Chapter 3 – THE SECRET IN THE MUD

I couldn’t breathe.

I stared at the child’s drawing in Luca’s hand.

The bright red and blue crayons mocked the memory of the darkest day of my life.

“That was in his casket,” I whispered, the words tearing at my throat. “I put it in his hands.”

Marco looked at Luca, his professional demeanor slipping into genuine shock.

“Boss, if that drawing was in the coffin…”

“Then the coffin was opened,” Luca finished, his voice cold and hard.

He looked at me.

“Where is your father buried?”

“St. Jude’s Cemetery,” I answered automatically. “On the south side.”

Luca didn’t hesitate.

“Marco. Get the cars. We’re going to the cemetery.”

“Now?” Marco asked. “Sir, it’s past midnight. It’s raining.”

“I don’t care if it’s a hurricane,” Luca said. “Bring shovels.”

Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the back of a heavily armored SUV.

Luca sat beside me.

He had draped his heavy, expensive wool coat over my shoulders because I was shivering violently in my thin maid’s uniform.

He didn’t speak. He just stared out the window into the driving rain, his jaw clenched tight.

The cemetery was completely dark when we arrived.

Marco and three guards used heavy flashlights to cut through the gloom.

I led them down the familiar, winding paths.

I had visited this spot every year on my father’s birthday with my grandfather.

We stopped in front of a modest granite headstone.

Jonathan Brooks. Beloved Father and Son.

The ground in front of the stone looked undisturbed. Green grass, slick with rain.

Luca looked at his men.

“Dig.”

The sound of metal shovels biting into the earth was sickening.

I stood under an umbrella held by one of the guards, clutching Luca’s coat tightly around myself.

Luca stood right beside me.

He didn’t try to offer empty comfort. He just stayed close, a solid, immovable presence in the storm.

It took them thirty minutes to reach the concrete vault.

Marco wiped mud from his face.

“Boss. The seal is broken.”

Luca stepped forward, the mud ruining his expensive leather shoes.

“Open it.”

The guards used crowbars to pry the heavy concrete lid open.

The hinges groaned loudly.

They stepped back, shining their flashlights down into the dark hole.

Luca looked down.

He stood perfectly still for a long time.

Then, he turned to look at me.

His eyes were filled with a profound, terrifying sorrow.

“Natalie.”

I stepped forward, my legs trembling so badly I thought I might collapse.

I looked down into the open grave.

The beautiful mahogany casket was ruined by water damage.

But that wasn’t what made the breath leave my lungs.

The casket was open.

And it was completely empty.

There were no bones. No suit. No father.

Instead, resting in the center of the muddy, empty wooden box, was a single object.

A tarnished, silver bracelet.

I gasped, dropping to my knees in the mud.

Luca caught me by the arm, keeping me from falling entirely.

Marco aimed his flashlight at the bracelet.

“Is that your father’s?” Marco asked.

I shook my head, sobbing uncontrollably.

“No,” I choked out. “My father didn’t wear jewelry.”

Luca reached down into the grave and picked up the muddy silver bracelet.

He wiped the dirt away with his thumb.

He stared at the intricate design. Three interwoven silver vines.

Luca’s face hardened into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.

He didn’t look sad anymore. He looked like the most dangerous man in Chicago.

“It isn’t your father’s bracelet, Natalie,” Luca said softly.

He looked up at Marco.

“It’s my mother’s.”

Marco froze.

“Rosa’s? But she hasn’t taken that off in thirty years.”

“I know,” Luca said.

He turned toward me, pulling me gently to my feet.

“My mother was wearing this bracelet tonight at dinner.”

The world tilted on its axis.

“But… how could it be in the grave?” I asked, my voice cracking.

“Because whoever emptied this grave didn’t do it twenty years ago,” Luca said, his voice deadly flat. “They did it tonight. While we were at the mansion.”

He turned to Marco.

“Call the estate. Check on my mother.”

Marco pulled out his phone, dialing rapidly.

He waited.

He dialed again.

His face drained of color.

“Boss. The estate security line is dead.”

Luca didn’t say a word.

He grabbed my hand, his grip tight and protective.

“We’re going back. Now.”

We sprinted to the SUVs, leaving the empty grave open to the storm.

The drive back to the mansion was a blur of flashing streetlights and roaring engines.

Luca pulled a heavy, black handgun from a hidden compartment under his seat.

He checked the magazine with terrifying efficiency.

“Stay behind me when we get there,” Luca ordered me.

We crashed through the front gates of the estate.

The heavy iron doors were wide open.

The two guards posted at the entrance were lying on the ground, unconscious.

Luca didn’t wait for the car to fully stop before he kicked the door open.

We rushed into the grand foyer.

The mansion was eerily silent.

The lights were still blazing, but there was no sign of the remaining staff.

“Ma!” Luca roared, his voice echoing off the marble floors.

No answer.

We moved cautiously toward the west sitting room, where Vanessa had been detained.

The door was ajar.

Luca pushed it open, his gun raised.

The two guards he had left to watch Vanessa were slumped against the wall, knocked out.

Vanessa was gone.

But she hadn’t left quietly.

The room was trashed. Broken lamps, overturned chairs.

And sitting on the pristine white sofa, perfectly untouched, was a heavy wool coat.

A man’s coat.

Luca lowered his weapon slightly, staring at the coat.

“Marco,” Luca whispered. “Check the pockets.”

Marco stepped forward and carefully patted down the heavy wool fabric.

He reached into the left pocket.

He pulled out a folded piece of paper.

It was a train ticket.

A one-way ticket from Chicago to New York.

Purchased for tomorrow morning.

Under the name: Jonathan Brooks.

My father’s name.

Luca looked at me, the terrifying truth finally clicking into place.

“Your father isn’t dead, Natalie,” Luca said. “He’s the one who took my mother.”

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