Chapter 5 - THE POCKET
Police reached Derek’s condo before anyone told him they were going.
That was Detective Alvarez’s idea.
“If Morrison knows the coat matters, we do not give him time to destroy it.”
I wanted to go.
Everyone said no.
The nurse said I could barely walk to the bathroom without wincing.
Harris said my daughter remained a potential target.
Luca said nothing.
That irritated me most.
“You agree with them.”
“Yes.”
“You could pretend to think about it.”
“I could.”
“You are impossible.”
“I have been called worse.”
Marco glanced at the ceiling.
I was beginning to understand that his silence hid a personality.
Alvarez left with a warrant request underway.
Harris stayed at the hospital.
Two uniformed officers were placed outside my room.
Luca added his own security farther down the hall.
“I do not want armed strangers everywhere.”
“They will remain outside the maternity unit.”
“They work for you.”
“Yes.”
“What happens if I tell them to leave?”
“They leave.”
I studied him.
“Immediately?”
“Yes.”
I believed him.
That frightened me too.
Derek had spent years making me doubt my own judgment.
Now I was learning to recognize the difference between power and coercion.
They were not always the same thing.
My daughter woke hungry.
Everyone except the nurse left while I fed her.
For twenty minutes, the world became small again.
Her cheek against my skin.
Her fingers opening and closing.
Her tiny body warm and alive.
I cried silently.
Not because of Derek.
Because I had almost let his rejection become the first story I told myself about her life.
It would not be.
“You need a name.”
The nurse smiled.
“You have not chosen one?”
“I had.”
“What was it?”
“Derek wanted Madison.”
“And you?”
I looked at my daughter.
“Isabella.”
The nurse’s smile widened.
“That is beautiful.”
The door opened slightly.
Luca had returned but froze upon hearing the name.
I saw it.
“Someone you knew?” I asked.
He hesitated.
“My mother.”
I looked at my baby again.
“Maybe not, then.”
“Why?”
“Because that would be strange.”
“Only if you make it strange.”
For the first time, I laughed.
A real one.
It hurt my stitches.
I immediately regretted it.
Luca looked almost pleased.
“Do not make me laugh.”
“I said nothing funny.”
“That somehow makes it worse.”
The nurse finished checking the baby and left.
Luca remained near the door.
“Have you eaten?”
“I had half a muffin.”
“That is not food.”
“It had blueberries.”
“That does not improve your argument.”
A few minutes later, Marco entered carrying enough food for six people.
I stared.
“What is this?”
“Lunch.”
“This is catering.”
“Boss does not understand normal portions.”
Luca looked at Marco.
“Was that necessary?”
“Very.”
I smiled despite myself.
Then my phone buzzed.
The smile vanished.
Detective Alvarez.
Harris entered at the same time and answered his own phone.
He listened.
Then looked toward us.
“They found the trunk.”
My heart pounded.
“And the coat?”
“Inside.”
Luca became very still.
“Was it disturbed?”
“Yes.”
Harris placed Alvarez on speaker.
Her voice filled the room.
“The lining has been cut open.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
“Anything inside?”
“Not the main compartment. But we found something sewn into the inner breast pocket.”
“What?”
“We have not removed it yet. Evidence tech is documenting.”
I could hear movement.
Camera clicks.
Someone speaking in the background.
Then Alvarez again.
“It appears to be a small key.”
“A key?” I said.
“Brass. Old-fashioned.”
Luca frowned.
“Any markings?”
“Give me a second.”
Silence.
Then:
“Number 317.”
Marco and Luca looked at each other.
“What?” I demanded.
Luca walked toward the window.
“Union Central Station.”
Harris frowned.
“What about it?”
“They used to operate private storage lockers.”
“Used to?”
“Closed fourteen years ago.”
“Then what does 317 mean?”
“Some lockers were transferred when the station was renovated.”
“To where?”
“A private storage company.”
Harris was already typing.
“Name?”
“Halstead Secure Archives.”
Marco checked his phone.
“Still operating.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Matteo hid something in a storage locker and sewed the key into his coat.”
“That appears likely.”
“And Derek found the coat.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did he not find the key?”
“Because he cut the wrong part of the lining.”
Alvarez spoke through the phone.
“Or because he was interrupted.”
I thought back.
Two years ago.
Moving boxes.
Derek upstairs.
Me walking into the bedroom.
Had he seemed nervous?
I could not remember.
I hated how ordinary memories changed when you learned a person had been lying.
Every smile became evidence.
Every coincidence became suspicious.
Harris looked at Luca.
“We get the locker through proper channels.”
Luca said nothing.
“You hear me?”
“Yes.”
“No private team.”
“I heard you.”
Harris pointed.
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
The detective left to make calls.
I looked at Luca.
“You are going anyway.”
“No.”
I did not believe him.
He looked almost offended.
“I gave my word.”
“You gave Detective Harris your word?”
“Yes.”
“Does that usually matter?”
“My word always matters.”
Something in the way he said it made me understand why people feared him.
Not because he shouted.
Because he did not need to.
My daughter slept.
I touched her cheek.
“What if the locker explains why Matteo was killed?”
“It might.”
“What if it explains why Derek is doing this?”
“Yes.”
“Then I want to know.”
“You will.”
“No secrets.”
Luca’s expression changed slightly.
“Emma—”
“No.”
I sat straighter.
“You knew my name. You knew about Matteo. You knew Derek was under investigation. You let me stand there thinking you were some stranger who felt sorry for me.”
“I did not feel sorry for you.”
“That is not the point.”
“No.”
“You cannot protect me by deciding what I should know.”
He was silent.
“That is exactly what Derek did. He always said he was handling things so I would not worry.”
Luca looked down.
The comparison landed.
Good.
“I am not Derek.”
“Then prove it.”
Our eyes held.
Finally, he nodded.
“No secrets that concern you or your daughter.”
I almost corrected him.
Then stopped.
“That is carefully phrased.”
“Yes.”
“At least you admit it.”
My phone rang again.
Alvarez.
This time her voice was sharper.
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“The coat is not the only thing we found.”
I waited.
“There are photographs in the trunk.”
“Mine?”
“Some.”
“Of what?”
“You. College graduation. Friends. Family.”
“That sounds normal.”
“It would be.”
My stomach tightened.
“Would be?”
“If several photographs did not have dates and locations written on the back in someone else’s handwriting.”
Luca stood.
“Whose handwriting?”
“We do not know.”
Alvarez continued.
“Emma, there are photographs of you taken from across streets.”
My skin went cold.
“What?”
“At a coffee shop. Outside your first apartment. Entering work.”
“When?”
“Over six years.”
I stopped breathing.
“Six?”
“One was taken three months before the crash.”
Luca’s face hardened.
“And the newest?”
Alvarez paused.
“Two weeks ago.”
My arms tightened around my daughter.
“No.”
“Someone was watching you before you met Derek,” Luca said.
I looked at him.
“And someone kept watching after.”
Suddenly the hospital room felt exposed.
Every window.
Every hallway.
Every stranger.
“Why would anyone watch me?”
Nobody answered.
Then Alvarez said quietly:
“There is something written on the back of the oldest photo.”
“What?”
She read it.
“Subject does not know identity of father.”
I stared at the phone.
For several seconds, I thought she meant my daughter’s father.
Then I understood.
Not my daughter.
Me.
My father.
I had never known him.
My mother told me he disappeared before I was born.
Luca’s expression changed before I even spoke.
“You know.”
He did not answer.
“Luca.”
Marco looked at him.
This time the warning was different.
Almost pity.
I stood despite the pain.
“You promised.”
Luca closed his eyes.
Then opened them.
“Your mother’s name was Katherine Lawson.”
“Was?”
I hated that he knew she died.
“Yes.”
“She told me my father was a musician who left Chicago before I was born.”
“I know what she told you.”
“What is his name?”
Silence.
“Luca.”
He walked toward me slowly.
“When my father died, we found letters in his private safe.”
My heartbeat thundered.
“Letters from Katherine.”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Letters he wrote to her.”
The room stopped moving.
“No.”
“Emma—”
“No.”
I shook my head violently.
“My mother hated organized crime. She would change the channel if your family appeared on the news.”
“I know.”
“She would never—”
“I am not saying she loved him.”
I stared at him.
“Loved who?”
Luca’s eyes did not leave mine.
“My father.”
My knees weakened.
Marco stepped forward, but I caught the bed rail.
“No.”
“My father met Katherine before I was born.”
“That is impossible.”
“It is not.”
“You are forty—”
“Forty-one.”
“I am twenty-eight.”
“Yes.”
The arithmetic hit me.
My stomach turned.
“Are you saying…”
I could not finish.
Luca did.
“Vittorio Moretti may have been your biological father.”
I looked at my newborn daughter.
Then at Luca.
Then at the man everyone in the hospital feared.
The man who had stepped out of the shadows and promised she would not be unprotected.
The man whose brother had died with me beside him.
The man who had known my name before I spoke it.
My voice came out as a whisper.
“If that is true…”
I looked into eyes that suddenly seemed horrifyingly familiar.
“…then what does that make you?”
May you like
Luca’s answer was almost inaudible.
“My sister.”
