Chapter 4 - THE SERVICE CORRIDOR
The room spun. My father wasn’t dead? For a month, I had grieved him. I had accepted the sealed casket. I had taken a job as a maid in the Bellini house just to feel close to the place he had dedicated his life to.
“What do you mean he vanished?” I demanded, stepping toward the most dangerous man in Chicago. I didn’t care about his title anymore.
Marco sighed, rubbing his forehead near the bandage. “Antonio knew there was a leak. He knew someone was planning the ambush. He slipped me the watch five minutes before the shooting started. Then he ran.”
“You let me bury an empty box?!”
“I protected you!” Marco snapped, his voice finally rising. “If Leo knew Antonio was alive, he would have come after you immediately to find him. By letting you work here, under my roof, I could keep you safe.”
The speaker crackled again. “Eight minutes, Marco,” Leo taunted. “I can already smell the gasoline.”
Dominic grabbed a heavy brass stanchion and slammed it against the door. It didn’t even dent the wood. “We’re trapped,” Dominic grunted. “The windows are bulletproof glass.”
I looked at the walls. I thought about my father. He knew this house better than anyone. He used to tell me stories about it when I was a little girl. The old mansions always have secrets, Sofia. The servants built them so they’d never be seen.
I looked at Marco. “Mr. Bellini. You need to get to the library to save Vivian’s nephew.” “I can’t get through a locked door, Sofia.” “You don’t have to.”
I ran toward the massive fireplace at the end of the ballroom. It was an ornate, floor-to-ceiling marble structure. “Help me push the left pillar,” I told Dominic.
Dominic didn’t argue. He threw his weight against the carved marble. Nothing happened. “It’s solid stone, Sofia!”
“No, it’s not. My father told me about the prohibition days. Push higher!” We pushed again. With a grinding scrape, a section of the fireplace wall slid backward, revealing a dark, narrow passageway. The servants' stairs.
A collective gasp echoed through the room. “It leads straight up to the third-floor library,” I said.
Marco didn’t hesitate. He walked toward the dark opening. “Marco, wait,” Vivian cried out, grabbing his sleeve. “You can’t see in the dark. The stairs are steep. You’ll fall.”
Marco gently removed her hand. “I don’t need to see, Vivian. I’ve lived in this house my entire life.” He turned to Dominic. “Keep the guests calm. Don’t let anyone do anything stupid.”
He stepped into the darkness. I followed him.
“Sofia, go back,” Marco ordered as the stone door closed behind us, plunging us into pitch black.
“No,” I said, clicking on the small penlight from my apron. “You need my eyes. And I need answers about my father.”
We climbed in silence. The air was thick with dust. Marco moved slowly, his hand trailing against the rough brick wall. Every step was a struggle. His balance was still terrible.
Suddenly, halfway up to the second floor, Marco froze. He held up a hand. “Stop.”
“What is it?” I whispered.
He touched the brick wall. “There’s a draft. We aren’t alone in these walls.”
I shined my penlight ahead. Lying on the wooden stairs, blocking our path, wasn’t a guard. It was a heavy, silver chain. A rosary.
May you like
I recognized it instantly. It was the rosary my father never took off his neck.
And then, from the darkness above us, a voice whispered. “It took you long enough, Marco.”
