Chapter 8 - THE MAID'S QUARTERS
The revelation hit me so hard I felt dizzy.
For six years, the most dangerous piece of evidence in the entire mafia underworld—the ledger that could bring down the Marino syndicate—had been sitting on my cheap wooden nightstand, disguised as a Bible. I had dusted it, moved it, and occasionally placed a coffee cup on it, completely oblivious to the explosive secrets bound within its pages.
“It’s in my room,” I breathed, staring at Martha.
My bedroom was in the servants’ wing, on the completely opposite side of the sprawling estate, near the kitchen staircase.
Before anyone could speak, a massive explosion rocked the foundation of the house. The crystal chandelier in the master suite violently swung, shattering against the ceiling.
Dante Marino had blown the front doors off their hinges.
“Find the boy!” a deep, gravelly voice roared from the grand foyer below. It was Dante. “Bring me the kid, and burn the rest of the house!”
“We’re trapped,” Aunt Eleanor whispered, clutching her silver revolver tightly.
“No, we’re not,” I said, my adrenaline overriding my terror. I looked at little Leo, his wide, tear-filled eyes looking up at me.
I slung the heavy automatic rifle I had taken from the guard over my shoulder. I had never fired a gun in my life, but I was willing to learn tonight.
“Eleanor, take Martha and Leo down the servants’ staircase at the end of the hall,” I ordered, my voice steady. “Hide in the pantry behind the false wall. Do not come out until you hear police sirens.”
“Where are you going?” Leo asked, grabbing my apron string.
“I’m going to get my Bible, sweetie,” I said, offering him the bravest smile I could muster. “Now go. Run!”
Eleanor didn’t argue. She grabbed Leo’s hand, supported Martha by the elbow, and hurried out of the master suite toward the back stairs.
I took a deep breath, gripped the heavy rifle, and slipped out into the hallway.
The mansion was filled with the acrid smell of smoke and gunpowder. I could hear heavy boots stomping up the grand staircase.
I ran in the opposite direction, toward the servants’ wing. The narrow, unadorned hallway was pitch black, the emergency lights having failed on this side of the house. I navigated by memory, my soft shoes silent against the cheap carpet.
I reached the door to my room, pushed it open, and locked it behind me.
I ran to my small wooden nightstand.
There it was. A thick, worn book with a black, faux-leather cover. A gold cross was stamped on the front.
I snatched it up, my hands trembling violently. I opened the cover.
It wasn’t Genesis.
The pages were filled with columns of names, dates, and massive sums of money. Judges. Police commissioners. Politicians. It was a meticulous, devastating record of Dante Marino’s thirty-year reign of corruption.
Answer One. The ledger was real, perfectly preserved by Lorenzo’s mother and hidden in the most unassuming place imaginable—the room of a young maid.
I shoved the heavy ledger down the front of my apron, pressing it against my stomach.
I turned to leave, but the doorknob rattled violently.
Someone was outside.
Before I could raise the rifle, the cheap wooden door was kicked inward with terrifying force, splintering off its hinges.
A massive man with a jagged, horrifying scar across his left cheek stepped into my small room.
Dante Marino.
He was holding a massive silver handgun, aimed directly at my chest.
“Hello, little bird,” Dante sneered, his dark eyes scanning the room. “You’ve caused my men a lot of trouble tonight.”
I backed up until I hit the wall, my hands shaking so badly I couldn’t lift the rifle.
“Where is Lorenzo’s kid?” Dante demanded, taking a step closer.
“He’s gone,” I lied, my voice cracking. “The police are on their way.”
Dante laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “The police aren’t coming. The chief is at my poker table right now. Now, where is the boy?”
“I won’t tell you,” I said, closing my eyes, bracing for the bullet.
Reversal.
“Drop the gun, Dante.”
Dante froze.
Standing in the shattered doorway behind him, covered in dirt, glass, and blood, was Bianca.
She was holding the 9mm handgun she had dropped in the greenhouse. Her beautiful red dress was torn to shreds, her hair a wild, matted mess. But the look in her eyes was pure, unadulterated hatred.
“Bianca?” Dante growled, keeping his gun trained on me. “What are you doing? Where is Lorenzo? Did you get the ledger?”
“Lorenzo is busy dealing with the rest of your men in the garden,” Bianca said coldly, stepping into the room and pressing the barrel of her gun directly against the back of Dante’s head.
Dante stiffened. “Have you lost your mind, girl? Put the gun down before I backhand you across this room.”
“You lied to me,” Bianca whispered, tears streaming down her dirty face. “My whole life. You told me the Bellinis slaughtered my family. You told me Lorenzo’s father was a monster.”
“He was a monster!” Dante roared.
“No, you were,” Bianca said, her voice shaking with rage. “Lorenzo showed me the photograph, Dante. His mother saved me from you. You killed her because she tried to protect me.”
Dante didn’t deny it. Instead, a cruel, mocking smile spread across his scarred face.
“She was a foolish woman,” Dante sneered. “She thought she could hide a Moretti from me. You were leverage. You were a pawn. And you played your part perfectly, Bianca. You got me through the gates.”
Open Two. If Dante didn’t care about Bianca, would he kill her right now? And how were we going to get out of this tiny room?
“Now, put the gun down, little girl,” Dante said softly. “You don’t have the stomach to pull the trigger.”
“You’re right,” Bianca whispered. “I don’t.”
Before Dante could react, Bianca didn’t pull the trigger.
She raised the heavy metal butt of the handgun and slammed it as hard as she could into the back of Dante’s knee.
Dante roared in pain, his leg buckling. As he dropped to one knee, Bianca shoved him hard into my wooden dresser.
“Run, Claire!” Bianca screamed.
May you like
I didn’t hesitate. I bolted past the falling mafia boss, clutching the heavy ledger beneath my apron, and sprinted out into the dark hallway.
Behind me, the deafening sound of a gunshot echoed from my bedroom.
