Chapter 5 – THE KEY TO THE PAST

The wind at Pier 44 howled off the freezing water, biting through my thin coat.

I walked alone toward the rusty warehouse. Behind me, hidden in the shadows of the shipping containers, Vincent and Thomas were moving into position.

My knees shook. I clutched the diamond ring in my left pocket and the ornate key in my right.

Two massive men with assault rifles stepped out from the warehouse door.

“Stop right there,” the taller one growled. “Who are you?”

“I… I work for Bianca,” I stammered, trying to sound exactly like a terrified maid. It wasn’t hard. “She sent me. She said the engagement is off. She sent this as proof.”

I held out the diamond ring.

The guard frowned, snatched the ring, and inspected it under the harsh yellow security light.

“Wait here,” he barked, disappearing inside.

I counted the seconds. One. Two. Three.

Thomas said three minutes.

Suddenly, a terrifying scream echoed from inside the warehouse. It wasn’t a man’s scream.

It was Leo.

I didn’t wait. I bolted past the remaining guard before he could raise his weapon, throwing my weight against the heavy metal door.

I stumbled into the cavernous warehouse.

In the center of the room, tied to a wooden chair, was Leo. He was crying, a small cut on his cheek.

Standing over him was an older man with silver hair and cold, dead eyes. Uncle Paulie.

And sitting in a wheelchair in the shadows behind them… was a man I recognized from the portraits in the Romano mansion.

Vincent’s father. Don Roberto Romano.

He was alive.

“Well, well,” Paulie chuckled, turning toward me. “Bianca sent a maid to do a man’s job?”

“Let the boy go,” I said, my voice trembling.

The man in the wheelchair leaned forward. His face was scarred, his body frail, but his eyes were sharp.

“Who are you, girl?” Roberto rasped.

I pulled the ornate key from my pocket and held it up.

“Rose sent this.”

Roberto froze. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Paulie narrowed his eyes. “What is that?”

“It’s the key to the lockbox,” Roberto whispered, his hands shaking on the wheels of his chair. “The one she swore she threw in the river.”

“She didn’t,” I said.

Before Paulie could react, the back doors of the warehouse blew open with a deafening crash.

Vincent and Thomas stormed in, guns raised.

“Get away from my son!” Vincent roared.

Paulie grabbed Leo, putting a gun to the little boy’s head.

“Drop your weapons!” Paulie screamed. “Or the kid dies!”

Vincent froze. Thomas froze.

But Roberto looked at the key in my hand, then at Thomas.

“Nico?” the old man breathed.

Thomas lowered his gun, his face twisted in decades of pain. “Hello, Father.”

“Shoot them, Roberto!” Paulie yelled. “We planned this! We finish the bloodline tonight!”

But Roberto kept staring at the key.

“She kept it,” Roberto whispered, a tear slipping down his scarred cheek.

He slowly reached under his blanket, pulled out a revolver, and pointed it.

Not at Vincent. Not at Thomas.

He pointed it squarely at Paulie’s chest.

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