Chapter 6 - THE WOODEN ROSARY
The revelation sucked the oxygen from the room.
Vincent. His own flesh and blood. The brother Nico had protected, subsidized, and loved.
“Why?” I asked, stepping closer to Lily, instinctively shielding her from the heavy truth.
“Because I modernized the family,” Nico said, his eyes locked on the photograph. “I moved us out of the violent street trades. I bought real estate, set up legitimate foundations. Vincent hated it. He called me weak. He said caring for a sick wife and a disabled daughter made me soft.”
Nico crushed the photograph in his fist. “He didn't just send Vivienne to take my money. He sent her to drive me insane. To ruin my public reputation with those videos of Lily, so the council would vote me out and put him back in charge.”
The phone rang again. It wasn't the burner phone; it was the landline mounted on the wall of the kitchen downstairs.
Nico drew his gun again. We walked down the hallway, the floorboards creaking under our weight.
He picked up the receiver. “Vincent.”
I leaned in close enough to hear the tinny, aristocratic voice on the other end.
“Little brother,” Vincent sighed, sounding like he was bored. “I see you found the coat. Lily always was terrible at keeping secrets. It’s the stutter. Makes her nervous.”
“If you touch her, I will end you,” Nico said, a lethal, quiet promise.
“I don’t want the girl, Nico. I want the ledger. Bring it to the boathouse. Or the maid’s sister goes into the swamp.”
“You’re lying,” I shouted into the phone, unable to hold back. “I found the ferry ticket! You’re putting Sarah on a boat tomorrow!”
Vincent laughed softly. “Clever girl. Yes, I promised Sarah I’d let her go if she told me where she hid the ledger. She finally broke today. But if Nico doesn't bring it to me tonight... that ticket goes unused.”
The line clicked dead.
“We have to go,” I told Nico, grabbing my coat. “He has her at the boathouse.”
“No,” Nico said, shaking his head. He walked over to the large, built-in wall safe hidden behind a painting in the dining room. “I’m not walking into a trap blind. I need collateral.”
He rapidly punched in the code. The heavy steel door clicked open.
Nico reached inside to grab his emergency funds and burner passports.
But his hand stopped mid-air.
The safe was completely empty. The cash, the gold bars, the documents—all gone.
Sitting alone in the center of the metal shelf was a wooden rosary.
Nico stared at it. His breathing became shallow and fast.
“Nico?” I asked.
“This was my mother’s,” he whispered, picking up the worn wooden beads. “I buried her with it.”
“How did he get it?”
“He dug her up,” Nico said, the horror dawning in his eyes. “He dug up our mother just to leave this here. To tell me that he’s already inside the house.”
Suddenly, the lights in the house flickered, then died completely.
Plunged into absolute darkness, the heavy mechanical clunk of the house’s security shutters engaging echoed around us. The steel plates slammed down over the windows and doors, locking from the outside.
We weren't going to the boathouse.
We were trapped inside our own home.
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And from the shadows of the living room, a match flared, illuminating a cigar.
“Hello, Nico,” Vincent’s voice echoed in the dark.
