Chapter 3 – THE ANGEL IN THE SNOW

Luca turned to me, his dark eyes wide with shock.

“You know where she is? What does it mean?”

I swallowed hard, my mind racing back to a freezing December night three years ago, just weeks before Sofia vanished.

“Sofia used to volunteer at St. Jude’s Orphanage,” I said quickly. “It’s about an hour outside the city. It’s an old stone building with a massive statue of an angel in the courtyard. Every winter, the snow piles up over the angel’s wings. She called it her ‘safe place.’”

Luca didn’t waste a single second.

He grabbed the pocket watch and the note, shoving them into his jacket. “Let’s go.”

We sprinted down the staircase.

The dining room was empty now, save for Vanessa, who was sobbing on a chair, and Marcus, who was bleeding from the mouth, pinned against the wall by two massive enforcers.

Luca walked straight up to Marcus.

“Take them both to the basement,” Luca ordered his men, his voice devoid of all mercy. “Lock them in. If they so much as speak to each other, break their jaws. I’ll deal with them when I get back.”

Vanessa shrieked, fighting as a guard dragged her away. “Luca, please! I love you! I was just scared!”

Luca didn’t even look at her.

He grabbed my arm gently and led me out the front doors into the freezing Chicago night. His driver had a black SUV idling in the driveway.

“Drive,” Luca barked, climbing into the back seat with me. “St. Jude’s Orphanage. Break every red light.”

The SUV tore down the long driveway, tires squealing against the asphalt.

The drive took forty-five minutes. Luca sat in silence, staring out the window, twisting his grandfather’s silver pocket watch in his hands. The tension radiating from him was suffocating. He was a man who had built an empire of fear, but right now, he was just a terrified older brother.

“If she’s alive,” Luca whispered, “why didn’t she ever call me? Why would she think I wanted her dead?”

I looked down at my wine-stained hands. “Because of Vanessa. Vanessa controlled all the phone calls at the house. And she probably told Sofia that you authorized Marcus to handle the ‘betrayal.’”

Luca closed his eyes, a tear escaping down his cheek. “I would have burned the city down to protect her.”

The SUV swerved violently as we turned onto a dark, narrow dirt road.

Through the trees, the silhouette of an old, gothic-style stone building appeared. The headlights washed over the courtyard.

There, covered in a thin layer of frost, was the stone statue of an angel with wide-spread wings.

“Stop here,” Luca ordered.

He threw the door open before the car had fully stopped. He drew a heavy black pistol from his shoulder holster, keeping it pointed at the ground.

“Stay behind me, Emma,” he commanded.

We hurried across the freezing courtyard. The orphanage had been abandoned two years ago due to lack of funding. The windows were boarded up, and the heavy wooden front doors were padlocked shut.

Luca didn’t hesitate. He aimed his weapon at the heavy iron padlock and fired twice.

The gunshots echoed like thunder in the silent woods. The lock shattered.

He kicked the doors open.

We stepped into the dark, dusty foyer. The air was freezing and smelled of old paper and damp wood.

“Sofia!” Luca yelled, his voice cracking. “Sofia, it’s Luca! I’m alone!”

Silence.

We walked deeper into the building. My heart was pounding against my ribs.

Then, I noticed it.

On the dusty wooden floor, near the entrance to the old chapel, were fresh footprints. Small footprints.

“Sir,” I whispered, pointing down.

Luca saw them. He raised his gun slightly, moving with silent, predatory grace toward the chapel doors. He pushed them open.

The chapel was illuminated only by the moonlight shining through a broken stained-glass window. The pews were covered in white sheets.

At the front of the room, sitting on the cold altar steps, was a large, worn leather duffel bag.

Luca lowered his gun and ran toward it.

He unzipped the bag.

It wasn’t filled with clothes or money.

It was filled with children’s things. A small blue blanket. A stuffed bear missing an eye. A stack of diapers.

And resting on top of the blanket was a simple, silver rosary.

Luca picked up the rosary. He stared at it, his hands shaking.

“This was our mother’s,” Luca whispered. “She’s been here. She was here.”

Suddenly, the sound of a floorboard creaking echoed from the shadows near the confessional booth.

Luca whipped around, raising his weapon. “Who’s there? Step out!”

A figure stepped slowly out of the darkness.

It wasn’t Sofia.

It was a man in his late sixties, wearing the collar of a Catholic priest. He looked terrified, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Please,” the priest said, his voice trembling. “Don’t shoot. I’m Father Thomas. I used to run this orphanage.”

Luca didn’t lower the gun. “Where is my sister?”

The priest looked from Luca to the duffel bag. “You’re Luca Moretti.”

“Where. Is. She.”

Father Thomas swallowed hard. “She isn’t here, son. She hasn’t been here for two days.”

Luca stepped closer, his eyes wild. “Where did she go?”

“She ran,” the priest said sadly. “Two nights ago, black SUVs pulled up to the gate. Men with guns. Sofia saw them coming. She grabbed the boy and ran out the back fire escape. She left the bag so they wouldn’t slow her down.”

My breath caught in my throat. “Marcus’s men found her.”

Luca grabbed the priest by his collar, desperation taking over. “Where would she go?! Tell me!”

The priest shook his head. “She didn’t tell me. But before she ran, she handed me something. She told me if she didn’t come back, to mail it to the only person in your house she still trusted.”

The priest reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, sealed envelope.

He held it out.

It didn’t have Luca’s name on it.

It had my name.

“She said you would know what it meant,” the priest whispered, handing me the envelope.