Chapter 4 – THE TICKING IN THE WALL

The cold air rushing up from the hidden staircase smelled of damp earth and old paper.

Luca didn’t wait for his men. He drew a heavy, matte-black pistol from his jacket and descended into the dark. I followed close behind, the flashlight trembling in my hand.

“Stay behind me, Emily,” he ordered softly.

The stairs ended in a small basement room I never knew existed under my childhood home.

The flashlight beam swept across a concrete floor. In the center of the room sat a single iron hospital bed. Beside it was an IV stand, empty fluid bags discarded on the floor.

My heart hammered.

The bed was empty.

The blankets were tossed aside, as if someone had left in a hurry.

“No,” Luca whispered, the gun lowering slightly. “No, we’re too late.”

I walked toward a small wooden table near the bed. On it sat a gold pocket watch. It was ticking loudly in the suffocating silence of the room.

I picked it up. “Mr. Moretti.”

He turned, the flashlight illuminating my face.

“Look,” I said, pointing to the inside of the open watch case.

There was a fresh Polaroid photograph tucked inside.

Luca stepped closer, his breath hitching.

It was Elena.

She looked terrifyingly frail, her dark hair lank, her cheekbones sharp. But she was alive. And she was holding up a copy of yesterday’s Chicago Tribune.

“She was here,” Luca choked out, his thumb lightly grazing the glossy surface of the photo. “Yesterday.”

“Look at the back of the photo,” I said.

Luca turned it over.

Written in neat, sharp cursive were four words: Tick tock, Luca. — V

“Vanessa,” Luca growled, his grip on the photo tightening until the edges bent. “She knew we would figure it out. She’s playing a game.”

“Sir,” one of his men called out from the corner of the basement. “You need to see this.”

We rushed over. The man was holding his flashlight over a large, iron grate set into the floor. It looked like an old drainage pipe.

Tied to the iron bars of the grate was a piece of ripped fabric.

It was a piece of a red dress.

The exact same color as the gown Vanessa was wearing tonight.

“She didn’t just know we’d figure it out,” I said, my stomach twisting into a cold knot. “She was here today.”

Luca stared at the red fabric. A terrifying realization dawned on his face.

He grabbed his phone and dialed.

“Vincenzo,” Luca shouted into the phone. “Check the study. Now.”

There was a pause. The ticking of the pocket watch in my hand seemed to grow louder.

“Boss,” Vincenzo’s voice crackled through the speaker, breathless and panicked. “The study is empty. The window is broken. She’s gone.”

Luca slammed his fist against the concrete wall.

“She wasn’t trying to hide Elena from us,” I said, the horrific truth snapping into place. “She led us here. To get you out of the mansion.”

Luca’s eyes widened. “Isabella.”

He sprinted for the stairs.

I dropped the watch and ran after him, my lungs burning as we scrambled up into the old house and out to the street.

The black SUV was still there, engine idling. But the two men Luca had left outside were slumped on the pavement.

Luca shoved the driver aside and got behind the wheel. I jumped into the passenger seat. We tore through the Chicago streets, ignoring red lights, the engine roaring like a wounded animal.

When we skidded through the gates of the Moretti mansion, the front doors were wide open.

We ran inside. The house was dead silent.

“Isabella!” Luca roared, taking the stairs two at a time.

I ran down the hall toward Elena’s bedroom. The door was open.

The armchair was empty. Rosa was gone.

And on the floor, sitting directly in the center of the Persian rug, was Isabella’s favorite stuffed bear.

Pinned to the bear’s chest with a kitchen knife was a train ticket to Union Station.

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