Chapter 5 – The Photograph in the Safe

“Burn the house down?” Vincent repeated, the words hitting the room like a physical blow.

Paulie nodded grimly. “There’s at least twenty of them, Boss. They’ve surrounded the perimeter. My men are holding the line at the driveway, but we’re outnumbered three to one.”

Maria clutched Leo tighter against her chest. The little boy stirred, his sleepy eyes blinking open, terrified by the sudden noise and tension.

“Vinnie, they’re going to kill him,” Maria sobbed, backing toward the staircase. “They won’t let Russo blood stay with a Moretti.”

“Nobody is dying tonight,” Vincent said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He turned to me. “Ellie, the safe in the study. Go.”

I didn’t hesitate. After thirty years, you learn that survival means moving when you’re told.

I ran down the long hallway toward Vincent’s wood-paneled study, my heels clicking frantically against the hardwood floor. I threw open the heavy mahogany doors and rushed to the large painting behind the desk. I pulled it aside, revealing the steel wall safe.

My fingers flew over the dial. 3-14-16. The date we moved into this house.

The heavy door clicked and swung open.

Vincent had told me to grab the emergency go-bags and the cash. But as I reached past the stacks of banded bills, my hand brushed against a manila folder tucked into the very back of the safe. It was sealed with red wax.

I pulled the bags out, but something made me grab the folder. The wax seal was cracked.

I opened it.

Inside was a series of surveillance photographs. But they weren’t of Vincent’s enemies.

They were of me.

Me at the grocery store. Me walking our golden retriever. Me sitting on the back patio reading a book.

And drawn over my face in every single photograph was a thick, red crosshair.

My blood ran cold. These were the photos Russo had sent Vincent five years ago. The threat.

But as I flipped to the last photo in the stack, my breath stopped.

It was a picture taken tonight.

It showed me standing by the brass lamp in the living room, holding the cord. The time stamp at the bottom corner read 8:15 PM. Just thirty minutes ago.

Russo’s men hadn’t just breached the gates. They had been watching through the windows before Bianca even arrived.

I flipped the photo over. Written on the back in sharp, black marker was one sentence:

When she turns off the lamp, take the shot.

The room spun.

“When she turns off the lamp.”

Vincent hadn’t brought Bianca here to break my heart. He hadn’t asked me to keep the lamp on because he was nostalgic.

He asked me to keep the lamp on because he knew the moment the room went dark, the sniper outside would pull the trigger.

I heard footsteps running down the hall.

Vincent burst into the study, grabbing the heavy steel shutters on the windows and slamming them shut, plunging the room into shadows.

“Did you get the bags?” he asked, breathing heavily.

I stood there, holding the photograph. I looked up at my husband. The man I had accused of abandoning me. The man who had stood in our living room, breaking his own heart to keep me standing in the light.

“You knew,” I whispered, holding up the photograph. “You knew they had a sniper.”

Vincent stopped. He saw the photo in my hand. He closed his eyes, a look of profound exhaustion crossing his face.

“I intercepted their communications this morning,” Vincent said softly. “Russo ordered the hit. If I didn’t sign the estate over tonight, he was going to take you from me. The sniper was instructed to wait for the signal. The dark room.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” I cried, tears spilling over. “Why bring her?”

“Because if I told you to run, they would have shot you in the driveway,” Vincent said, stepping closer. “I needed to buy time. I needed Paulie to position our men in the woods to take out the sniper. Bringing Bianca was the only way to stall Russo. He thought she was handling the negotiation.”

I looked at him. The gray at his temples, the tired lines around his eyes. He had absorbed every ounce of my hatred tonight, just to keep me breathing for one more hour.

Before I could say another word, the deafening sound of shattered glass echoed from the front of the house.

Followed immediately by the terrifying, rapid rat-tat-tat of automatic gunfire.

“They’re in,” Vincent roared.

He grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the massive oak bookshelf on the far wall. He reached behind a row of leather-bound encyclopedias and pulled a hidden lever.

With a heavy groan, the bookshelf swung inward, revealing a dark, narrow staircase leading down into the earth.

“Move!” Vincent yelled over the sound of splintering wood.

Paulie ran into the study, pushing Maria and the crying boy ahead of him.

“Go, go, go!” Paulie shouted, laying down suppressing fire toward the hallway.

I stumbled into the dark passageway. Maria followed, clutching Leo. Vincent pushed us down the stairs, but he didn’t follow.

He stayed at the top of the stairs, holding his weapon.

“Vincent, come on!” I screamed.

He looked down at me. The love in his eyes was so absolute, so pure, it broke my heart into a million pieces.

“I have to close the door from the outside, Ellie,” Vincent smiled sadly. “Otherwise, they’ll find you.”

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