Chapter 7 - THE SUB-BASEMENT
I ran to the back of the kitchen and threw open the heavy wooden doors of the dry pantry. The smoke was blinding now, my eyes tearing up so badly I could barely see. I found the old iron latch in the floorboards. It hadn’t been used in decades, rusted and stiff. I yanked on it with all my strength. It didn’t budge. Luca stepped forward, shoving Vanessa against the wall. He gripped the iron ring with both hands, the muscles in his back straining, and tore the heavy grate out of the floor with a brutal crack. A dark, narrow stone chute angled sharply downward. “Go!” Luca yelled at me. I slid into the darkness, the rough stone tearing at my uniform. I tumbled down, sliding fast, until I hit the dirt floor of the sub-basement with a heavy thud. I coughed, waving the dust away. Seconds later, Vanessa came sliding down, crying and swearing. Luca landed right behind her, his gun still in hand. The sub-basement was cold and damp, lit only by a few flickering emergency bulbs. The air here was clear, free from the chemical smoke of the kitchen above. I looked around. Down the long, dark corridor stood the heavy iron door with the circular glass window. The wine cellar. The place where Matteo had spent his life. Luca stared at the door. The gun in his hand trembled. He walked slowly toward it. He peered through the thick, dirty glass. Inside was a small cot, a single hanging lightbulb, and a pile of broken crayons. No toys. No blankets. Just a prison. Luca rested his forehead against the cold iron door. A sound escaped his throat—a jagged, agonizing sob of a father realizing the torment his child had endured. He turned around. His eyes locked onto Vanessa. Vanessa backed against the damp stone wall, shaking her head. “Luca, please. I kept him alive. I fed him. You have to believe me!” Luca raised his gun, aiming it directly at her face. “You stole my son,” he whispered. “You murdered the woman I loved. You locked my blood in the dark like an animal.” He cocked the hammer. “Mr. Moretti, wait!” I shouted. Luca didn’t look at me. “She dies, Emma. Turn around.” “If you shoot her down here, the police will find her body when they respond to the fire alarm,” I pleaded. “You’ll go to prison. Matteo just got his father back. Don’t make him an orphan tonight.” The mention of Matteo’s name made Luca freeze. The terrifying mob boss warred with the father who just wanted to hold his son. Slowly, agonizingly, Luca lowered the weapon. He grabbed Vanessa by the collar of her ruined dress and dragged her toward the stairs leading up to the gardens. “You are going to confess to the police,” Luca said, his voice absolute ice. “You are going to give them your father’s ledgers, and you are going to rot in a federal cell for the rest of your miserable life. Because if you don’t, I will find you. And I won’t make it quick.” We reached the heavy garden doors. Luca kicked them open. The cool night air rushed in, smelling of rain and wet grass. But as we stepped out onto the lawn, the nightmare wasn’t over. Standing near the iron gates, illuminated by the flashing red and blue lights of approaching police cruisers, was Marco. He was leaning heavily against a stone statue, bleeding profusely from his shattered knee. And he was holding a gun, aimed directly at Rosa and little Matteo, who were hiding in the bushes near the driveway.
