Chapter 2 - The Cuff Link on the Floor
Vincent Russo had taken three bullets for Alessandro Moretti, buried enemies beside him, and stood as godfather at Mateo’s baptism. Now a matching cuff link lay in Alessandro’s palm while a dead gunman cooled on the apartment floor.
“No one leaves,” Alessandro said.
Marcus shut the front door.
Vincent’s eyes remained fixed on the silver crest. “That isn’t mine.”
“Show me your wrist.”
“Boss—”
“Show me.”
Vincent raised his left arm.
The cuff was open.
One silver link remained. The other was gone.
Emma watched from beside the couch, wrapped in Alessandro’s coat. Daniel stood between her and the sleeping woman, gripping the baseball bat with both hands.
Vincent reached into his pocket. “Mine must have fallen somewhere.”
“It fell here,” Daniel said.
Vincent turned toward him. “Stay out of this.”
“You were here last week.”
Everyone went silent.
Alessandro faced Daniel. “You’ve seen Vincent before?”
“Not inside the apartment. Across the street.” Daniel pointed toward the rain-streaked window. “He sat in a black car with Mr. Bell.”
Vincent drew his weapon.
Marcus immediately aimed at him.
Emma screamed.
“Put it down,” Alessandro said.
“I’m not aiming at you.”
“You’re aiming inside a room with children.”
Vincent lowered the gun but did not release it. “The boy is lying.”
“Daniel,” Alessandro said, “describe the car.”
“Black Cadillac. Cracked right taillight. New York plate ending in fifty-eight.”
Marcus looked at Vincent.
Vincent drove a black Cadillac with a damaged taillight.
Alessandro had noticed the crack three weeks earlier and told him to repair it.
Vincent’s jaw tightened. “I followed a lead. I didn’t tell you because it went nowhere.”
“You found the apartment where my son was being held and decided it went nowhere?”
“I never entered this building.”
Daniel lifted the bat again. “Liar.”
Vincent lunged toward him.
Alessandro caught Vincent’s wrist, twisted the weapon free, and shoved him against the wall.
It happened so quickly that Marcus did not move.
Alessandro pressed the gun beneath Vincent’s chin.
“Give me one reason not to kill you.”
Vincent’s eyes held no fear, only anger and something deeper—hurt.
“Because I am the reason your son is still alive.”
Alessandro froze.
Vincent slowly lifted his hands.
“Bell planned to kill Mateo nine months ago,” he continued. “I convinced him the boy was more valuable breathing.”
“To whom?”
“To the person paying him.”
“Name them.”
“I can’t.”
Alessandro pushed the barrel harder against his skin. “You can.”
“If I say the name here, everyone in this apartment dies before morning.”
Daniel gave a bitter laugh. “We’re already dying.”
The woman on the couch began coughing violently. Emma hurried toward her, holding a cup of water to her lips.
Alessandro watched the little girl help her mother.
“Marcus,” he said, “take the family to one of our safe apartments.”
Vincent shook his head. “That will confirm they spoke to you.”
“They already shot at us.”
“This was a warning, not an execution.”
Alessandro looked at the dead gunman. “He fired at a child.”
“He missed on purpose.”
“Get him out of my sight.”
Marcus removed Vincent’s weapon and secured his hands with plastic restraints. Yet Vincent did not resist.
As Marcus guided him toward the door, Vincent glanced at Alessandro.
“Check the elephant.”
Alessandro looked down at Mateo’s toy.
“What?”
“Your son hides things.”
Then Marcus took him away.
Alessandro carried the stuffed elephant into the bedroom. He searched its torn ear, stitched belly, and cloth feet. At first he found nothing.
Emma stood in the doorway.
“He talks to it,” she said.
“Mateo?”
“He says the elephant remembers things people forget.”
Alessandro squeezed the toy’s body.
Something hard pressed against his palm.
He found a small seam beneath the elephant’s tail and tore it open. A folded piece of paper slipped out.
It was not Mateo’s handwriting.
The note contained a row of numbers and four words.
CENTRAL STATION. LOCKER 317.
TRUST THE RED UMBRELLA.
Alessandro showed it to Daniel.
“Have you seen this?”
The teenager shook his head.
“Did Mateo ever mention a station?”
“He talked about trains. He said his mother promised to meet him where the ceiling had stars.”
Grand Central Terminal.
The famous ceiling above the main concourse was painted with constellations.
Alessandro checked the time. Seven fifteen.
“Emma said Bell took Mateo thirty minutes ago,” he said. “He may be taking him there.”
Daniel grabbed his jacket. “I’m coming.”
“No.”
“He trusts me.”
“You’re seventeen.”
“And you’re the reason he was kidnapped.”
The words cut through the room.
Daniel seemed to regret them, but he did not apologize.
Alessandro stepped closer. “Explain.”
“Mateo said his mother was scared of your business. She wanted to take him somewhere safe. She told him not to trust the men around you.”
“My wife would never hand our son to strangers.”
“She didn’t.”
“Then how did he get here?”
Daniel glanced toward Emma. “He says someone took him from his mother in a hotel. He heard her screaming.”
Alessandro had spent a year believing Elena had fled voluntarily. Her car had been found near the airport, her passport missing, her bank accounts untouched. Security footage showed a woman resembling her entering a terminal with a child.
But the camera never captured their faces clearly.
Perhaps it had never been Elena.
“Get shoes for your sister,” Alessandro said. “You’re both coming.”
Daniel stared at him. “You just said—”
“Mateo trusts you. Emma recognized him. Until I understand who betrayed me, neither of you leaves my sight.”
Twenty minutes later, they departed through a rear stairwell. Marcus drove. Vincent sat restrained in the front passenger seat. Alessandro, Daniel, and Emma remained in the back.
Emma wore sneakers too large for her, borrowed from a neighbor. Alessandro’s overcoat remained wrapped around her.
“You have children’s shoes in your safe apartment?” Daniel asked.
“We keep supplies.”
“For what?”
Alessandro looked out the window. “For people who need to disappear.”
Daniel absorbed the answer in silence.
Traffic slowed near Midtown. Rain streaked the windows as neon signs blurred beyond the glass.
Vincent finally spoke. “Grand Central is a mistake.”
Alessandro leaned forward. “Why?”
“Because whoever wrote that note expected you to find it.”
“Perhaps Elena wrote it.”
“She didn’t.”
“You sound certain.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
“Where is my wife?” Alessandro asked.
No response.
Alessandro took the gun from his waistband and pressed it against the back of Vincent’s seat.
Emma looked at him.
He lowered the weapon.
“What happened to her?” Alessandro asked again.
Vincent stared through the windshield.
“She discovered where your father’s money came from.”
“My father has been dead for six years.”
“His secrets aren’t.”
Daniel leaned closer.
Vincent continued. “Elena found files proving someone inside your organization had been trafficking stolen identities, children, and medical records through Moretti shipping routes.”
Alessandro felt sick. “That never happened under my authority.”
“No. But it happened under your name.”
“Who was responsible?”
Vincent’s gaze shifted toward Marcus.
The driver’s hands tightened on the wheel.
Alessandro noticed.
“Marcus,” he said quietly.
The car suddenly accelerated.
Marcus swerved across two lanes, sending Daniel and Emma against the door.
“Stop the car!” Alessandro shouted.
Marcus drove through a red light.
A truck horn roared.
Vincent kicked the back of the driver’s seat. Marcus lost control for one second, and the Cadillac struck the curb.
Alessandro reached forward and wrapped an arm around Marcus’s neck.
The car spun, hit a row of trash cans, and stopped against a concrete barrier.
Airbags exploded in the front.
Emma cried.
Daniel shielded her with his body.
Alessandro pulled Marcus from the driver’s seat. The bodyguard reached for a knife strapped to his ankle, but Vincent kicked it away despite his bound hands.
Marcus stumbled into the rain.
Alessandro followed.
“Who are you working for?” he demanded.
Marcus wiped blood from his mouth. “The only Moretti who deserves the name.”
Alessandro’s stomach tightened.
“My uncle?”
Marcus smiled.
Salvatore Moretti was Alessandro’s father’s younger brother. He had served as family adviser for decades and had practically raised Alessandro after his mother died.
He was also one of the six men who possessed a silver crest cuff link.
“Where is Mateo?” Alessandro asked.
Marcus glanced toward the traffic.
A motorcycle appeared from the darkness.
The rider fired twice.
The first bullet struck Marcus in the shoulder.
The second shattered the Cadillac’s rear window.
Alessandro threw himself over Daniel and Emma.
Vincent kicked open the passenger door and rolled onto the pavement as the motorcycle disappeared into traffic.
Marcus staggered toward an alley.
Alessandro chased him.
They collided beside a dumpster. Marcus swung the knife, cutting Alessandro’s palm. Alessandro drove his wounded hand into Marcus’s throat and forced him against the wall.
“Tell me where my son is.”
Marcus spat blood. “You’ll never find him.”
Alessandro struck him once.
“Where?”
Marcus laughed weakly. “Ask your wife.”
Alessandro stopped.
“Elena is alive?”
Marcus smiled wider.
Then the wounded man bit down hard.
Foam appeared between his lips.
Poison.
Alessandro grabbed his face, trying to force his mouth open, but Marcus’s body convulsed and went still.
When Alessandro returned to the car, Vincent had freed one hand using the knife and was wrapping his jacket around Emma to protect her from the broken glass.
Daniel watched him suspiciously.
“Grand Central,” Alessandro said. “We continue.”
Vincent looked at Marcus’s body in the alley. “He confirmed Salvatore?”
“He confirmed nothing.”
“He didn’t need to.”
They abandoned the damaged car and entered a taxi two blocks away. Vincent’s wrists remained restrained, but Alessandro no longer treated him as a simple prisoner.
Grand Central was crowded despite the hour. Travelers moved beneath the celestial ceiling, dragging suitcases and checking departure boards.
Emma stopped in the main concourse.
“It looks like Mateo’s drawings,” she whispered.
Locker 317 stood in a quieter corridor near the lower level.
Alessandro approached alone while Vincent watched the exits. Daniel held Emma’s hand.
The locker required a code.
Alessandro tried Mateo’s birthday.
The lock clicked.
Inside rested a red umbrella, a disposable phone, and a child’s winter coat.
Mateo’s coat.
Alessandro pressed it to his face. It smelled faintly of laundry soap and crayons.
The disposable phone began ringing.
He answered.
For three seconds, there was only static.
Then a child breathed into the line.
“Papa?”
Alessandro gripped the phone with both hands.
“Mateo.”
A sob escaped from the other end.
“Papa, I tried to be brave.”
“I know. Where are you?”
“I don’t know. There are trains.”
Alessandro turned in every direction.
“Can you see people?”
“No. It’s dark.”
“Is Mr. Bell with you?”
“He went outside.”
“Listen carefully. Make a sound. Hit the wall, stomp your feet, anything.”
A faint metallic banging echoed through the phone.
Then Alessandro heard the same sound somewhere beyond the corridor.
He ran.
Daniel and Emma followed. Vincent shouted for them to stay behind, but no one listened.
The banging led to a maintenance door beside an unused platform.
Alessandro forced it open.
A narrow service tunnel stretched into darkness.
“Mateo!” he shouted.
“Papa!”
The voice came from behind a steel gate.
Alessandro ran toward it.
A small boy stood on the opposite side, clutching the gray elephant’s missing button in one hand.
His dark curls were longer. His face was thinner. But he was alive.
Alessandro reached through the bars.
Mateo pressed both hands against his father’s.
“I knew you’d come,” the boy cried.
Alessandro tried the gate. Locked.
He drew his weapon and fired at the chain.
Before he could fire again, a man stepped from the tunnel behind Mateo.
He wore a gray coat and held a gun against the child’s back.
Mr. Bell.
“Drop the weapon,” Bell said.
Alessandro lowered his gun to the floor.
Bell smiled.
May you like
“Your uncle sends his regards.”
Then the lights went out.
