Chapter 3 - the paper bracelet
Lila stirred against Luca’s shoulder. She rubbed her eyes with the back of a tiny fist and looked up, her gaze instantly landing on the open silver pendant in Luca’s hand.
"That’s my magic heart," Lila murmured sleepily, reaching out to pat the cool metal. "Mommy says it keeps bad men away."
Claire’s hands were shaking so hard she had to grip the armrests. "Lila, sweetie, close your eyes. We're almost there."
Luca ignored Claire. He looked closely inside the locket. Tucked behind the tiny photograph was a sliver of laminated plastic and paper, folded twice to fit into the hollow cavity.
With steady, deliberate fingers, Luca teased the folded paper out.
He unfolded it on his knee.
It was a hospital infant identification bracelet. Faded blue ink stamped across the plastic strip:
*INFANT FEMALE*
*DOB: MAY 14*
*MOTHER: CLAIRE WALSH*
*FATHER: LUCA MORETTI*
Luca stared at the small strip of paper. The cabin around him seemed to vanish into deafening silence. May 14. Exactly eight months after Claire had disappeared from the estate in New York.
Six years.
For six years, while he waged turf wars, expanded his territory, and slept with a gun beneath his pillow, his daughter had been living in the world without him knowing she drew breath.
Luca slowly turned his head to look at Claire.
His eyes were burning with an intensity that made Claire press back against her seat as if trying to push through the fuselage.
"Luca..." Claire whispered, tears finally spilling over her lashes, pooling on her pale cheeks. "She was never supposed to meet you."
Luca looked from Claire to the little girl who still held his thumb in her sleep. The resemblance wasn't just familiar—it was unmistakable.
"You took my blood," Luca said, his voice dropping into a register that made the air between them feel dangerously thin. "You took my child, hid her for six years, and told her I was an imaginary man in a drawing?"
"You don't understand what happened," Claire choked out, keeping her voice low to avoid alerting the flight attendant moving down the galley. "If they found out about her, she wouldn't have survived her first birthday."
"They?" Luca leaned slightly across the aisle. "Who is *they*, Claire? In my city, nobody moves against me."
"It wasn't your city I was running from," Claire whispered, her voice trembling. "It was your house."
A low chime sounded through the cabin. The captain’s voice crackled overhead: *Cabin crew, prepare for arrival. We are beginning our descent into San Francisco International.*
Lila woke fully, sitting up and blinking at the bright runway lights appearing through the window. "Are we in California, Mommy? Are we safe now?"
Claire didn't answer. She was staring at the back of the cabin.
Luca followed her gaze.
May you like
Four rows back, sitting quietly in seat 8C, was Marco DeLuca—Luca’s chief of security. Marco caught Luca’s eye and gave a nearly imperceptible nod. But Marco wasn't looking at Luca.
He was looking at two men sitting in row 12. Men with shaved heads, matching dark windbreakers, and the unmistakable posture of spotters waiting for a target to land.
