Chapter 2 - The Burden of Sight
"What are you talking about, Clara?" Emma choked out, her voice rising in panic as her mother's shadow appeared at the end of the corridor. "Tell me now before they get here!"
Clara squeezed Emma's wrist once—a sharp, desperate grip—before releasing her hands and sitting back up straight, her blind eyes returning to their steady, unblinking focus ahead.
"Not here. Not now," Clara whispered as her parents collapsed into the seats beside them, her mother immediately drawing Clara into a weeping embrace. "Come to the house tonight, Emma. After the mourning settles. Go to Luca’s private study, unlock the bottom drawer of his mahogany desk, and look for the ledger bound in black leather. Everything is in there."
Emma spent the next several hours trapped in a nightmare of grief, consoling her devastated mother, signing hospital release forms, and watching her stoic father break down in a way she had never witnessed before. Throughout it all, Clara remained an anchor of quiet strength, comforting everyone else while carrying a secret that seemed to burn beneath her skin.
It was past two in the morning when Emma finally unlocked the front door of Luca and Clara’s sprawling estate on the outskirts of Chicago. The house was dead silent, save for the ticking of an antique grandfather clock in the foyer.
Emma walked past the grand living room, her footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floors, and made her way down the dimly lit corridor to Luca’s private study.
The room smelled of old paper, cedarwood, and the faint, distinct trace of the expensive scotch Luca always kept on hand. It was a room few people were ever permitted to enter—a sanctuary where the ruthless mafia boss reviewed shipping manifests, investment portfolios, and territorial agreements.
Emma walked straight to the heavy mahogany desk. She pulled on the brass handle of the bottom drawer. It was locked.
She remembered Clara's words: Unlock the bottom drawer. But where was the key?
Emma scanned the desk, moving pen holders, lifting brass letter openers, and running her fingers along the underside of the polished wood. Her hand brushed against a small, cold protrusion beneath the desktop. A magnetic release switch.
She pressed it. With a soft, mechanical click, a hidden compartment popped open on the side of the desk pedestal. Inside rested a single, heavy brass key and a small, leather-bound book wrapped in black cloth.
May you like
Emma’s hands shook as she lifted the book out. She carried it to the leather armchair beneath the reading lamp, sat down, and untied the black cord.
As she opened the cover, the first page revealed Luca’s sharp, precise handwriting. But as she read the opening sentence, the breath rushed out of her lungs, and the room seemed to spin violently around her.
