Chapter 4 – THE VAULT OF SECRETS

The man in the white suit was Don Carlo DeLuca. Serena’s father.

He stood in the doorway of the Ricci mansion as if he already owned it. Behind him, a dozen armed men filtered into the grand foyer.

Matteo didn’t raise his gun. With a dozen sniper lasers focused on his chest, firing would be suicide.

“Carlo,” Matteo said smoothly, masking his rage. “You’re trespassing.”

Carlo chuckled. He tossed the blue music box onto the sofa.

“I’m merely collecting my daughter,” Carlo said. “And tying up a loose end. You see, a man who cannot control his own household is unfit to sit at the head of the Commission.”

“Daddy!” Serena cried out. “Untie me!”

Carlo didn’t even look at her. “Silence, Serena. You were supposed to handle this quietly. Instead, you let a six-year-old and a maid dismantle a year of planning.”

He finally looked at me. His eyes were completely dead.

“Kill the maid and the boy,” Carlo ordered casually.

My heart stopped.

“NO!” Matteo roared.

Before Carlo’s men could raise their weapons, Matteo kicked the heavy oak coffee table over, shattering the crystal chandelier above us with a single gunshot.

The room plunged into darkness.

“Emma, run!” Matteo yelled.

I grabbed Oliver, sweeping him into my arms, and sprinted blindly toward the servant’s corridor. Gunfire erupted behind us, deafening in the enclosed space.

“Emma, I’m scared!” Oliver sobbed into my shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” I promised, pushing through the swinging kitchen doors. “We’re going to play hide and seek, okay? Just like we practiced.”

I knew this house better than anyone. I cleaned every inch of it. I knew which floorboards creaked and which doors locked.

I ran to the pantry and pulled the hidden lever behind the flour sacks. A heavy iron door slid open, revealing the estate’s old prohibition-era smuggling tunnels.

I shoved Oliver inside and pulled the door shut just as three of Carlo’s men burst into the kitchen.

We were in total darkness. The air smelled of damp earth and old wine.

I turned on my phone’s flashlight.

“Keep quiet, sweetie,” I whispered.

We crept down the narrow stone stairs. But as we reached the bottom, my flashlight illuminated something that shouldn’t have been there.

A heavy steel vault door.

It was slightly ajar.

Answer One, Open Two. I had worked here for ten months. Matteo had told me this tunnel led straight to the woods. He never mentioned a vault.

I pushed the heavy door open.

Inside, the room was lit by a single bare bulb.

It wasn’t a vault for money or weapons.

It was a hospital room.

A pristine white bed. IV stands. Heart monitors.

And sitting on the bedside table was a framed photograph of Oliver.

Oliver gasped. “Emma! That’s Mommy’s favorite picture!”

I walked closer. Next to the picture was a medical chart.

I read the name at the top.

Patient: Isabella Ricci.

Status: Comatose.

My brain short-circuited. Reversal. If Isabella had been hiding in this vault, in a coma, who was taking the train tomorrow?

Then, I heard a sound from the corner of the room.

A soft, rhythmic clicking.

I turned my flashlight.

Sitting in a rocking chair in the shadows was an older woman in a nurse’s uniform. She held a shotgun across her lap.

“You shouldn’t be down here, dear,” the nurse said calmly.

“Who are you?” I demanded, pushing Oliver behind me.

“I’m the one keeping her alive,” the nurse replied. She stood up, stepping into the light.

Around her neck was a delicate silver cross. The matching half to Isabella’s heart locket.

“My name is Elena,” the woman said. “Isabella is my sister. And we have a train to catch.”

Suddenly, the steel door slammed shut behind us, and the heavy locking mechanism turned.

We were trapped.

And from the other side of the door, Serena’s voice echoed through the metal.

“Burn the house down,” Serena ordered. “Let them all roast.”

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