Chapter 3 - THE SECRET BENEATH THE FLOORBOARDS
The Oak Street house sat in total darkness, a quaint Victorian home sandwiched between towering new apartment buildings. The rain was coming down in sheets by the time Paul dropped us off at the curb.
“I’ll circle the block,” Paul told me, his eyes scanning the empty street. “Don’t turn on the main lights. Use your flashlight.”
I nodded, helping my mother up the creaking wooden steps.
I used my old staff key to unlock the front door. The house smelled just like I remembered—lavender, old paper, and peppermint tea. For fourteen years, Mrs. Moretti had used this place to shelter women who had nowhere else to go.
“Clara, I’m frightened,” Mom whispered, gripping my arm in the dark hallway. “What if Vanessa sent someone here?”
“We just need to find what the brass key opens,” I said, clicking on my phone’s flashlight.
We moved quietly through the parlor. The furniture was already draped in white sheets, prepared for Vanessa’s demolition crew.
Suddenly, a small noise came from the kitchen.
It sounded like a muffled cough.
I froze. I picked up a heavy bronze candlestick from the mantle and motioned for Mom to stay back. I crept down the hallway, my heart pounding in my ears.
I pushed the kitchen door open. The beam of my flashlight swept across the room and stopped on the small pantry under the stairs.
The door was slightly ajar.
I raised the candlestick. “Who’s in there?” I demanded.
No answer. Just a tiny sniffle.
I pulled the door open.
Sitting on the floor, clutching a worn-out teddy bear, was a little boy. He couldn’t have been older than six. He had unruly dark curls, big terrified brown eyes, and he was wearing a pair of faded dinosaur pajamas.
“Don’t hit me,” he whispered, curling into a ball.
I immediately dropped the candlestick. “Oh, sweetie, no, I’m not going to hurt you.”
Mom hurried into the kitchen and gasped. “Leo?”
The little boy looked up, his eyes widening. “Mrs. Bennett!”
He scrambled out of the pantry and threw his arms around my mother’s legs. She knelt down despite her bad knees and hugged him tightly, stroking his hair.
“Mom, who is this?” I asked, completely bewildered.
“This is Leo,” she explained, her voice thick with emotion. “His mother was a maid for a rival family. She passed away last year. Mrs. Moretti took him in secretly. He’s been living on the third floor of this house for eight months. I’ve been bringing him groceries.”
I stared at the boy. “Does Luca know about him?”
“No,” Mom said. “Mrs. Moretti didn’t want Luca involved. She said if the other families found out the boy was here, they would use him as a pawn.”
Leo looked up at me, wiping his nose. “The mean lady was here today,” he said softly.
“Vanessa?” I asked, kneeling down to his eye level.
Leo nodded. “She brought a man with a scary scar on his neck. They were hitting the walls with hammers. They were looking for the ticking box.”
I pulled the silver rosary from my pocket and showed him the tiny brass key. “Leo, do you know where the ticking box is?”
His eyes lit up. “Yes. Grandma Moretti showed me before she went to the hospital.”
Leo took my hand. He led us out of the kitchen and into the study. He walked straight to the antique grandfather clock standing in the corner. It hadn't ticked in years.
“Behind the pendulum,” Leo whispered.
I reached inside the wooden case of the clock, pressing my fingers against the back panel. I felt a small keyhole hidden in the dark oak.
I inserted the brass key and turned it.
A click echoed through the room. The entire back panel of the clock swung open like a door, revealing a hollow space in the wall.
Inside sat a heavy, fireproof lockbox.
I pulled it out and set it on the desk. It wasn’t locked. I popped the latches and opened the lid, expecting to find jewelry, cash, or the deed to the house.
Instead, the box was stuffed with financial ledgers, wire transfer receipts, and offshore bank statements.
I shined my flashlight on the top document. It was a transfer of ten million dollars from the Moretti legitimate shipping company to a shell corporation in the Cayman Islands.
The signature authorizing the transfer belonged to Vanessa.
“She’s been stealing from them,” I breathed. “Not just a little. Millions.”
But that wasn’t the biggest secret.
Beneath the ledgers was a life insurance policy. It was taken out on Luca Moretti for fifty million dollars. The primary beneficiary had been changed just two weeks ago.
To Vanessa Bellini.
“Answer one question, open a much deadlier one,” Mom whispered, reading over my shoulder. “She doesn't just want to ruin him, Clara. She’s going to kill him.”
Before I could reply, the roar of an engine shattered the quiet street.
Headlights flooded the front windows, casting long, terrifying shadows across the study floor.
I peeked through the heavy curtains. It wasn’t Paul’s town car.
It was a black SUV. Four massive men stepped out into the rain. The last one to exit the vehicle was a man in a tailored suit, the streetlamp catching a brutal, jagged scar running up the side of his neck.
Uncle Marco. Luca’s own uncle.
May you like
He was holding a crowbar.
“Open the door, Clara!” Marco shouted from the porch, his voice booming over the thunder. “We know you’re in there!”
