Chapter 7 - THE TUNNEL
“Go! Now!” Lorenzo roared over the sound of automatic gunfire shattering the remaining glass panes of the greenhouse.
I didn’t hesitate. I shoved the heavy iron key into my apron pocket and threw myself into the dark, gaping mouth of the stone tunnel. The smell of ancient dust and damp earth swallowed me instantly as I slid down a steep, rough-hewn stone incline.
Above me, I heard the terrifying BOOM of Lorenzo’s shotgun returning fire, followed by Bianca’s hysterical screams.
I hit the bottom of the tunnel hard, scraping my palms against the cold dirt. It was pitch black. I fumbled in my apron for my cell phone, turning on the flashlight. The narrow beam cut through the darkness, revealing a claustrophobic brick passageway lined with rusted pipes and thick cobwebs.
This was the Bellini family’s escape route, built decades ago during the bloody syndicate wars.
I forced myself to run, my soft-soled maid shoes slipping on the damp bricks. Every boom from above sent vibrations through the ceiling, raining dust onto my hair. My mind raced.
Get the ledger. Get Leo. Get out.
Answer One. Dante Marino wasn’t invading the estate for money or territory. He was invading for survival. The ledger Lorenzo’s mother had hidden was the ultimate blackmail tool—the only thing tying Marino to decades of political corruption.
Open Two. If the tunnel led to the basement of the main house, where exactly was the ledger hidden? Lorenzo hadn’t given me a specific room.
I ran for what felt like miles, my lungs burning in the stale air. Finally, my flashlight beam hit a solid iron door at the end of the tunnel.
I grabbed the heavy iron key Lorenzo had pressed into my hand, shoved it into the rusted keyhole, and turned. It ground fiercely, but the mechanism finally clicked.
I pushed the heavy door open and spilled into the wine cellar of the Bellini mansion.
The air here was cooler, smelling of aged oak and expensive vintage wine. I scrambled to my feet, turning off my flashlight as the dim emergency lighting of the cellar kicked in.
I ran toward the spiral staircase that led up to the main foyer.
As I reached the top step, I heard the terrifying sound of heavy boots on the marble floors above. Dante’s men were already inside the house.
I pressed myself against the wall, peering through the crack of the cellar door.
Two massive men in tactical gear and ski masks were standing in the grand foyer, holding automatic rifles. They were looking at the grand staircase.
“Boss said the kid is on the second floor,” one of the men grunted. “Go grab him. Use him to flush Lorenzo out.”
My heart stopped. They were going for Leo.
I didn’t have time to look for a hidden ledger in the basement. I had to protect that little boy.
Reversal.
Instead of searching for the ledger, I gripped the iron meat tenderizer I was still carrying, took a deep breath, and burst out of the cellar door.
“Hey!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
The two men spun around, raising their rifles.
I didn’t wait for them to aim. I hurled the heavy iron meat tenderizer as hard as I could. It sailed through the air and smashed directly into the massive crystal vase sitting on the entryway table.
The vase exploded with the force of a bomb, sending razor-sharp shards of crystal flying directly into the face of the first gunman. He screamed, dropping his rifle and clutching his bleeding eyes.
The second man cursed, tracking his rifle toward me.
Before he could pull the trigger, a loud, sharp CRACK echoed from the top of the stairs.
The second gunman collapsed onto the marble floor, a single bullet hole in his shoulder.
I looked up, stunned.
Standing at the top of the grand staircase, her hands shaking but her grip steady on a silver revolver, was Aunt Eleanor.
“I told you we should have woken him up, Claire!” Eleanor shouted, her face pale but fiercely determined.
I didn’t waste a second. I sprinted across the foyer, snatched the dropped automatic rifle from the floor, and ran up the stairs to Eleanor.
“Are they safe?” I gasped.
“Leo and Martha are locked in the bathroom of the master suite,” Eleanor said, keeping her revolver aimed at the groaning men below. “But Dante Marino is coming. We saw him on the security cameras before the power was cut.”
“We have to get the ledger,” I told her rapidly. “Lorenzo said it’s a red leather book, hidden in the basement.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened in realization.
“It’s not in the basement, Claire,” Eleanor whispered, a look of profound shock crossing her face.
“What? But Lorenzo told me—”
“Lorenzo doesn’t know,” Eleanor interrupted, grabbing my arm. “His mother didn’t trust anyone with that ledger. Not even her own son. She moved it before she died.”
Answer One. The ledger wasn’t in the vault beneath the greenhouse. Lorenzo had sent me on a wild goose chase based on outdated information.
Open Two. If it wasn’t in the vault, where was it? And how did Eleanor know?
“Where is it?” I demanded.
Eleanor looked at me, her eyes filling with tears.
“Martha,” Eleanor whispered. “Martha has it.”
My jaw dropped. “The eighty-year-old gardener?”
“My sister gave it to her the night she died,” Eleanor explained rapidly. “Martha was the only person with no ties to the syndicate. No one would ever suspect an old gardener of holding the most dangerous book in the mafia.”
I grabbed Eleanor’s hand, and we sprinted down the hallway toward the master suite.
We burst through the heavy oak doors and ran to the master bathroom.
“Martha! Open up! It’s Claire!” I yelled, pounding on the door.
The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Martha stood there, clutching Leo tightly to her chest. The little boy was crying silently, terrified by the gunfire.
“Martha,” I said, dropping to my knees and looking the frail woman in the eyes. “Where is the red leather book?”
Martha’s faded eyes widened in sheer panic. She looked at me, then at Eleanor, and then down at her own trembling hands.
“I don’t have it,” Martha wept.
“Martha, please, Dante Marino is going to kill all of us if we don’t find it!” I begged.
“I don’t have it, Claire!” Martha cried, tears spilling over her wrinkled cheeks. “I haven’t had it for six years!”
She grabbed my shoulders, her grip surprisingly strong.
“I gave it to you, Claire!” Martha sobbed.
I froze, my mind completely blanking. “What?”
“Six years ago, on your very first day working here,” Martha said, her voice shaking. “You helped me plant the rosebush for my late husband. I told you I wanted to give you a gift to bless your new room.”
The realization hit me like a physical blow.
May you like
“The Bible,” I whispered, the blood draining from my face.
“I rebound the ledger in a cheap leather Bible cover,” Martha confessed. “It’s been sitting on the nightstand in your maid’s quarters for six years. No one ever looks twice at a servant’s Bible.”
