Chapter 12 - The Black Box|
The ride back to our Upper East Side penthouse was tense. The rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers did little to calm my racing heart. Alessandro held Emma against his chest, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror, tracking every pair of headlights that lingered too long behind us.
"Who was it?" I asked, keeping my voice low so as not to wake the sleeping child in his arms.
"I don't know," Alessandro admitted, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. "But no one stands in a torrential downpour just to admire the architecture. Marco is already pulling the street camera feeds."
We arrived at the secure underground garage of our building. The private elevator took us directly to the penthouse, opening into a grand foyer bathed in warm, amber light. I took Emma from Alessandro, carrying her down the long hall to her bedroom. I tucked the duvet around her, kissed her cheek, and left her door slightly ajar before returning to the living room.
Alessandro was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out at the sparkling city skyline. On the low glass coffee table sat a small, unadorned black box. It hadn't been there when we left for dinner.
"What is that?" I asked, my blood running cold.
"It was left with the concierge," Alessandro said, not turning around. "Addressed to me. Marco brought it up while we were tucking Emma in."
"Did they scan it?"
"Yes. No explosives, no chemical agents," he replied, finally turning to face me. His eyes were dark, unreadable.
I stepped closer to the table. "Open it."
Alessandro reached out, his large hands steady, and lifted the lid. Inside, resting on a bed of dark velvet, was a silver pocket watch. The glass face was shattered, and the hands were frozen at exactly midnight.
"My father's watch," Alessandro whispered, a chilling edge creeping into his voice. "It was stolen from his study the night he was murdered."
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I gasped, covering my mouth. "But the men who did that are dead, Alessandro. You made sure of it."
"Apparently, we missed someone," he said, snapping the box shut. "The game isn't over."
