Chapter 5 – THE BAGGAGE CLAIM TICKET

I stared at Luca, my heart dropping to my stomach.

“You had this?” I asked, holding up the ticket. “For how long?”

“Since your mother died,” Luca said calmly. He signaled to Ben, who nervously slipped past him and hurried out of the staff quarters.

“My mother’s death was a hit-and-run,” I said, my voice rising. “It was a drunk driver.”

“There are no accidents in my world, Grace,” Luca said, stepping into the cramped room. He looked too large for the space. “Your mother helped my sister that night at the diner. She gave her a burner phone. The people looking for my sister eventually tracked that phone back to your mother.”

The air was sucked from my lungs. “You’ve known who I am this whole time. You hired me on purpose.”

“I hired you to protect you,” Luca corrected. “I couldn’t protect my sister. I couldn’t protect your mother. But keeping you in my house, where my men watch the perimeter… it was the only way to keep you safe.”

I felt sick. Every struggle, every late rent payment, every tear I cried over my mother’s grave—this man knew the truth.

“Who killed her, Luca?”

“Vanessa’s brother. Marcus,” Luca said flatly. “I’ve been hunting him for five years.”

I thought of the photograph burning a hole in my pocket. Vanessa had just told me Marcus was trying to save Luca’s sister. One of them was lying.

“I need to leave,” I whispered, turning to grab my duffel bag.

“If you walk out that door, you’re unprotected,” Luca warned.

“I don’t need your protection!” I shouted, throwing my clothes into the bag. I reached under my mattress and pulled out the only thing of value I owned: my mother’s wooden rosary.

As I pulled it out, the silver cross caught the light.

Luca froze. His eyes locked on the beads.

“Let me see that,” he demanded.

“No.”

He crossed the room in two strides, catching my hand gently but firmly. He examined the back of the silver cross.

There, etched microscopically into the silver, were three letters: L. M. B.

“This wasn’t your mother’s,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. “This belonged to my mother. She gave it to my sister.”

I stared at him, bewildered. “My mom always told me she found it in the diner parking lot the night that woman came in.”

“It’s not just a rosary,” Luca said, his thumb pressing a hidden latch on the cross. It clicked open, revealing a tiny, tightly rolled piece of microfilm.

Before we could look at it, a deafening crack shattered the night.

A gunshot at the front gate.

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