Chapter 4 – [THE EARRING IN THE WRECKAGE]

Nico gripped the edge of the kitchen island, staring at the emerald earring resting in Leo’s small palm.

“That’s Veronica’s,” Nico whispered, his voice dangerously low. “She swore she lost that months before the crash.”

I looked at Leo. The little boy was watching Nico carefully, sensing the shift in the room’s energy. I placed my hand gently over Leo’s.

“You found this in the car, sweetheart?” I asked softly.

Leo nodded. He touched his forehead, where a faint, old scar rested near his hairline. He mimed being asleep, waking up to a loud crash, and then finding the earring on the floorboard of the wreckage.

Answer one: Leo survived the crash that killed his father, and Veronica was somehow involved, leaving her earring behind.

Open two: How did Veronica get Leo out of the wreckage before the police arrived? And who helped her cover it up?

Nico’s eyes were cold, calculating. The mafia boss I had only heard rumors about was finally surfacing. “She orchestrated the crash. She pulled Leo out to hide the evidence that she was there. And she’s been keeping him locked upstairs to make sure he never talked.”

“But why?” I asked. “Why kill your brother?”

“Because my brother was the head of the family,” Nico said darkly. “When he died, I took over. And she became the fiancée of the new boss.”

The kitchen phone rang. It was the private line.

Nico answered it on speaker.

“Nico,” a raspy, familiar voice purred. It was Veronica.

“Where are you?” Nico demanded.

“Far enough away,” she laughed. “I hear you found the little brat. Such a shame. But before you send your men to hunt me down, you might want to check on Hannah’s mother.”

My blood turned to ice.

“What did you do?” I screamed at the phone.

“Oh, she’s fine right now, Hannah. But she has such a lovely little house in Milwaukee. It would be a tragedy if there was a gas leak tonight. Tell Nico to back off, and your mother lives.”

The line went dead.

Nico grabbed his keys. “We’re leaving. Now.”

As we rushed to the garage, Arthur, the estate manager, stepped into our path holding a heavy wool winter coat.

“Sir, it’s freezing outside. Take this,” Arthur said, handing the coat to Nico.

Nico threw it on, but as he did, something clattered to the marble floor from the coat’s pocket.

A syringe.

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