Chapter 4 4

Marco couldn't sleep. His mother's evasive answers about the gun and ledger kept replaying in his mind. Something was seriously wrong-he'd never seen her like that, hands trembling as she folded dish towels over and over, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Your father will explain everything when he gets home," she'd said.

But it was almost midnight now, and his father still wasn't home.

Marco rolled onto his side, checking his phone again. No missed calls, no texts. He'd tried calling his dad three times, but each call went straight to voicemail. The last time his father had been this late without calling was never. Even on business trips, his father maintained near-obsessive communication habits, texting arrival confirmations and goodnight messages without fail.

A car's headlights swept across his bedroom ceiling as it turned into their driveway. Marco jumped up, relief flooding through him, and rushed to the window. But it wasn't his father's sleek black Audi. Instead, a nondescript sedan he didn't recognize pulled up to their house and then backed out almost immediately, disappearing down the street.

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He slipped out of his room and down the hall to his parents' bedroom. The door was slightly open, and he could hear his mother's voice, low and urgent.

"...I don't care about protocol, Carlo. I need to know where he is."

Marco pushed the door more open. His mother sat on the edge of the bed, her back to him, phone pressed to her ear.

"It's been six hours," she continued. "If something happened, I have a right to-" She stopped, listening. "No, Marco doesn't know anything. I've made sure of that." Another pause. "Fine. Call me the moment you hear something."

She ended the call and sat motionless for a long moment before her shoulders began to shake. The sound of her muffled sobs made Marco's stomach clench.

He retreated silently to his room, mind racing. Who was Carlo? What protocol? And most importantly, what didn't he know?

Sleep was impossible now. Marco opened his laptop and hesitated before typing his father's name into the search bar: Vincent Ricci insurance fraud. Nothing relevant appeared. He tried several more combinations-Vincent Ricci arrest, Ricci family business investigation-but found only articles about local insurance industry awards and a few mentions of charitable donations.

Whatever was happening, it wasn't public knowledge.

Morning came, and still no sign of his father. Marco showered and dressed for school automatically, the lack of sleep making his movements sluggish. His mother was already dressed in a fitted pantsuit, her hair was styled flawlessly, and her makeup was flawless when he walked into the kitchen. Everything would have appeared normal except for the redness around her eyes and the third cup of coffee she was holding.

"You don't have to go to school today," she said, her voice surprisingly steady.

"Where's Dad?" Marco asked directly.

"He had to extend his trip. Business complications." The lie hung between them.

"Mom, I found a gun in his desk. And that ledger... those aren't insurance clients, are they?"

She placed her coffee cup in the sink with deliberate care. "I need you to trust me right now, Marco. There are things about your father's work that are... complicated. But everything he does, he does for this family."

"Is he in trouble?"

"No." The answer came too quickly. "He's handling a situation."

"Then why were you crying last night? Who's Carlo?"

Her composure flickered. "You were listening."

"I was worried."

She crossed the kitchen and placed her hands on his shoulders. Up close, he could see the fine lines of strain around her eyes, the slight tremor in her usually steady hands.

"Your father will be home soon, and we'll explain everything. Until then, I need you to go about your life normally. Go to school. Don't discuss our family business with anyone."

"But-"

"Marco." Her grip tightened. "Promise me."

Something in her voice-a note of fear he'd never heard before-made him nod.

"I promise."

She relaxed slightly. "Good. Take my car today. I'm working from home."

Marco knew she was watching from the window as he backed out of the driveway. He made a show of turning in the direction of Westlake High but pulled into a coffee shop parking lot two blocks away. He couldn't concentrate on calculus and chemistry when his entire life felt like it was unraveling.

He texted Ellie.

Can't make it to school today. Family stuff. Can you get notes from Reynolds' lecture?

Her reply came almost immediately: Sure. Everything ok?

Before he could respond, another text appeared.

Want to talk about it? I'm at Lighthouse Café. Ditched first period.

Marco stared at his phone. Ellie Lia, perfect student with a spotless attendance record, was skipping class? The day was getting stranger by the minute.

Be there in 5.

The café was nearly empty at this hour. Ellie sat in a corner booth, two cups already on the table. Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, her expression somber as she watched him approach.

"I got you a latte," she said, pushing a cup toward him.

"Thanks." He slid into the booth across from her. "Since when do you skip calculus?"

"Since I saw a police car parked across from your house this morning."

Marco felt the blood drain from his face. "What?"

"I live three streets over from you. I walk past your house on my way to school." She stirred her tea, not meeting his eyes. "Unmarked car, but definitely police. Two men watching your house."

"How could you tell they were cops?"

She gave a half-smile that didn't reach her eyes. "My father taught me how to spot them. Says it's an important life skill."

Something about the way she said it made Marco wonder what kind of business her father was in that made recognizing undercover police a necessity.

"Marco." Ellie's voice dropped lower. "What's going on? And don't say 'nothing.' I've known you since freshman year."

He wanted to tell her-about the gun, the ledger, his father's absence, his mother's fear. But his promise to his mother echoed in his mind. Don't discuss our family business with anyone.

"It's complicated," he said finally. "My dad's away, and my mom's worried. That's all I can say right now."

Ellie studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay. Just... be careful."

"What does that mean?"

"It means-" She stopped, glancing at the café entrance as the bell jingled.

A tall man in an expensive suit walked in, his eyes scanning the room before landing on their table. Marco had never seen him before, but something about his calculated movements felt familiar. The man nodded slightly at Ellie, then took a seat at the counter, his back to them but his posture alert.

"I have to go," Ellie said, gathering her things.

"Who's that guy?"

"My ride." She hesitated, then leaned across the table. "Whatever's happening with your family, Marco, don't trust anyone you don't have to. Not even me."

Before he could respond, she was gone, following the suited man out of the café. Marco watched through the window as they got into a black SUV with tinted windows-the kind of vehicle that screamed money and discretion.

First his father's disappearance, then the police surveillance, and now Ellie's cryptic warning. The ground beneath his feet felt increasingly unstable.

By the time Marco returned home, it was late afternoon. His mother's car was in the driveway. The front door was unlocked, and he could hear voices from the living room.

"He's just a kid, Maria said over the phone. He doesn't need to be involved in this."

"He's already involved. He found Vincent's gun."

Marco stepped into the doorway. His mother sat on the sofa, looking exhausted.

Marco greeted his greeted his mother but her responds was faint as she responded with welcome baby.