Chapter 6 – THE GRANDFATHER CLOCK

“I can do it, Soph.”

I spun around. Leo was gripping the armrests of his wheelchair, his jaw set in a stubborn line that looked terrifyingly like my own.

“Leo, no. It’s dark in there. You don’t know who’s upstairs—”

“I don’t want to die in a box,” my twelve-year-old brother interrupted, his voice shaking but resolute. He looked at Matteo. “If I find the book, how do I get it to the cops?”

Matteo unclipped his encrypted satellite phone from his belt.

“There’s a panic button on the back of this phone. Red. You hold it for three seconds. It sends an SOS and my exact GPS coordinates directly to the FBI task force that’s been trying to take Marcus Sterling down for ten years. But they won’t raid the house without probable cause. You have to find the ledger, press the button, and hide until they breach the doors.”

“I won’t let you go alone,” I sobbed, gripping Leo’s face.

“Sophie,” Matteo said softly, placing a hand on my back. “He’s saving our lives.”

Tears streamed down my face as I helped lift my brother out of his chair. His legs hung uselessly, but his arms were corded with muscle from months of grueling therapy.

We lowered him to the floor beside the open grate.

Matteo handed Leo the tactical flashlight and the phone.

“The grandfather clock is tall, dark mahogany,” Matteo instructed, crouching beside the boy. “It’s in the storage room directly at the end of this pipe. The ledger is hidden behind the pendulum.”

Leo nodded. He clicked on the flashlight, put the phone in his pocket, and dragged himself forward using his forearms.

“Leo, wait!” I cried out.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my grandmother’s small, wooden rosary. I always carried it when I was anxious. I wrapped it twice around Leo’s small wrist.

“God is with you,” I whispered, kissing his forehead. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Soph. See ya in a few.”

With a grunt of effort, Leo pulled himself into the narrow pipe.

We watched the beam of his flashlight slowly fade into the darkness as he dragged his paralyzed legs behind him. The scrape of his jacket against the metal pipe echoed back to us, slowly growing fainter.

Then, there was nothing but silence.

I collapsed against the wall, burying my face in my hands.

Matteo sat down on the concrete floor next to me. He didn’t try to offer empty platitudes. He just sat shoulder-to-shoulder with me in the dim emergency light of his phone screen.

“He’s a strong kid,” Matteo said quietly after several minutes.

“He’s just a boy,” I whispered.

“He fights harder than most men I know.” Matteo looked at his hands. “I built an empire of fear to protect myself from the monsters who killed my family. And in the end, it’s a twelve-year-old boy in a wheelchair who has to save me.”

I looked at him. Strip away the tailored suit, the wealth, and the terrifying reputation, and Matteo Ricci was just a man deeply wounded by betrayal. First by Marcus, then by his own men, and now… by the sister he never knew he had.

“Camille,” I said softly. “What will you do about her?”

Matteo closed his eyes.

“She’s blood. She’s the only family I have left.” He swallowed hard. “Marcus turned her into a weapon. He made her believe my mother threw her away like trash. If she knew the truth… if she read that drawing…”

“She still tried to trick you into marriage to steal your empire,” I reminded him gently.

“Because it’s the only way she knew how to survive Marcus,” Matteo replied.

Suddenly, a loud, metallic CLANG echoed from the heavy steel door of the bunker.

I jumped.

Matteo was on his feet in a microsecond, his gun raised, placing his body squarely between me and the door.

CLANG. CLANG.

Sparks began to shower from the edges of the steel frame.

“They’re using a blowtorch,” Matteo said, his voice dead calm. “They’re cutting the hinges.”

“How long do we have?” I panicked, rushing to Eleanor’s cot to shield the sleeping old woman.

“Five minutes.” Matteo checked his magazine. He only had six bullets left.

“Leo hasn’t triggered the FBI signal yet,” I said, staring at the empty pipe on the floor.

Matteo didn’t look back. He kept his gun aimed steadily at the door.

“Sophie,” he said, his tone softening in a way I had never heard before. “If they get through this door before the FBI arrives… I want you to know something.”

“Don’t talk like that,” I pleaded, tears blurring my vision.

“I spent my whole life surrounded by people who wanted something from me,” Matteo continued, never taking his eyes off the showering sparks. “Money, power, protection. But you… you just wanted to keep an old woman from being embarrassed at a dinner party.”

He briefly glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that took my breath away.

“You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever met, Sophie.”

Before I could respond, the heavy steel hinges gave way with a deafening screech.

The massive door crashed inward, hitting the concrete floor in a cloud of smoke and dust.

Through the haze, three men stepped into the bunker, holding assault rifles.

At the center of them stood Vince. Arthur’s son. The traitor.

“End of the line, Boss,” Vince sneered, raising his weapon.

But behind Vince, standing in the shadows of the hallway, was someone else.

A woman in a ruined champagne-colored gown, holding a silver pocket watch in her trembling hand.

Camille.

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