Chapter 2 - THE LOCKET MY MOTHER FEARED
I stared at my mother’s message.
IF HE SEES THE LOCKET, RUN.
Vincent read it over my shoulder.
His face became terrifyingly calm.
“Call her.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
“Evelyn.”
“She specifically told me to run from you.”
“And yet you’re still here.”
“That may say more about my decision-making than your trustworthiness.”
Marco almost smiled.
Vincent did not.
“Call your mother.”
I did.
She answered on the first ring.
“Evelyn?”
“Mom.”
Her relief lasted one second.
Then she heard Vincent’s voice beside me.
“Margaret.”
Silence.
My mother whispered, “You’re with him.”
“Yes.”
“Leave.”
“Why?”
“Evelyn—”
“No. Thirty years of treating me like I’m twelve ends tonight.”
Vincent raised one eyebrow.
I ignored him.
“Why does he recognize Grandma’s locket?”
My mother went quiet.
“Mom.”
“That isn’t something we discuss over the phone.”
“There are men with guns in the hotel.”
“I know.”
My blood went cold.
“What?”
Vincent took the phone from me.
“Margaret, where are you?”
She snapped, “Give my daughter back her phone.”
“You knew Caldwell.”
Silence.
Vincent’s expression sharpened.
“You brought him here.”
“I introduced them.”
“Why?”
“Because I was trying to keep Evelyn away from you.”
My stomach dropped.
“You were what?”
She continued before I could interrupt.
“Vincent, you need to understand something.”
“No. You need to understand that men carrying weapons entered this hotel using Caldwell’s credentials.”
Her breathing changed.
“I didn’t know.”
“Then tell me who Caldwell really is.”
Silence.
Vincent’s eyes hardened.
“Margaret.”
“He works for someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“That’s a lie.”
“No.”
My mother sounded frightened now.
“I only know the symbol.”
Vincent went still.
“What symbol?”
“A black crown.”
Marco swore quietly.
I looked between them.
“What does that mean?”
Vincent ended the call.
I stared at him.
“Why did you hang up?”
“Because your mother just confirmed something I hoped wasn’t true.”
“What?”
He looked at Marco.
“Get us to the safe room.”
“Already cleared.”
We moved through a private elevator and into a locked suite on the hotel’s top floor.
Vincent checked every room himself.
Then he closed the door.
I folded my arms.
“Start talking.”
He poured water.
I did not take it.
“The black crown was used by a group called the Bellatori.”
“Who are they?”
“An old alliance. Families, politicians, businessmen, judges.”
“That sounds cheerful.”
“They controlled parts of Chicago before my father dismantled them.”
“Dismantled how?”
Vincent looked at me.
“You know what I do.”
Fair.
“Why would they care about me?”
“The locket.”
Again.
I pulled it off.
“Then explain the locket.”
Vincent sat across from me.
“My grandmother’s name was Elena Marino.”
I froze.
“My grandmother’s middle name was Elena.”
His eyes sharpened.
“What was her full birth name?”
I searched my memory.
Rose Elena Hartwell.
Before marriage, Rose Elena Bell.
My stomach dropped.
“Bell.”
Vincent leaned back.
Marco looked toward him.
“Boss.”
“Yeah.”
I frowned.
“What?”
Vincent’s voice became quiet.
“Elena Marino had a younger sister.”
My heart started pounding.
“Name?”
“Rosalie Bell.”
My fingers tightened around the necklace.
“Rosalie.”
“That could become Rose.”
“Yes.”
The room felt too small.
“So our grandmothers were sisters?”
“Possibly.”
“That would make us…”
“Distantly related.”
I stared at him.
“How distant?”
“Not remotely enough to justify your expression.”
My face heated.
“I wasn’t thinking anything.”
“You absolutely were.”
“Shut up.”
Marco suddenly turned toward the door.
A soft beep.
Security panel.
Someone had entered the restricted floor.
Vincent stood.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“That wasn’t a discussion.”
“I’m noticing a theme.”
He handed Marco a gun.
Then he did something that startled me.
He crouched in front of the hotel safe and opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Old.
Black and white.
Two young women stood beside a lake.
One wore my locket.
The other looked exactly like Vincent’s mother.
I took the photograph.
On the back, handwritten:
ELENA AND ROSALIE - 1971.
Below it:
THE TWO DAUGHTERS OF ANGELO BELL.
My hands shook.
“Who was Angelo Bell?”
Vincent looked at me.
“The founder of the Bellatori.”
I stared.
“So my great-grandfather—”
“Was one of the most powerful criminals Chicago ever knew.”
A knock sounded.
Three slow taps.
Vincent went still.
Marco raised the gun.
A man’s voice came through the door.
“Evelyn Hartwell?”
I froze.
“Who is that?”
The voice continued.
“Your mother sent me.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
May you like
Then the man said something else.
“Ask Vincent why his father killed your grandmother.”
