Chapter 5 – The Ticket To Nowhere

“I’m going with you,” I said, stepping forward.

My mother grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my sweater. “No! Emily, are you crazy? This man just kidnapped two children! He’ll kill you!”

“He wants me, Mom,” I said, gently pulling my arm free. “If I don’t go, Michael’s kids pay the price. You know I can’t live with that.”

Luca was already shaking his head, his broad shoulders squared in the cramped living room. “Absolutely not. You are staying here with my security team. I am not trading my newly discovered niece to a monster.”

“You don’t have a choice,” I shot back, surprising myself with the strength in my voice. “Silvio isn’t playing a game, Luca. If you show up to that storage unit without me, he’ll know you’re defying him. He might hurt the kids just to prove a point.”

Luca stared at me. He saw the stubbornness in my jaw—a stubbornness he likely recognized in the mirror every morning. The Moretti stubbornness.

“If you come with me,” Luca warned, his voice low, “you do exactly as I say. You do not speak to him. You do not negotiate. When the shooting starts, you get on the floor and stay there.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded.

Ten minutes later, my mother was under the guard of three massive men in black suits who had arrived in a separate SUV.

Luca and I were speeding toward the industrial district on the edge of the city. Rain had started to fall, slicking the empty streets in a sheen of yellow streetlights.

I looked down at the wooden box resting in my lap. I had brought it with me.

“Why did you bring the box?” Luca asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Because of the drawing,” I said, tracing the brass latch. “Silvio said he knew what was inside. But how could he? Only my grandmother and your father knew about this box. Unless…”

I opened the box again and took out the folded drawing. I felt around the inside of the empty wooden container. The bottom felt slightly loose.

I dug my fingernail into the corner and pried upward.

A false bottom popped out.

Luca glanced over. “What is it?”

Hidden beneath the false bottom was a small, faded piece of heavy cardstock.

I pulled it out and held it up to the dashboard light.

It was an old, punched train ticket. It was dated October 14th, 1998. The route was from Chicago to Boston.

“A train ticket?” I read the date aloud. “October 1998. That was…”

“That was the week my father died,” Luca said, slamming on the brakes as we reached a red light. He stared at the ticket in my hand. “My father died in a car accident in Chicago on October 16th. Why did he have a train ticket to Boston hidden in your grandmother’s box?”

“Because he wasn’t in a car accident,” I whispered, my heart racing. “Silvio said he’d been living in Boston all these years. If Thomas bought a ticket to Boston the week he died…”

“He was going to find Silvio,” Luca realized, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. “My father didn’t die in a random crash. Silvio killed him before he could get on that train.”

The SUV roared to life as the light turned green.

We pulled into a desolate stretch of warehouse buildings near the river. The storage facility Silvio had named was surrounded by chain-link fences topped with razor wire.

Luca parked the car a block away, cutting the headlights.

He turned to me, his expression deadly serious. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a heavy, cold steel handgun. He pressed it into my hands.

“Safety is off. Point and pull the trigger,” he instructed.

“Luca, I’ve never held a gun before.”

“Then let’s hope you don’t have to learn tonight. Stay behind me.”

We stepped out into the freezing rain. The gate to the storage facility was already cut open.

Row after row of orange corrugated metal doors stretched into the darkness.

According to the note, unit 402 was at the very back.

As we walked, our footsteps echoed off the wet pavement. My grip on the gun was so tight my fingers cramped.

We rounded the final corner.

Unit 402 was open. A single, harsh bulb illuminated the interior.

Inside, standing perfectly still, were Michael’s children—seven-year-old Leo and five-year-old Mia. They looked terrified, holding hands tightly.

And standing behind them, leaning heavily on his silver-tipped cane, was Silvio Rossi.

But he wasn’t alone.

Standing next to him, holding an umbrella over Silvio’s head, was Vanessa.

Luca stopped dead in his tracks. “Vanessa.”

She didn’t look guilty anymore. She looked triumphant.

“I told you, Luca,” Vanessa smiled coldly. “I always protect my future. And when you threw me out tonight, you made it very clear my future wasn’t with you.”

Silvio chuckled dryly. “Ah, young love. So fickle.” He looked at me, his dark eyes gleaming. “You brought the girl. Excellent.”

“Let the kids go, Silvio,” Luca demanded, his hand resting near his own weapon.

“Oh, they are free to leave,” Silvio said generously, stepping aside.

Leo and Mia ran out of the unit, sobbing, sprinting straight into Luca’s waiting arms. He hugged them tight, shielding them behind his large frame.

“Go to the car. Lock the doors,” Luca whispered to them. The kids ran.

Silvio didn’t stop them. He didn’t care about the children. He pointed his cane directly at my chest.

“Now,” Silvio said, his smile vanishing completely. “Hand over the train ticket, Emily. Or Vanessa here is going to shoot your uncle.”

Vanessa raised a small, silver pistol, aiming it directly at Luca’s head.

And as I looked at the pistol in her hand, my blood ran cold.

Because hanging from Vanessa’s wrist was a heavy, tarnished silver bracelet.

The exact same bracelet my mother had described as the only thing my grandmother brought with her from Italy.