Chapter 8 – THE FEDERAL RESERVE

The name echoed in the armored SUV like a bomb detonating.

Antonio.

Luca’s older brother. The man who had gracefully stepped aside to let Luca run the family business. The man who supposedly managed their legitimate charities in New York.

“You’re lying,” Luca snarled, grabbing my mother by the collar of her soot-stained shirt. “Antonio loved Caroline. He introduced us!”

“He introduced you so he could control her trust fund!” my mother cried, coughing violently. “But Caroline found out. She found the embezzled accounts. Antonio hired Marco to cut her brakes before she could tell you.”

I stared at my mother, sickened. “And you knew? You sat in that car knowing she was going to die?”

My mother couldn’t look at me. “They paid me, Emily. I needed the hip surgery. I was going to be crippled. I just wanted to walk again.”

“So you let a mother die!” I screamed, tears streaming down my face. “You let Abigail grow up without her mom!”

Abigail woke up at the shouting, shrinking back against the leather seats.

Luca released my mother in disgust, sinking back into his seat. The betrayal of his own brother was almost too much to process.

“Where is Antonio now?” Luca demanded, his voice dead.

“He’s in Chicago,” my mother gasped. “He flew in tonight to finalize the Bellini merger. He used Vanessa. Once you married her, the Bellini family would absorb your assets, and Antonio would take over the syndicate.”

Luca’s eyes darkened with a terrifying, cold fury.

He pulled out his phone. “Change of plans,” he told the driver. “We aren’t going to the safe house. We’re going to the Federal Reserve.”

“Boss, it’s 2:00 AM,” the driver protested. “The bank is closed.”

“I own the bank manager,” Luca said simply.

Twenty minutes later, the SUV pulled up to the massive stone pillars of the downtown Federal Reserve.

A terrified man in a trench coat was waiting at the side entrance, holding a ring of keys. He quickly ushered us inside, past the silent security checkpoints, deep into the subterranean vaults.

We stood in front of a massive wall of steel safety deposit boxes.

Luca found box 4921.

“The bracelet,” Luca muttered. “I need the physical key.”

“Vanessa has it,” I reminded him.

Luca pulled a specialized lock-picking tool from his jacket. “Vanessa has a piece of jewelry. I have thirty years of experience.”

It took him less than three minutes to crack the biometric override and pick the secondary tumbler.

With a heavy clack, the steel box popped open.

Luca reached inside and pulled out a thick manila folder.

He opened it. Inside were bank statements, wire transfers, and a USB drive. It was a complete paper trail of Antonio stealing millions from the Moretti syndicate and funneling it to the Bellinis.

And attached to the front was a handwritten letter from Caroline, detailing exactly what Antonio was planning.

Luca stared at his wife’s handwriting. The real handwriting.

A single tear slipped down his cheek.

“He killed her,” Luca whispered. “My own brother killed her for money.”

Suddenly, the heavy vault door behind us clanged shut.

The locks engaged mechanically. We were sealed inside.

“What the hell?” the bank manager gasped, rushing to the door. “The override was triggered from upstairs!”

Before Luca could react, a voice echoed through the vault’s intercom system.

“Hello, little brother.”

Luca looked up at the security camera in the corner of the ceiling.

“Antonio,” Luca growled.

“I see you found Caroline’s insurance policy,” Antonio’s voice echoed smoothly over the speaker. “I knew she hid it somewhere, but I couldn’t figure out the bracelet code. Thank you for doing the heavy lifting.”

“You burned Sarah’s apartment,” Luca said. “You tried to kill Emily.”

“Loose ends,” Antonio sighed. “Just like you, Luca. It’s nothing personal. But the Bellini merger happens tomorrow. With you trapped in an airtight vault, I’ll inform the families of your tragic suffocation. Vanessa will adopt Abigail, and I will take control of the board.”

Abigail grabbed my hand, terrified.

“You won’t get away with this,” Luca yelled at the camera.

“I already have,” Antonio chuckled. “The oxygen scrubbers have just been turned off. You have about forty minutes of air. Goodbye, Luca.”

The intercom clicked off.

A low, humming sound in the walls slowly died. The ventilation had stopped.

We were buried alive under the streets of Chicago.

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