THE MAIDS SENT ME TO REMOVE THE MAFIA BOSS’S SILENT MOTHER FROM HIS DAUGHTER’S BIRTHDAY PARTY

The next morning, the Chicago sun felt brighter than it had in years.

I stood in the foyer of my small apartment, watching Lucy tie her purple sneakers. She was signing rapidly, asking a million questions about the "big house" we were going to visit.

Is the house bigger than the park? Does the little girl know how to sign? Can we eat the whole cake?

I laughed, signing back. Yes, yes, and no, you will get a stomach ache.

A sleek black car was waiting for us outside. The driver, a polite man named Paul, opened the door for us. Lucy’s eyes widened at the plush leather seats.

When we arrived at the DeLuca estate, it looked entirely different in the daylight, without the looming threat of violence. The caterers were gone, the crime tape had been removed, and the gardens were peaceful.

Vincent met us at the door. He was wearing a casual sweater, looking relaxed and remarkably ordinary.

He knelt down and waved to Lucy. She waved back shyly, hiding behind my leg.

“Sofia is in the garden waiting for her,” Vincent smiled. “And my mother is having tea in the conservatory.”

I let Lucy run ahead toward the glass doors where she spotted Sofia. The two girls immediately sat on the grass, and to my absolute shock, Sofia began mimicking Lucy’s signs, trying to learn.

“Isabella has been teaching Sofia a few words this morning,” Vincent explained, watching them. “Come. There is someone who wants to see you.”

Vincent led me upstairs to a bright, airy guest bedroom.

Marco was sitting up in bed, his torso wrapped in thick white bandages. He looked exhausted, but the hunted look in his eyes was gone.

“Rachel,” Marco smiled warmly.

I walked over to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a train, but I’m breathing,” he chuckled. He reached over to his bedside table and picked up a small, folded piece of paper.

“I asked Vincent to bring this up from the greenhouse,” Marco said, holding it out to me.

I took it. It was the train ticket to Montreal we had found inside the wooden music box.

“I bought that ticket five years ago,” Marco explained quietly. “It wasn't for me. It was for David. I told him to take you and Lucy and run to Canada, where Carmine couldn't find him. He was supposed to get on that train at 4:00 PM.”

I traced the faded ink on the ticket. David had been trying to get to us.

“David knew Carmine’s men were watching the station,” Marco continued, his voice thickening with emotion. “He told me he had to make a detour to ensure you were provided for, just in case he didn't make it.”

I frowned, confused. “Provided for? We didn't have any money.”

Marco reached under his pillow and pulled out a small, silver brass key.

“He didn't leave you money, Rachel. He left you leverage.” Marco placed the key in my palm. “David broke into Carmine’s private office the night he died. He stole something. He hid it in a safety deposit box at the First National Bank downtown. He mailed me this key five years ago, but I couldn't come back to Chicago to claim it.”