Chapter 2 – THE WATER ON THE FLOOR

The silence in the kitchen was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic dripping of river water falling from Thomas’s ruined suit onto the pristine tile.

My heart hammered against my cracked ribs, every beat sending a sharp spike of pain through my chest.

Thomas aimed the suppressed pistol at Mrs. Carter, then shifted it toward me. His eyes were dead, devoid of any humanity. He wasn’t a driver. He was a professional hitman.

“Vanessa’s father?” Mrs. Carter whispered, her voice shaking with terror. “Don Bellini ordered you to kill Teresa?”

Thomas let out a short, humorless laugh. “Don Bellini is tired of waiting for Luca to sign the merger papers. Vanessa was taking too long playing house. Killing the mother removes the primary obstacle to the marriage and sends a very clear message about who really holds the power in this city.”

“You drove her into the river,” I breathed, the horrifying reality settling over me.

“I jumped out before it hit the water,” Thomas corrected casually, as if discussing the weather. “The doors were child-locked. She didn’t stand a chance.”

Mrs. Carter let out a muffled sob, covering her mouth with her hands.

“But why are you here?” I demanded, forcing myself to stand tall despite the agonizing pain in my side. “If the job is done, why come back to the house?”

Thomas looked at me, his cold eyes narrowing slightly.

“Because Vanessa is a loose end,” Thomas stated. “Don Bellini knows his daughter is a weak, hysterical liability. The moment Luca interrogates her, she’ll fold and tell him everything she knows about her father’s operations. My orders are to ensure she never speaks to Luca again.”

He raised the gun, pointing it squarely at my head.

“Where is she?” Thomas demanded.

“I don’t know,” I lied smoothly, my mind racing. I knew exactly where she was. Daniel had locked her in the wine cellar, a heavily fortified room beneath the kitchen.

Thomas stepped closer, the smell of stagnant river water and ozone rolling off him.

“You’re a terrible liar, Emily,” Thomas said softly. “I know Luca didn’t let her leave. Where is she?”

“She’s gone!” Mrs. Carter cried out, desperately trying to protect the house, even if she hated Vanessa. “Luca threw her out! She left with the guests!”

Thomas didn’t blink. He shifted his aim and fired.

The suppressed pistol made a dull thwip sound.

Mrs. Carter screamed as the bullet shattered a ceramic vase on the counter, inches from her head. Shards of pottery exploded across the kitchen.

“Next one goes in her knee,” Thomas warned, turning back to me. “Where is the wine cellar key?”

My blood ran cold. He knew the layout of the house. He knew exactly where Luca would stash a prisoner.

I looked at the counter where the heavy ring of master keys lay.

“Get them,” Thomas ordered.

I slowly walked toward the counter, every step sending fiery pain through my ribs. I picked up the heavy brass keyring.

“Down the hall,” Thomas gestured with the gun. “You’re going to open the door for me. If there are guards outside, tell them Luca sent you to get a bottle. If you scream, I kill the old woman.”

I nodded, clutching the keys tightly.

I walked down the long, dimly lit corridor toward the basement stairs. Thomas walked right behind me, the barrel of the gun pressing uncomfortably into my spine.

We reached the bottom of the stairs. The heavy oak door of the wine cellar stood at the end of the hall.

There were no guards.

Luca had taken nearly the entire security detail with him to the river, assuming the threat was external. He never imagined the assassin would return to the scene of the crime.

“Open it,” Thomas whispered.

I fumbled with the keys, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I found the large brass key and slid it into the lock. I turned it.

The heavy bolt clicked.

I pushed the door open.

The wine cellar was massive, lined with thousands of expensive bottles, dimly illuminated by low-hanging Edison bulbs. The air was cool and smelled of aged oak and damp earth.

Sitting on the floor in the center of the room, her red silk gown ruined, mascara running down her face in dark streaks, was Vanessa.

She looked up as the door opened, expecting to see Luca.

Instead, she saw me, followed immediately by her driver.

Vanessa’s eyes widened in profound relief.

“Thomas!” Vanessa gasped, scrambling to her feet. “Oh, thank God. You came back for me. My father sent you to get me out, didn’t he? We have to go before Luca gets back!”

Thomas walked into the cellar, stepping past me. He didn’t lower his gun.

“Yes, Vanessa,” Thomas said calmly. “Your father sent me.”

Vanessa rushed toward him, reaching out to grab his arm. “Did you finish it? Is the old woman dead?”

“She’s dead,” Thomas confirmed.

“Good,” Vanessa breathed, a wicked, triumphant smile spreading across her tear-stained face. “Luca will be devastated. He’ll need me more than ever now. We just have to convince him it was a tragic accident.”

Thomas stopped walking. He looked at Vanessa with a mixture of pity and absolute disgust.

“You really are stupid, Vanessa,” Thomas said softly.

Vanessa stopped smiling. She looked at the gun in his hand, finally realizing it was aimed directly at her chest.

“Thomas… what are you doing?” she asked, her voice trembling, taking a slow step backward.

“Your father realizes that you are incapable of handling the Moretti empire,” Thomas explained, his tone completely flat. “You botched the poisoning. You locked a caterer in a shed where she was easily found. You left a trail a mile wide.”

“I was trying to help him!” Vanessa shrieked, panic finally setting in.

“You are a liability,” Thomas stated coldly. “Your father ordered me to tie up all loose ends tonight. The mother. The caterer. The maid.”

Thomas paused, looking Vanessa dead in the eye.

“And you.”

Vanessa screamed, turning to run deeper into the wine cellar.

Thomas didn’t flinch. He raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

Thwip.

Vanessa cried out, stumbling forward as a bullet grazed her shoulder. She crashed into a massive wine rack, sending dozens of expensive bottles shattering onto the stone floor, spraying dark red wine everywhere.

She collapsed into the glass and the wine, sobbing hysterically, clutching her bleeding shoulder.

Thomas walked slowly toward her, preparing to finish the job.

He had completely forgotten about me standing by the door.

I looked around frantically. I needed a weapon. I needed a distraction.

My eyes landed on the heavy, iron power switch box mounted on the wall near the entrance. It controlled the climate system and the lighting for the entire cellar.

I didn’t think. I just acted.

I grabbed a heavy bottle of champagne from the nearest rack, raised it high above my head, and brought it smashing down onto the power box with every ounce of strength I had.

The glass shattered. The iron box sparked violently.

The entire wine cellar was instantly plunged into pitch-black darkness.

“What the hell?” Thomas yelled, blinded by the sudden loss of light.

I dropped to the floor, ignoring the agonizing, burning pain in my ribs, and crawled silently under a bottom shelf of the wine racks.

The darkness was absolute. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face.

But I could hear everything.

I heard Thomas cursing, his heavy footsteps crunching on the broken glass as he tried to find his bearings.

And then, I heard a sound that made my blood run completely cold.

It wasn’t Thomas. It wasn’t Vanessa crying.

It was a slow, deliberate tapping sound.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It was coming from the very back of the wine cellar, near the old brick foundation wall.

“Who’s there?” Thomas demanded, aiming his gun blindly into the dark.

The tapping stopped.

A voice echoed through the pitch-black cellar. A voice that belonged to a woman who was supposed to be at the bottom of the Chicago River.

“You should have checked the back seat, Thomas,” Teresa Moretti whispered.

Share