate plea. “He has men watching my cars. He’ll follow me, and he will kill my brother and my little girl to take control of this family.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys to his private SUV.
“You are invisible here, Rachel. Nobody pays attention to the help. You can slip out through the caterer’s exit. Take my car. Go to St. Jude’s and tell Marco I know the truth. Tell him to keep her safe until I can deal with Carmine.”
I looked at the keys in his hand. I thought of Lucy, waiting for me at my sister’s apartment. I shouldn't get involved. This was a mafia war.
But then I looked at Isabella.
The eighty-year-old woman reached out and gently touched my hand. She signed two words, slowly and beautifully.
A mother.
She knew why I was working here. She knew I understood what it meant to fight for a child.
May you like
I took the keys.
“I’ll find them,” I said.
