Chapter 6 - THE RECIPE BOOK
The silence surrounding the safehouse was deafening. The kind of unnatural quiet that follows a slaughter.
“Stay in the car,” Vincenzo ordered, his voice cold and flat. He didn't wait for my argument. He kicked his door open, moving with the terrifying, lethal grace of a man who had spent his life walking into ambushes.
He moved low, his gun drawn, systematically clearing the perimeter of the driveway. He checked the fallen guards—dead, both shot point-blank.
I couldn't stay in the car. Caleb was in there. My little brother, struggling to breathe, trapped with a traitor.
I unlocked my door manually and slipped out, ignoring the driver’s frantic whisper to get back inside. I stayed crouched behind the armored sedan, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
Vincenzo reached Silas’s car. He threw the back door open, his weapon raised.
Empty.
I let out a choked sob. Where was Caleb?
Vincenzo signaled to me, a sharp jerk of his chin toward the heavy oak doors of the safehouse. They were slightly ajar.
We moved together, Vincenzo keeping his body positioned between me and the entrance. He kicked the door wide open.
The grand foyer of the safehouse was a disaster. Smashed vases, overturned tables, bullet holes riddling the expensive plaster walls.
And standing in the center of the room, holding a trembling, wheezing Caleb by the collar of his jacket, was Silas.
Silas had his gun pressed directly against my little brother’s temple.
“Silas,” Vincenzo said, his voice echoing in the ruined hall. He didn't raise his weapon to aim, keeping it pointed toward the floor to avoid provoking the desperate man, but the tension in his shoulders was explosive.
“Don’t come any closer, Boss!” Silas shouted, panic leaking into his voice. He was sweating profusely, his eyes darting frantically. “I don't want to hurt the kid. Just let me walk out of here.”
“Caleb!” I screamed, taking a step forward.
“Stop!” Silas yelled, jamming the barrel harder against Caleb’s head. Caleb whimpered, his face pale, struggling to pull in a ragged breath.
“Silas, look at me,” Vincenzo said smoothly, taking one slow, deliberate step forward. “You’re a dead man. You know this. Beatrice Hale cannot protect you from me. The senator cannot protect you. Drop the gun, let the boy go, and I will make your death quick. Keep holding him, and I promise you will beg for days before I let you die.”
Silas swallowed hard, his hand shaking. “She gave me no choice, Vincenzo! Beatrice found out about my gambling debts. She found out I was skimming from the union funds. She was going to tell you! You would have killed me anyway!”
“So you planted a bomb under my car. You killed our own men at the gate.” Vincenzo’s voice was devoid of pity.
“I had to find the ledger!” Silas cracked, tears of desperation forming in his eyes. “Beatrice said Rosa moved it here. She said if I bring it to her, she’ll pay off my debts and get me out of the country.”
“There is no ledger here,” Vincenzo said. “My father destroyed it before he died.”
“He’s lying!”
A new voice echoed from the top of the grand staircase.
We all looked up.
Standing on the landing was Mrs. Gable, the elderly, sweet-faced head housekeeper of the Morretti family. She had worked for Rosa for thirty years. She was the one who baked cookies for the staff and knitted blankets for the holidays.
And right now, she was holding a heavy, leather-bound book in her hands.
“Mrs. Gable?” Vincenzo whispered, genuine shock finally registering on his face.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Morretti,” the old woman said, tears streaming down her face. She slowly walked down the stairs, clutching the book to her chest. “Beatrice came to me a week ago. She… she has my grandson, Vincenzo. She said if I didn't find the ledger and give it to Silas, she would send my grandson back to me in pieces.”
My stomach churned. Beatrice Hale was a monster wearing designer clothes.
Mrs. Gable reached the bottom of the stairs. She didn't hand the book to Silas. Instead, she walked directly toward me.
“Rosa knew I was looking for it,” Mrs. Gable sobbed, standing in front of me. “Rosa’s mind is broken, but she has moments of absolute clarity. She hid it. She disguised it as her old family recipe book so I wouldn't recognize it. But I found it this morning.”
Mrs. Gable shoved the heavy book into my hands.
“Take it, Dana,” the old woman wept. “You are the only one Rosa trusts. She called you Elena.”
I looked down at the book. It was worn, the leather cracked, the pages smelling faintly of vanilla and old paper.
“Give it to me!” Silas demanded, pointing his gun at me now.
It was the mistake Vincenzo was waiting for.
The moment Silas’s gun moved away from Caleb’s head, Vincenzo moved faster than a human being should be able to. He didn't shoot. He lunged across the ten feet separating them, slamming his entire body weight into Silas.
The gun went off, the bullet shattering the chandelier above us, showering the foyer in crystal glass.
I dove forward, grabbing Caleb and shielding his small body with mine as glass rained down on us.
Vincenzo drove his knee viciously into Silas’s chest, breaking ribs with a sickening crunch. Silas collapsed, dropping the gun. Vincenzo picked it up, pressing it directly under Silas’s chin.
“Who else?” Vincenzo snarled, his eyes burning with absolute rage.
Silas coughed blood, a grotesque smile spreading across his face. “Everyone, Vincenzo. She bought everyone. The raid at the docks… it was a distraction. Beatrice is already here.”
The heavy sound of tires crunching on gravel echoed from the open front doors.
I looked up.
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Three black, unmarked tactical vans had just pulled into the driveway, blocking our only exit. The side doors slid open, and a dozen heavily armed men poured out, wearing tactical gear with no insignia.
And stepping out of the lead van, wearing a pristine black trench coat and holding a silver-handled umbrella against the light rain, was Beatrice Hale.
