Chapter 5 – THE TORN TICKET

“Daniel took him.”

The words tasted like ash in my mouth.

Matteo stared at the gold money clip.

The rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead.

“He beat my men here,” Matteo said, his voice deadly quiet. “He chased Leo into these woods, grabbed him, and dropped this in the struggle.”

I looked back at the highway.

“He’s gone. He took my boy.”

Matteo grabbed his radio.

“Lock down the estate. Do not let Daniel Mercer leave. Shoot out his tires if you have to.”

The radio crackled.

“Boss.”

It was the security chief back at the mansion.

He sounded out of breath.

“Mercer is gone.”

Matteo’s jaw clenched.

“I told you to keep him in the dining room.”

“He had men waiting outside the perimeter. They cut the power to the east wing. In the confusion, he slipped out the back. We’re tracking his vehicle now.”

“Where is he heading?”

“South. Toward the city.”

Matteo looked at me.

“Get in the car.”

We sprinted back to the SUV.

As we climbed into the back seat, Matteo barked orders at his driver.

“Catch him.”

The heavy vehicle fish-tailed in the mud before finding traction and tearing onto the highway.

I huddled inside Matteo’s massive coat, shivering violently.

Not from the cold.

From pure terror.

Daniel Mercer didn’t care about Leo.

He wanted the DeLuca trust fund.

And to get it, he needed the heir alive.

But Daniel was a brutal man.

If Leo cried.

If Leo slowed him down because of his bad leg.

Matteo seemed to read my mind.

“Daniel won’t hurt him, Emily. He needs him to access the accounts.”

“You don’t know Leo,” I whispered. “He panics. If someone yells at him, he shuts down. He won’t walk.”

I looked at the muddy blue jacket in my lap.

I felt inside the pockets.

My fingers brushed against something stiff.

Paper.

I pulled it out.

It was a folded, damp piece of cardstock.

I flattened it out under the SUV’s dome light.

It was a train ticket.

One-way.

From Union Station in Chicago to Montreal, Canada.

Purchased for tomorrow morning at 6:00 AM.

Under the name: Arthur Vance.

I showed it to Matteo.

“Who is Arthur Vance?”

Matteo stared at the ticket.

His face went completely pale.

“That’s not Daniel’s alias.”

“Then whose is it?”

Matteo looked at me.

His eyes were wide with a shock so profound it looked like physical pain.

“It’s my brother’s.”

I froze.

“Your brother is dead. Daniel said Sloane killed him in the car crash four years ago.”

“Arthur Vance was the name my brother used when we played as kids,” Matteo whispered. “It was our secret. Nobody else knew it. Not our father. Not Daniel. And definitely not Sloane.”

The SUV flew past slower traffic, the rain hammering against the windshield.

Matteo grabbed the ticket from my hands.

He turned it over.

On the back, written in hurried blue pen, was a single word.

Wait.

I looked at Matteo.

“He’s alive.”

Matteo’s hands shook.

“My brother is alive. He didn’t die in that crash.”

“But Daniel thinks he did. Sloane thinks he did.”

“Because he wanted them to think that,” Matteo said, his voice building with dangerous realization. “He knew Sloane betrayed him. He knew Daniel was coming for him. He faked his death to disappear again.”

“But he left Leo behind.”

Matteo shook his head.

“He didn’t leave him. He hid him. At the clinic.”

I gasped.

“He knew I was working there.”

Matteo looked at me sharply.

“What?”

“Before my mother died,” I said quickly, the pieces suddenly slamming together in my brain. “We rented an apartment from a man named Arthur. He was quiet. Kept to himself. He gave me a job recommendation for the clinic.”

Matteo stared at me.

“My brother sent you to that clinic.”

“So I would be there when Leo arrived.”

Tears burned my eyes.

“He trusted me to take care of his son.”

Matteo leaned forward and grabbed the driver’s seat.

“Change course. We aren’t following Daniel.”

The driver glanced in the rearview mirror.

“Where to, boss?”

Matteo held up the torn ticket.

“Union Station.”

We arrived at the massive, echoing train terminal at 1:30 AM.

It was mostly deserted.

Just a few homeless people sleeping on benches and janitors buffing the floors.

Matteo and I ran through the grand hall, followed by four armed guards.

“Split up,” Matteo ordered. “Check every waiting area. Every bathroom.”

I ran toward the ticketing counters.

My heart was pounding so hard I couldn’t hear the announcements over the speakers.

“Leo!” I yelled.

I checked behind pillars.

I checked under rows of chairs.

Then, I saw something.

Near the back of the terminal, sitting on a wooden bench in the shadows, was a man.

He was wearing a dark hood, pulled low.

Next to him, huddled under a large gray blanket, was a small lump.

I stopped running.

I couldn’t breathe.

I took a slow step forward.

The man looked up.

He had Matteo’s eyes.

Dark, intense, and filled with ghosts.

He pulled the blanket back slightly.

Leo was asleep against his side.

Safe.

Warm.

I let out a sob that echoed across the marble floor.

I ran to them and dropped to my knees, wrapping my arms around my little boy.

Leo woke up and instantly hugged my neck tight.

“Em,” he whispered.

“I got you, buddy. I got you.”

I looked up at the man.

Matteo’s brother.

He looked older, tired, scarred along his jawline from the crash.

“Thank you,” he whispered to me. “For keeping him safe.”

Before I could answer, a cold, sharp voice echoed behind us.

“How touching.”

I turned around.

Standing twenty feet away, holding a suppressed pistol aimed directly at us, was Daniel Mercer.

And standing right beside him, looking completely terrified but holding a second gun, was Grace.

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