Chapter 2 - The Disposal Truck at the East GateThe amber security lights cutting through the damp Chicago air caught the heavy exhaust pouring from the idling diesel engine of an unmarked white box truck parked just inside the east perimeter gates.
“Kill the engine and step down from the cab,” Daniel ordered, his hand resting casually on the butt of his sidearm.
The driver, a burly man in an oil-stained jacket, scrambled out of the driver's side door with his hands raised instantly. “Hey! I’m just a contractor! I got a signed dispatch slip right here! Work order #709! That lady in the silk dress gave me a grand cash bonus to clear out the master storage vaults and dump the contents straight into the municipal incinerator on 26th Street!”
The words hung in the freezing night air like shards of glass.
Incinerator. Not a charitable donation. Not a thrift warehouse. Total, permanent destruction.
Behind us on the portico, Camilla had followed at a rapid pace, her heels clicking aggressively against the wet stone. She wasn’t wearing a wrap, and the biting wind caught her styled blond hair, but her mounting panic was the only thing keeping her warm.
“Matteo, don't listen to this hired moron!” Camilla cried out, clutching at Matteo’s sleeve. “The driver is exaggerating! It’s just old junk—dusty linens, broken picture frames, things Isabella accumulated before she passed! I wanted this estate cleared out so we could start our marriage without the ghosts of the past haunting every hallway!”
Matteo didn't look at her. He pulled his arm away with such chilling indifference that Camilla nearly stumbled off the edge of the stone stair.
“Sophie,” Matteo said.
“Yes, Mr. Rossi?”
“Take Mia inside the front vestibule. Keep her warm.”
“Yes, sir.”
I knelt down and wrapped my arms around Mia, guiding the little girl away from the freezing wind. But Mia didn't want to look away. Her dark, tear-filled eyes were locked on the white truck, watching the rear roll-up door as Daniel dragged it open with a heavy metallic rattle.
Inside the cargo bay sat six heavy wooden crates, stamped with old shipping labels from Milan. Resting right on top of the first crate was a carved mahogany music box inlaid with mother-of-pearl—Isabella’s favorite, the one that played Swan Lake whenever the lid was lifted.
Matteo climbed into the truck bed himself. He didn't send a guard. He walked straight to the music box, picked it up with both hands, and brought it back down to the courtyard.
The brass latch was jammed. Someone had tried to force it open with a screwdriver, scratching the polished wood near the hinge.
Matteo traced the scratch with his thumb. Then he raised his head, fixing his obsidian gaze entirely on Camilla.
“You said it was dust and broken frames.”
Camilla swallowed hard, her throat visibly tightening. “It... it must have been an oversight by the movers. They must have packed her personal items by mistake.”
“Sophie didn't pack this,” Matteo stated, his voice dropping into a register that made the security guards stiffen. “Sophie was in the scullery helping my daughter bake a gingerbread cookie. Who authorized these crates to be loaded, Camilla?”
Silence answered him, broken only by the whistling wind through the wrought-iron gates.
Matteo handed the mahogany music box to me. “Take this upstairs to my private study, Sophie. Place it on the cherrywood table beside my desk.”
“No!” Camilla shrieked, shedding every remaining ounce of her high-society dignity. She lunged forward, her manicured nails clawing toward the wood. “Don't let her touch that! Matteo, you cannot let the servants poke through Isabella’s private things! You don't know what she put in those boxes!”
Daniel stepped between Camilla and me like a granite pillar, blocking her path without lifting a finger.
May you like
Matteo took one slow, deliberate step toward his fiancée. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, yet thirty syndicate capos standing near the entrance pavilion went completely dead silent.
“What was my dead wife hiding, Camilla?” Matteo asked softly. “Tell me right now. Because if I open these crates and find anything that doesn't belong to my daughter, your father will receive your engagement ring in an envelope before dawn.”
Related Stories
