Chapter 7 – THE TUNNEL OF SECRETS

I dropped to my knees in the cramped, muddy tunnel, my hands shaking as I reached out into the absolute darkness.

Soft fur brushed against my fingers.

The calico mother cat pressed her head into my palm, letting out a weak, desperate purr.

She was soaking wet, shivering violently, and her left back leg was bandaged with a piece of torn, bloody fabric.

“Oh, you brave girl,” I whispered, tears filling my eyes as I gently pulled her against my chest.

Daniel hadn’t failed. The grounds manager had risked his life to smuggle her out of the greenhouse and hide her in this forgotten tunnel before Vanessa’s men caught him.

She wasn’t dead. And if she survived, maybe there was hope for all of us.

I unbuttoned my thin cardigan, wrapped the cat securely against my body, and began crawling through the narrow dirt passage.

The tunnel smelled of mildew and old earth. It felt like a tomb.

“Marco?” I whispered into the earpiece. “Marco, can you hear me?”

Nothing but static.

I had to move faster. Every second I wasted in the dirt was a second Vanessa got closer to an airplane with Emma.

After what felt like an eternity, the dirt floor turned to cold stone.

I hit a dead end. A solid brick wall.

I frantically ran my hands over the bricks in the pitch black, searching for a lever, a button, anything.

My fingers brushed against a rusted iron ring set deep into the mortar.

I pulled with all my strength.

With a heavy, grinding groan, a section of the brick wall swung inward.

Dim light flooded my vision.

I crawled out into the massive, climate-controlled wine cellar of the Moretti mansion.

I was inside.

I gently set the mother cat down in a safe corner behind a rack of vintage Bordeaux. “Stay here,” I whispered. “I’ll come back for you.”

I crept up the spiral staircase leading to the main floor.

The mansion was terrifyingly quiet. The engagement party decorations—white roses and crystal glasses—were still scattered across the dining room, looking like a graveyard.

I slipped through the shadows toward Luca’s private study.

Two heavily armed men in black tactical gear stood outside the heavy mahogany doors.

I couldn’t fight them. I weighed barely a hundred and twenty pounds.

But I knew this house better than they did.

I backed into the kitchen and grabbed a silver serving tray and a heavy crystal decanter filled with whiskey.

I took a deep breath, smoothing down my ruined maid’s uniform, trying to look terrified and obedient.

I walked out of the kitchen, letting my heels click loudly against the marble floor.

The two guards instantly raised their weapons, pointing laser sights at my chest.

“Stop right there,” the taller one ordered.

I froze, letting my hands tremble, rattling the crystal decanter against the tray.

“P-please,” I stammered, looking down. “Ms. Bellini ordered me to bring Mr. Moretti a drink. She said he needed to sign some papers before he… before you…”

The guards exchanged a look. Vanessa hadn’t told them she locked me in a shed. They just thought I was a terrified servant following orders.

“Check her,” the tall one grunted.

The second guard patted me down roughly. Finding no weapons, he smirked.

“Go on in, sweetheart. Give the boss his last drink.”

He pushed the heavy doors open and shoved me inside.

The doors clicked shut, locking behind me.

The study was in ruins.

Bookshelves were overturned. The leather sofa was slashed.

Luca Moretti, the most feared man in Chicago, was tied to his own heavy oak desk chair.

His face was bruised, his lip was split and bleeding, but his dark eyes were burning with a quiet, lethal rage.

Standing over him was Vanessa’s head of security, a man named Russo, holding a signed document and a silenced pistol.

“Well, well,” Russo sneered, turning toward me. “Room service.”

Luca looked up. When he saw me, his fierce expression fractured into absolute panic.

“Rachel,” Luca gasped, struggling against his zip-ties. “What are you doing here? You were supposed to run!”

“I brought the whiskey,” I whispered, stepping closer to Russo.

“Set it on the desk,” Russo ordered, waving the gun carelessly. “The boss just signed his life away. A drink is the least we can do.”

I walked to the desk. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the tray.

I looked at Luca. He was staring at my bleeding hands.

“Rachel, get out of here,” Luca ordered, his voice raw.

“I can’t,” I whispered.

I set the tray down.

I picked up the heavy crystal decanter.

And instead of pouring a glass, I spun around with everything I had and smashed the solid crystal directly into Russo’s face.

The glass shattered on impact.

Russo roared in pain, dropping the gun as he stumbled backward, clutching his bleeding face.

I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed a sharp letter opener from the desk and slashed through the thick zip-ties binding Luca’s wrists.

Luca moved with terrifying speed.

He lunged out of the chair, tackling Russo to the ground before the man could recover. With one brutal strike to the temple, Russo was unconscious.

Luca stood up, breathing heavily, wiping blood from his mouth.

He picked up Russo’s gun and checked the magazine.

Then he turned to me.

“Where is Emma?” he demanded.

“Vanessa took her,” I choked out, tears spilling down my face. “She’s taking her to an airstrip. They’re flying to Switzerland.”

Luca’s eyes went completely dark. It was the look of a man who was about to burn the world to the ground.

“Switzerland,” Luca repeated quietly.

“I found a ticket in Emma’s room,” I rushed out. “An old ticket. With Elena’s name on it. Luca… Vanessa isn’t just stealing your money. She’s doing something with your wife.”

Luca stopped.

He looked at me, a profound, agonizing sorrow breaking through his anger.

“My wife isn’t in Switzerland, Rachel,” Luca whispered, his voice cracking.

He walked over to the safe behind his desk, spun the dial, and pulled out a stack of medical files.

“My wife is in a psychiatric facility in upstate New York. And Vanessa is the one who put her there.”