I Thought the Mafia Boss Was Kidnapped Because of Me

We reached my apartment at 2:18 in the morning.

King was already there.

Of course he was.

He stood in the hallway outside my door with a fresh bandage beneath his shirt and two men behind him. The bruising on his face had darkened. Someone had stitched the cut near his temple.

He looked like he had escaped a kidnapping, refused a hospital, and then bullied everyone around him into letting him come find me.

Which, Elena informed me, was exactly what he had done.

“I told you I needed space,” I said.

“You also just learned someone may be looking for a nineteen-year-old roll of film hidden in your apartment.”

“That doesn't make my feelings disappear.”

“No. It makes the building unsafe.”

Elena walked between us.

“Both of you can continue this emotionally complicated stare after we find the camera.”

I looked at her.

She shrugged.

“I'm paid by the hour.”

“You said you don't work for him.”

“I don't. He is still paying me tonight.”

King almost smiled.

I didn't.

Not yet.

The apartment had been cleaned since the break-in, but I could still see where strangers had touched my life. The repaired cabinet hinge. The scratch on the hardwood. The spot beside the couch where my photo albums had been dumped.

I walked to the bedroom.

The storage case under my bed was gone.

I stopped.

“No.”

King came up behind me.

“What?”

“The camera.”

I dropped to my knees and looked beneath the bed again as if the case might reappear.

“It was here.”

“When did you last see it?”

“Before the break-in.”

Elena swore softly.

I stood.

“They took it.”

“Maybe,” King said.

I turned on him.

“Maybe?”

“If they found what they were looking for, why keep chasing you?”

That stopped me.

He was right.

I hated that he was right.

Elena opened my closet.

“Describe the case.”

“Brown leather. About this big.” I held my hands apart. “Camera body, fifty-millimeter lens, two rolls of expired Tri-X film, my father's old strap.”

“Anything unusual?”

“No.”

King's eyes narrowed.

“Strap?”

I looked at him.

“What about it?”

“What kind?”

“Woven black nylon. Thick. He had it forever.”

Elena and King exchanged a look.

I felt my patience snap.

“I am officially banning silent mafia eye contact. If you think something, say it.”

Elena lifted both hands.

“He thinks something could be sewn into the strap.”

I stared at her.

Then at King.

The memory hit me so suddenly I had to sit down.

When I was ten, two years after my father died, I had cut my finger on something sharp inside that strap.

My mother had taken it away, disappeared into the kitchen, and returned twenty minutes later with black thread wrapped around one section.

I had forgotten all about it.

“I remember a tear,” I whispered.

King crouched in front of me.

“What kind?”

“In the strap. I felt metal inside.”

“What did your mother say?”

“That it was part of the buckle.”

Elena pulled out her phone.

“Where is your mother now?”

“Traverse City. She moved there five years ago.”

“Call her.”

I did.

No answer.

I called again.

Voicemail.

My chest tightened.

King stood.

“Luca.”

He had said the name without thinking.

Then both of us froze.

The ring in the car reflection.

Luca.

Salvatore.

Maybe someone else.

King looked toward the hallway.

“Luca isn't here,” Elena said.

“Where is he?”

“He left after the warehouse.”

King took out his phone.

I grabbed his wrist.

“Don't call him.”

His eyes met mine.

“You think Luca is the leak?”

“I think you told me to stop assuming I know what a picture means before I examine everything in it.”

“I never said that.”

“You should have.”

Elena nodded approvingly.

King looked annoyed that she found me entertaining.

Then my phone rang.

Detroit area code.

Tessa.

I answered instantly.

“Tessa?”

A man spoke.

“Harper.”

Jason.

My throat tightened.

“Where is she?”

“Alive.”

“If you hurt her—”

“That's cute.”

King moved closer, but I held up a hand.

Jason continued.

“Your roommate made bad choices. You of all people should understand that.”

“You mean like sleeping with you?”

“She told you about the camera?”

I said nothing.

“Harper.” His voice hardened. “The old camera was empty when we took it.”

So they had stolen it.

My stomach dropped.

“Where's the strap?” he asked.

I looked at King.

Jason didn't know.

That meant whoever searched my apartment had taken the camera but separated it from the strap.

I suddenly remembered.

Two months before moving to Chicago, the strap had frayed near the buckle. I had removed it and replaced it with a new leather strap.

The old one wasn't in the camera case.

It was in a box of memorabilia.

A box I had not brought to Chicago.

“Harper?” Jason said.

I forced my voice to stay flat.

“What do you want?”

“The strap.”

“I don't have it.”

“Then where is it?”

“I threw it away years ago.”

Silence.

King watched my face.

Jason knew me well enough to hear a lie if I rushed it.

So I added, “You were there when I cleaned out the hall closet. Remember? You complained the whole time because the Lions game was on.”

Another pause.

Jason had complained about so many chores he couldn't possibly know whether I was telling the truth.

Finally he said, “If you're lying, Tessa pays for it.”

The line disconnected.

I exhaled.

King's expression was unreadable.

“The strap isn't here,” he said.

“No.”

“Where is it?”

I looked at Elena.

Then at him.

“My mother's house.”

King reached for his phone.

“Not Luca,” I said immediately.

His jaw tightened.

“Harper, Luca has been with me for twenty years.”

“Jason was with me for four.”

“That isn't the same.”

“Maybe not. But betrayal always looks impossible right before you prove it happened.”

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then King put his phone away.

“I'll send people Luca doesn't know.”

“Do you have people Luca doesn't know?”

The corner of his mouth moved.

“I know people Luca doesn't know I know.”

“That's the most mafia sentence you've ever said to me.”

Elena snorted.

King looked at me.

And despite everything, the tension between us cracked just enough to let something warm through.

It vanished when my phone chimed.

A message from Tessa's number.

One image.

Tessa sat on the floor of what looked like a motel bathroom. Her hands were bound. Her face was bruised, but her eyes were open.

Beneath the photograph:

24 HOURS.

THE STRAP FOR THE GIRL.

King looked over my shoulder.

“We'll find her.”

“We have to find my mother first.”

“We'll do both.”

I stared at the picture.

Something about it felt wrong.

Not the violence.

Not the threat.

The composition.

Photographers notice edges.

Things other people crop out because they think the subject is all that matters.

In the lower-left corner of the bathroom mirror, a tiny printed logo appeared on a paper cup.

Blue letters.

A lighthouse.

I zoomed in.

NORTH SHORE MOTOR LODGE.

Elena's eyebrows rose.

“Please tell me that's not the only one in America.”

“I don't know.”

I searched the name.

Four results appeared.

Two in Michigan.

One in Wisconsin.

One forty minutes north of Chicago.

King was already reading over my shoulder.

“Too easy,” he said.

I nodded.

“They want us to find the motel.”

“Why?”

“A trap.”

“Probably.”

I zoomed farther into the mirror.

The faucet reflected a strip of wallpaper from behind the photographer.

Blue flowers.

The same wallpaper appeared in online review photos for exactly one location.

The North Shore Motor Lodge in Waukegan.

I looked at King.

“Still too easy?”

“Yes.”

“But Tessa is there.”

“Maybe.”

I felt anger rise again.

“You don't believe the photograph?”

“I believe someone wanted that photograph to tell us something.”

I stared at him.

Then I understood.

“Maybe not where she is now.”

“Exactly.”

Elena leaned against the dresser.

“So we need something time-sensitive.”

I looked at the image again.

Tessa's hair was wet at the ends.

There was a small plastic room key beside her shoe.

The key sleeve had a handwritten number.

214.

Behind her, barely visible at the edge of the mirror, a television was on.

A local news ticker crawled along the bottom.

I enlarged it until the words broke into pixels.

One phrase remained readable.

LAKESHORE FLOOD ADVISORY ENDS 11:30 PM.

I checked the current time.

2:41 AM.

“The photo is at least three hours old.”

King nodded.

“Could be more.”

Elena said, “If they moved her, the motel is still useful. Cameras. Receipts. License plates.”

I looked at King.

“Send people.”

“I will.”

“And don't send Luca.”

His face hardened again.

Before he could answer, my phone rang for the third time.

This time the caller ID showed MOM.

I answered so fast I almost dropped it.

“Mom?”

For two seconds, there was silence.

Then my mother whispered, “Harper, don't come here.”

My knees weakened.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Listen to me.” Her voice shook. “The strap is gone.”

I looked at King.

“What happened?”

“Someone broke into the house. I was at dinner with Nancy. I came back and the back door was open.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Call the police.”

“I did.”

She began to cry.

My mother almost never cried.

“Harper, I should have told you years ago.”

My skin went cold.

“Told me what?”

“Your father knew they were watching him.”

King's eyes narrowed.

My mother continued.

“He gave me that strap the night before he died. He said if anything happened to him, I was never to open it unless someone came looking for the camera.”

I could barely breathe.

“What was inside?”

“I don't know.”

“You never opened it?”

“No.”

“Mom, why didn't you tell me?”

“Because he made me promise. Because I was terrified. Because you were eight years old.”

Her voice cracked.

“And because the man who came to our house after the funeral told me if I ever talked about Daniel's work, you would be next.”

The room became silent.

“What man?” I whispered.

My mother took a ragged breath.