Chapter 3 – The House on West Addison

“Put it down, Vanessa,” Luca said.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even look afraid. He just looked at her with pure, cold disgust.

Vanessa’s hand trembled. The crystal chandeliers caught the gleam of the silver blade. “If you go there, the engagement is off. The merger with my family’s company is dead.”

“It’s already dead,” Luca said.

He stepped directly into her space, ignoring the knife. He gently pried it from her fingers and dropped it onto the china plate. It landed with a loud clatter.

“Call the police,” Luca told his head of security, who was standing by the door. “Hold them both here.”

Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a black SUV. Teresa was holding my hand tightly, the blue blanket still draped over her shoulders. Luca was driving, pushing the car dangerously fast through the rainy Chicago streets.

“Why didn’t Dad tell me before he died?” Luca asked, his voice hollow.

“He tried,” Teresa whispered. “The night his heart failed. But Michael got to his room first. He took the letters your father wrote to you.”

We pulled onto West Addison. It was a quiet, working-class neighborhood. Luca slammed the brakes in front of a small, faded yellow brick house.

The lights were off.

Luca sprinted up the walkway. He jammed the key into the deadbolt. It turned with a heavy click.

He pushed the door open.

The house smelled like lavender and old paper. It was completely silent.

“Sarah?” Luca called out into the dark.

I found a switch and flipped it. The living room was modest but spotless. There were no photographs on the walls.

Teresa gasped and pointed to the coffee table.

Sitting perfectly centered on the wood was a small, worn wooden rosary.

Luca picked it up. His thumb brushed over the beads. “This was Sarah’s. I gave this to her in high school.”

Suddenly, the floorboards creaked in the hallway.

A small figure stepped out of the shadows.

It was a boy. He looked about eight years old. He had messy dark hair, pale skin, and a small birthmark on his left cheek. He was wearing an oversized Chicago Bulls t-shirt.

He looked exactly like Luca.

The boy rubbed his eyes and looked at the tall man holding his mother’s rosary.

“Are you the man who stopped paying the rent?” the boy asked.

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