Chapter 5 – THE HIDDEN KEY

The cold Chicago wind whipped through my coat as I stood frozen on the sidewalk outside the hotel.

“A key?” I whispered into the phone. “Inside the necklace?”

“Your mother was a very smart woman, Evelyn,” Frank said. “She knew what Vincent was long before you married him. She left you an insurance policy.”

“Frank, what is in that box?”

“Everything you need to tear Antonio’s syndicate to the ground,” Frank replied, his voice deadly serious. “Ledgers. Bribes. The locations of their offshore accounts. But you have to get that key before Vincent realizes what he gave away.”

“I’ll meet you at the train station,” I said, and hung up.

Frank was my older brother.

He was also the man my mother had banished from the family thirty years ago. He was an investigative journalist who had gotten too close to the Chicago mob. When the threats started, my mother forced him to leave the state to protect me.

I turned back toward the hotel doors.

I had to go back into that ballroom. I had to get the necklace from Serena.

I walked past the bewildered valet and pushed through the heavy glass doors.

The ballroom was mostly empty now. The guests had fled the scandal.

Vincent was sitting at our table, staring blankly at the shattered silver pocket watch. Caterina was gone.

And Serena was sitting on the floor, holding the broken gold chain of my mother’s necklace, sobbing into her hands.

I walked over to her and knelt down.

She looked up, her mascara smeared, her perfect blonde hair disheveled. She looked like a broken child.

“He’s my uncle,” Serena whispered, her voice hollow with trauma. “I slept with my own uncle.”

“He didn’t know,” I said softly, surprising myself with the lack of malice in my voice. I didn’t hate her anymore. She was just another victim of the Moretti men.

“It doesn’t matter if he knew,” Serena cried. “I’m ruined.”

I gently reached out and touched her hand. “Serena. I need the necklace.”

She looked down at the sapphires in her palm. “Take it. I never want to see it again.”

She dropped it into my hand.

I turned it over. I examined the old-fashioned gold clasp. It was thicker than normal. I pressed my thumbnail into a tiny groove on the side.

There was a tiny click.

The clasp opened, revealing a hollow chamber.

Inside was a tiny, flat, brass key.

I pulled it out and closed my fist around it.

“Evelyn.”

I stood up. Vincent was standing behind me.

He looked at my closed fist.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Nothing that belongs to you,” I said, slipping the key into my coat pocket.

Vincent stepped closer, his eyes pleading. “Evie, please. Don’t leave. We can fix this. I’ll get Anna back. I’ll hire men.”

“You don’t have men, Vincent. Antonio owns them.”

“I can pay him off!”

“With what?” I asked bitterly. “The waterfront you already gave him?”

Vincent reached out and grabbed my arm. His grip was tight. Desperate.

“Evelyn, you don’t understand how dangerous David is. If you try to interfere, he will kill you.”

“Let go of me.”

“I’m trying to protect you!”

“Like you protected Marco?” I fired back.

Vincent flinched, dropping my arm.

“I’ll see you in hell, Vincent,” I said, and walked out of the ballroom for the last time.

I drove to the downtown train station. I sat on a wooden bench, clutching my purse, watching the clock.

Three hours later, the train from Detroit arrived.

A tall man in a worn leather jacket stepped off the train. He had graying hair, sharp eyes, and a scar across his chin.

Frank.

I stood up. He saw me, dropped his duffel bag, and wrapped me in a massive hug. I finally broke down, sobbing into his shoulder.

“I’ve got you, Evie,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

When I pulled back, I handed him the brass key.

“Which bank?” I asked.

Frank looked at the key. “First National Downtown. We go as soon as they open at 8 AM.”

We sat in a 24-hour diner across from the bank, drinking terrible coffee and waiting for the sun to rise. Frank told me how our mother had been secretly gathering evidence against the syndicate for years, terrified that Vincent would one day drag me down with him.

At exactly 8:00 AM, we walked into the marble lobby of the bank.

We presented the key to the vault manager. He led us down to the basement, unlocked a heavy steel door, and pulled out box 402.

He left us alone in the private viewing room.

I took a deep breath and opened the lid of the metal box.

Inside were neat stacks of bound ledgers, microfiche film, and a sealed manila envelope.

I picked up the envelope. Written on the front in my mother’s elegant handwriting were the words:

For Evelyn. If Vincent ever crosses you.

I opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of 8×10 photographs.

I looked at the first one.

My heart completely stopped.

“Frank,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Look at this.”

Frank leaned over my shoulder. He gasped.

It wasn’t a picture of a mafia hit. It wasn’t a picture of a bribe.

It was a photograph of a young Vincent Moretti, standing in front of a church, holding a baby.

And standing next to him, wearing a wedding dress and smiling, wasn’t me.

It was Caterina.

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