Chapter 5 - THE TRAIN TICKET
The dining room descended into absolute madness. Bellini’s men opened fire. Luca dove behind the massive mahogany table, flipping it onto its side with a deafening crash to create a barricade. Fine china, crystal glasses, and silver platters shattered into a thousand pieces. I didn’t think. I just moved. I grabbed Matteo, hoisted him into my arms, and pulled Rosa down behind a thick marble pillar near the service doors. Bullets tore through the velvet curtains and chipped the expensive stonework above our heads. “Stay down!” I screamed at Rosa over the deafening roar of gunfire. Matteo clung to my neck, his small fingers digging into my collar. He was so light. Too light for a five-year-old boy. The reality of his starvation in that cellar made my blood boil with a sudden, reckless courage. Through the smoke and flying debris, I saw Vanessa. She wasn’t hiding. She was crawling through the shattered glass, completely ignoring the crossfire, making a desperate sprint for the service hallway. She was trying to escape. But as she passed a discarded velvet chair, her heavy winter coat—which a butler had draped there earlier—slid onto the floor. From the deep pocket of the coat, a small piece of thick paper fluttered out and landed in a puddle of spilled champagne. Vanessa didn’t notice. She disappeared through the swinging kitchen doors. I looked at Luca. He was pinned down by two of Bellini’s men, exchanging fire, desperately trying to keep them away from our pillar. He couldn’t go after her. “Hold him,” I told Rosa, pressing Matteo into her arms. “Emma, no!” Rosa cried out. I didn’t listen. I crawled on my hands and knees across the floor, glass cutting into my palms, until I reached the coat. I grabbed the piece of paper. It was a first-class train ticket. Printed for tonight. Departing at 11:00 PM. Destination: Montreal. But it wasn’t just one ticket. It was printed for two passengers. Vanessa Bellini. Matteo Moretti. Vanessa wasn’t planning on marrying Luca tonight. And she wasn’t working with her father anymore. She was planning to double-cross everyone, kidnap the heir, and extort the Moretti empire from Canada. I shoved the ticket into my apron pocket and stood up, sprinting through the swinging doors into the massive industrial kitchen. It was empty. The kitchen staff had fled at the first sound of gunfire. But Vanessa was there. She was frantically punching a code into the keypad of the service elevator, her satin gown torn and smeared with blood and dirt. “The elevator’s disabled,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. Vanessa spun around. Her eyes were wild, completely unhinged. And in her right hand, she held a long, serrated chef’s knife she had grabbed from the prep counter. “Give me the boy, you little rat,” Vanessa hissed, taking a step toward me. “Where is he?” “He’s with his father,” I said, backing up slowly toward the stainless steel island. “Where he belongs.” Vanessa laughed. It was a jagged, hysterical sound. “His father is going to die in that dining room! My father will kill him! And then I will take the boy, and I will own this city!” “You’re running to Montreal,” I said, pulling the ticket from my apron. “You’re betraying your own father.” Vanessa’s eyes locked onto the ticket. Her face twisted into pure malice. “My father is a dinosaur,” she spat. “He thinks a marriage will save his crumbling empire. I know the truth. The boy is the key. Now, get out of my way.” She lunged at me with the knife.
