Chapter 4 - THE GHOST IN THE WALLS
“That’s impossible,” Claire whispered, staring at the torn blue silk. “You said you buried him.”
“I buried a body burned beyond recognition,” Luca corrected, his mind working furiously. “Dental records confirmed it was him. Or at least, the coroner said they did.”
Leo sniffled, wiping his eyes. “He smelled like smoke, Uncle Luca. The ghost man.”
Luca’s jaw clenched. Marco had always smoked cheap Cuban cigars. A habit that drove their father crazy.
“If Marco is alive,” Claire said, trying to process the magnitude of the betrayal, “why would he try to take Leo? And how does he fit with Vanessa and Julian?”
“Marco was the original heir,” Luca explained quietly, carrying Leo toward the door. “But my father passed him over. He said Marco was too reckless, too cruel. He gave the syndicate to me. A week later, Marco supposedly died.”
Before Claire could respond, Luca’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket.
He pulled it out. The caller ID read: DANTE.
Luca held up a finger to Claire, motioning for silence. He answered the phone, keeping his voice perfectly steady.
“Yeah.”
“Boss,” Dante’s voice came through, sounding urgent. “We have a perimeter breach. Motion sensors went off near the south garden wall. I’m sending a team to investigate.”
Luca’s eyes darted to the window. The south garden was on the complete opposite side of the estate from Leo’s wing. It was a distraction.
“Understood, Dante,” Luca said smoothly. “I’m heading down to my study. Lock down the main floor.”
“Copy that.”
Luca hung up.
“He’s lying,” Luca told Claire. “Dante is my head of security. If the perimeter was breached, alarms should be sounding. He’s clearing a path for whoever is in the house to get out.”
“Or giving them a chance to finish the job,” Claire realized, her heart pounding against her ribs. “If they know Leo escaped down the chute, they’ll be waiting in the basement.”
Luca looked at her, truly impressed by how quickly she understood the tactical reality. “Exactly. We can’t take the stairs. And we can’t trust my own men.”
“Then how do we get out?”
Luca shifted Leo to his left arm and walked to the massive oak bookcase against the far wall of the nursery. He reached behind a thick encyclopedia and pressed a hidden latch.
With a soft click, the bookcase swung inward, revealing a dark, narrow stone passageway.
“My grandfather built this house during Prohibition,” Luca murmured. “Only the bloodline knows about the servant tunnels.”
Claire hesitated for only a second before stepping into the darkness behind him. Luca pulled the bookcase shut, sealing them inside. The air was cool and smelled of damp earth and old dust. Luca turned on a small flashlight, keeping the beam aimed at the floor.
They moved quickly and silently. Leo clung to Luca, his face buried in his uncle’s neck. Claire followed close behind, using her uninjured right hand to trail along the rough stone wall for balance.
“Where does this lead?” she whispered.
“To an old carriage house beyond the property line,” Luca answered softly. “I have a secure vehicle there. Once we get Leo to safety, I’ll deal with Vanessa and my brother.”
Suddenly, Claire’s foot caught on an uneven flagstone.
She stumbled forward. She tried to catch herself, but the pain in her wrapped left hand flared blindingly. She dropped her small black handbag—the one she had retrieved from her locker after the doctor’s visit.
It hit the ground, popping open.
Several items spilled onto the dusty stone floor: a tube of lipstick, a pack of gum, and a heavy, tarnished silver object that clattered loudly.
Luca spun around, shining the flashlight down.
“I’m sorry,” Claire gasped, dropping to her knees to gather her things.
The beam of light illuminated the silver object. It was a vintage, oval-shaped locket. The surface was engraved with a very distinct pattern of twisting ivy vines.
Luca froze.
The air in the tunnel seemed to vanish.
“Don’t touch that,” Luca said.
His voice wasn’t loud, but it was laced with a sudden, terrifying coldness that made Claire freeze.
She looked up at him. The warm, protective uncle from five minutes ago was gone. In his place stood the ruthless head of the Chicago mob.
“Where did you get that?” Luca demanded, stepping closer, the flashlight beam shaking slightly in his grip.
Claire swallowed hard, her hand hovering over the locket. “It… it’s mine.”
“Don’t lie to me, Claire,” Luca growled. “That locket was custom-made in Milan. Only two exist. I gave one to my mother. And Marco gave the other to his mistress.”
Claire stared up at him, tears suddenly pooling in her eyes. The secret she had carried for months, the reason she had taken a job scrubbing floors for a mobster, finally broke through.
“It wasn't his mistress,” Claire whispered, her voice breaking. “It was his wife.”
Luca stared at her, stunned. “Marco was never married.”
“He was,” Claire said, picking up the locket and clutching it to her chest. “He married her in secret. They had a daughter. And then, when she threatened to go to the police about what he was doing… he killed her.”
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A heavy, suffocating silence filled the tunnel.
“My mother gave me this locket right before Marco Moretti murdered her,” Claire said, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I came to this house to find the proof. I came to destroy your family, Luca. Just like your brother destroyed mine.”
