Chapter 3 – The Child’s Drawing

The armored SUV tore through the rainy streets of New York.

I stared at the crumpled drawing in my hands.

Mommy helped him.

My chest tightened. Lauren hadn’t just been blackmailed. She was actively involved in handing her own daughter over to a monster.

“Mr. Russo,” I said softly over the roar of the engine.

Matteo glanced at me from the driver’s seat. His face was a mask of cold fury.

I handed him the drawing.

He kept one hand on the steering wheel and inspected the paper.

“Where did you find this?”

“It was in my coat pocket. But I haven’t worn this coat since yesterday morning, when I was cleaning the guest suite.”

Matteo’s grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white.

“Lauren’s suite.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lily must have hidden it there before Lauren moved her to the hotel.”

Matteo tossed the drawing onto the dashboard.

“Lauren is going to burn for this.”

We drove deep into East New York.

The glittering skyscrapers faded into cracked pavement, flickering streetlights, and rusted chain-link fences.

We pulled up half a block away from the Arcadia Bowling Alley.

The neon sign sparked against the rain, just as it had in the photo.

Matteo checked his weapon again.

He looked at me.

“Stay in the car, Maggie. Lock the doors.”

“No,” I said firmly.

Matteo paused, surprised.

“I know the layout,” I insisted. “There’s a back service tunnel that leads directly to the boiler room. If Victor is keeping her hidden, he won’t have guards in the flooded basement.”

Matteo studied my face.

I was a housekeeper. But tonight, I was the only advantage he had.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered.

We moved through the relentless rain.

I led him through an alleyway choked with garbage, pulling aside a piece of rusted corrugated metal to reveal a dark, narrow stairwell.

We descended into the pitch-black basement.

The smell of mildew and stale cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air.

We crept up the service stairs toward the abandoned bowling lanes.

Matteo raised his gun, moving with terrifying silence.

We reached the top of the stairs and peeked through a crack in the door.

The bowling alley was empty.

No guards. No Victor.

Just a single folding chair sitting in the middle of a dusty bowling lane.

Resting on the chair was Rose’s missing pearl necklace.

Matteo pushed the door open.

We stepped into the cavernous room.

“It’s a trap,” Matteo whispered.

Suddenly, a massive steel door slammed shut behind us.

The heavy thud echoed through the empty building.

We spun around.

Standing on the balcony above the bowling lanes was a tall, heavily scarred man in a leather jacket.

Victor Rossi.

He smiled, looking down at Matteo.

“I knew you’d come, Russo,” Victor called out, his voice echoing. “But I didn’t think you’d bring the help.”

Matteo aimed his weapon at Victor’s chest.

“Where is the girl, Victor?”

Victor laughed.

“Lily is safe. For now. But this isn’t about the kid, Matteo. This is about what your father took from me twenty years ago.”

“My father took nothing from you that you didn’t lose yourself.”

Victor leaned over the railing.

“He took my territory! He took my pride! And now, I’m taking his legacy.”

Victor held up a small remote control.

“I left a present for you under that chair.”

Matteo looked down at the folding chair in the middle of the lane.

Beneath it sat a heavy canvas duffel bag. A red light blinked steadily on its side.

A bomb.

“You have three minutes, Matteo,” Victor sneered. “Sign the estate transfer on your phone and email it to my lawyer, or you and the maid burn.”

Victor turned and walked away, locking the balcony door behind him.

Matteo rushed to the bag.

He unzipped it slightly, exposing the complex wiring of a heavy explosive.

“We can’t disarm this,” Matteo said, his voice entirely calm. “And the steel doors are magnetically sealed.”

I looked around frantically.

My eyes landed on an old, rusted ventilation grate near the ceiling.

“The vents,” I pointed. “They connect to the old laundry chute. We can crawl out.”

Matteo didn’t hesitate.

He dragged a heavy wooden table under the grate.

He lifted me up. I kicked the rusted metal grate until it bent backward, scraping my hands, but the opening was wide enough.

I pulled myself into the narrow shaft.

Matteo grabbed the edge and hauled his muscular frame up just as the red light on the bomb began blinking rapidly.

“Crawl!” Matteo yelled.

We scrambled through the suffocating dust of the ductwork.

Ten seconds later, the bowling alley exploded behind us.

The shockwave blasted through the vent, throwing us out the other side into an alleyway just as the building collapsed in a roar of fire and brick.

We hit the wet pavement hard.

I gasped for air, coughing up dust.

Matteo grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet.

We were bruised, covered in soot, but alive.

Matteo looked at the burning building.

His eyes were completely hollow.

“Victor didn’t want the estate,” Matteo whispered.

I looked at him, confused.

“What?”

Matteo reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

He showed me the screen.

It was a text from his head of security at the mansion.

Sir. The guards have been drugged. Victor’s men are inside the gates. They’re heading for your mother.

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