Chapter 4 – The Safety Deposit Box

I froze in the middle of the garage.

The cold concrete floor felt like it was tilting beneath my feet.

What you did in Milwaukee.

Luca noticed I had stopped. He turned around, the keys to his armored SUV in his hand.

“Emily? What is it? We have to go.”

I quickly shoved the phone back into my pocket. “Nothing. I’m coming.”

I climbed into the back seat with Isabella, pulling the little girl close. Luca and Marco sat up front. The SUV roared to life and tore out of the estate, flanked by two security vehicles.

My mind was racing. Milwaukee. Seven months ago. That was the night Elena died.

I had been in Milwaukee that night, visiting my grandmother. She had asked me to deliver a sealed envelope to a man at a diner. I didn’t know who he was, and I didn’t know what was in the envelope.

Did that envelope have something to do with the crash? Did I unknowingly help kill Elena?

Tears pricked my eyes, but I forced them down. I couldn’t tell Luca. Not now. He would hate me forever.

We arrived at the private bank downtown just as it was closing. The manager, a man who owed Luca favors, ushered us into the subterranean vault without a word.

The room was lined with stainless steel boxes.

Luca found box 402. He slid the rusted iron key into the lock.

It turned with a heavy click.

He pulled the long metal drawer out and carried it to the private viewing table.

Inside the box was a single object.

A thick, leather-bound diary.

Luca picked it up with trembling hands. “It’s her handwriting,” he whispered, tracing the gold lettering on the cover.

He opened the book. Marco leaned over his shoulder.

“What does it say?” I asked softly.

Luca began to read aloud.

“If you are reading this, I am already gone. Arthur Bellini threatened to kill Isabella if I didn’t disappear. I had to fake my death to protect her. But Arthur is not the only one working against our family, Luca.”

Luca stopped reading. His knuckles turned white.

“Keep going,” Marco urged.

“Arthur has a mole inside your inner circle. Someone who has been feeding him information for years. Someone who helped orchestrate the crash.”

Luca’s eyes scanned the page, searching for a name.

“Does she say who it is?” Marco asked.

Luca shook his head. “No. She says she hid the evidence in a place only Isabella would know.”

I looked down at the little girl holding my hand.

Isabella was staring at the last page of the open diary. She pointed to a small, hand-drawn picture at the bottom of the page.

It was a drawing of a rose.

“La nonna,” Isabella whispered. Grandmother.

I gasped.

Luca looked at me. “Emily, what did she say?”

“She said… grandmother.”

Luca’s eyes widened. “My mother. Teresa.”

Marco grabbed his phone. “Teresa is at the estate. She’s alone in the west wing.”

Luca didn’t wait. He sprinted out of the vault.

We raced back to the cars, breaking every speed limit in Chicago to get back to the mansion.

When we burst through the front doors, the house was eerily silent.

“Mom!” Luca yelled, running up the grand staircase.

We followed him to Teresa’s bedroom. The door was wide open.

The room was empty.

But on the pristine white bedspread lay a single object.

A red silk scarf.

Vanessa’s scarf.

And pinned to it was a note written in elegant handwriting.

Midnight, Luca. Bring the diary. Or your mother takes Elena’s place in the ground.

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