Chapter 7 – THE ROOF

The heavy thumping of helicopter blades vibrated through the concrete walls of the panic room.

“Ten seconds,” Marco’s voice sneered over the intercom. “Breathe deep, Emily.”

But the carbon monoxide never came.

Instead, a massive explosion shook the foundation of the mansion. The red emergency lights flickered wildly. Dust rained down from the ceiling.

Over the intercom, I heard Marco shouting in Italian, followed by the deafening sound of automatic weapons.

Then, the intercom cut out to static.

Abigail clung to me, terrified. “Is it Daddy?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered, keeping us pressed against the far wall.

For ten agonizing minutes, the sounds of a literal war echoed above us. Then, sudden silence.

The heavy steel door of the panic room suddenly hissed. The electronic lock engaged with a loud clack.

Someone was opening the door from the outside.

I grabbed a heavy metal flashlight from the emergency kit, raising it like a club, stepping in front of Abigail.

The door swung outward.

Standing in the doorway, covered in dust and blood, was Luca Moretti.

Behind him stood three men in tactical gear, holding assault rifles. The estate’s hallway was a wreck of shattered glass and bullet holes.

“Daddy!” Abigail screamed.

She ran past me, throwing herself into her father’s arms.

Luca dropped his weapon, falling to his knees and burying his face in his daughter’s neck. He held her so tightly I thought he might break her, his chest heaving with silent sobs.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered fiercely. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

He looked up at me over Abigail’s shoulder. The gratitude in his dark eyes was overwhelming.

“You kept her safe,” Luca said, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Emily.”

“Marco…” I stammered, lowering the flashlight. “He was the one—”

“I know,” Luca interrupted, his expression turning to stone. “We caught him trying to slip out the back gates. He’s currently answering questions in the basement.”

Luca stood up, keeping one arm securely wrapped around Abigail. “The Bellinis tried to launch a hostile takeover tonight. They thought I was vulnerable. They were wrong.”

“Vanessa,” Abigail whispered, looking terrified. “Does she still have my bracelet?”

Luca’s eyes darkened. “Yes. She fled to her father’s private airstrip. They’re trying to leave the country. But they can’t. Because they don’t know what that bracelet actually unlocks.”

He looked at me. “Emily. You said your mother wrote that letter.”

“She did,” I said, tears filling my eyes. “Marco confessed. He paid her to do it.”

“Then we need to pay your mother a visit,” Luca said coldly. “Because if Marco hired her, he didn’t do it alone. The combination 4-9-2-1 isn’t just a random code. It’s the vault number at the downtown Federal Reserve.”

My jaw dropped. “What’s in the vault?”

“Proof,” Luca said. “Proof of who actually ordered the hit on my wife. And Vanessa needs it destroyed.”

Twenty minutes later, we were in the back of a heavily armored SUV, speeding through the dark streets of Chicago. Two decoy cars flanked us.

Abigail was asleep, her head resting on my lap, exhausted from the sheer terror of the night.

Luca sat across from us, watching me in the dim light of the streetlamps.

“You didn’t have to stay with her,” Luca said quietly. “When the power went out, you could have run.”

“I would never leave her,” I said firmly. “She’s just a little girl who misses her mother. And nobody in that house protected her. Not even you.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. I expected him to fire me on the spot.

Instead, Luca looked down at his hands.

“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I was so blinded by the business, by trying to secure our position, that I let a monster into my home. I let her measure my daughter like cattle.”

He looked up, meeting my eyes. “It won’t ever happen again. I swear it on my life.”

The SUV suddenly slammed on its brakes, throwing us forward.

The privacy glass rolled down. The new driver looked back, his face pale.

“Boss,” the driver said. “We’re at Sarah Sullivan’s apartment building.”

“And?” Luca demanded.

“And,” the driver swallowed hard, pointing out the windshield. “It’s on fire.”

I gasped, looking out the window.

The small, three-story brick apartment building on the South Side was engulfed in roaring orange flames. Sirens wailed in the distance.

“My mother!” I screamed, lunging for the door.

Luca grabbed my arm, holding me back with terrifying strength. “No! It’s a trap, Emily!”

“Let me go!” I sobbed, fighting against his grip. “She’s in there!”

Before Luca could stop me, a figure stumbled out of the burning alleyway.

It was my mother, Sarah.

She was coughing violently, leaning heavily on a metal walker. Her clothes were covered in soot, but she was alive.

She collapsed onto the sidewalk.

Luca threw the door open, his gun drawn, sweeping the alley for shooters. He signaled his men, who rushed forward and dragged my mother toward the SUV.

They shoved her into the back seat next to me.

My mother looked up, her face streaked with ash and tears. When she saw me, she began to weep.

“Emily,” she gasped. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Who set the fire, Sarah?” Luca demanded, aiming his gun directly at her chest.

My mother looked at the Mafia boss, absolute terror in her eyes.

“It wasn’t Vanessa,” my mother sobbed. “It was the man who actually hired Marco to kill your wife.”

Luca’s finger tightened on the trigger. “Give me a name.”

My mother took a ragged breath.

“It was your brother, Luca. It was Antonio.”

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