Chapter 5 - THE VOICE IN THE DARK
"Leo? Leo, is that you?"
The voice from beneath the cellar doors was cracked, raspy, and sounded like it hadn't spoken human words in over a decade.
Dante froze. The gun in his hand dipped slightly, his knuckles turning pure white against the black steel.
"Boss," Marco muttered, stepping out from the shadows of the fire escape with his weapon raised. "That's not... that's impossible. Your father died in that crash eleven years ago."
"I know my father died," Dante whispered, his voice trembling for the first time since I'd known him. He dropped to his knees right in front of the rusted iron doors, ignoring the wet mud soaking through the knees of his expensive trousers.
"Leo!" the voice called again, louder this time, accompanied by a heavy, metallic thud against the underside of the latch. "They're coming for the ledger, Leo! You have to lock the vault!"
Celeste pressed herself flat against the brick wall, her eyes wide with genuine terror. "I didn't know," she stammered, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "My uncle... Vincent said there was just old money down there. He said it was just dormant accounts from the old syndicate days."
Dante didn't look at her. He reached out with trembling fingers, pulling the faded red plastic tag and the brass key from his pocket—the very key Dorothy had handed him across the dining room table just an hour ago.
He slid the key into the primary lock.
It didn't turn smoothly. The tumblers were rusted, clogged with years of dampness and neglect.
"Grace," Dante panted, looking over his shoulder. "Help me pull."
I dropped to my knees beside him, pressing my weight against the heavy iron handle while Dante forced the key to the left. With a loud, echoing crunch of breaking corrosion, the deadbolt slid back.
But the secondary lock—the dual-action mechanism his father had installed that stormy night—refused to budge.
"It needs the second key," Dante cursed, gripping the iron ring. "The one Vincent must have stolen from my father's desk the night of the accident."
Suddenly, Celeste stepped forward, her hands raised defensively.
"Wait," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "Don't shoot. Just... wait."
Dante glared at her over his shoulder. "If you have the key, Celeste, hand it over right now, or I swear to God—"
"I don't have a key," she interrupted, reaching into the pocket of her designer coat. "My uncle didn't give me a key to open it. He gave me a detonator."
Marco raised his pistol instantly, aiming directly at her chest. "Drop it."
"It's not a bomb!" Celeste shrieked, pulling a small, black remote control with a blinking red LED light from her pocket. "It's an electromagnetic charge. Vincent said if the lock wouldn't turn, we had to fry the digital circuit board inside the sub-basement wall to force the hydraulic seals to drop."
Dante stared at the remote in her hand. "If you fry those hydraulics, the entire foundation of this building collapses into the sub-basement. Anyone locked down there will be buried alive."
"That's what Vincent wants!" Celeste cried, tears finally spilling down her powdered cheeks. "He said if the past stays buried, nobody can trace the 2018 bank he raided before he skipped the country!"
Before Dante could lunge for the remote, the alley entrance behind us flooded with blinding white light.
Three unmarked black sedans screeched to a halt across the mouth of the alley, their doors flying open simultaneously.
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Men in dark tactical gear poured out, their rifles raised, led by a tall, silver-haired figure wearing a trench coat that looked identical to the one Dante wore.
Vincent Russo had arrived.
