Chapter 8 - THE ROSARY
The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the narrow brick tunnel.
Vincent immediately shoved Eleanor and Sabrina behind a stack of heavy oak wine barrels, raising his silver revolver. But it was useless. Marcus and his three Rossi hitmen stood blocking the only exit, armed with automatic weapons and a shotgun.
“Put the gun down, Vincent,” Marcus commanded, his voice echoing off the damp walls. “You fire that pea-shooter, and my men will turn this tunnel into a blender.”
Vincent didn't lower his weapon, but he didn't fire. He stood like a shield between his family and the men who had come to slaughter them.
“You’re a dead man, Marcus,” Vincent growled. “The Commission will find out you betrayed us. They’ll hunt you down.”
“The Commission will only know what I tell them,” Marcus smiled coldly. “I’ll tell them Harold Whitmore poisoned his fiancée, murdered Sabrina when she caught him, and you died trying to defend your mother. It’s a tragedy. A Shakespearean masterpiece. And I’ll be the loyal driver who takes over the waterfront to honor your memory.”
He raised the shotgun, aiming it squarely at Vincent’s chest.
“Say goodbye, boss.”
I was pressed against the wall behind the wine racks, completely unnoticed in the dark shadows. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I looked down at my hands. I was holding Sabrina’s dry-cleaning receipt with the locker combination.
But I was also holding something else I had grabbed from Vincent’s desk when I picked up the locket.
It was a heavy, ancient wooden rosary. Eleanor’s late husband, Antonio, used to pray with it.
I remembered what Vincent had said in the foyer earlier. “My father entrusted this key to my mother.”
If Antonio entrusted the key to the empire to his wife, what did he entrust to his son?
I ran my thumb over the large wooden cross of the rosary. It felt strangely hollow. I twisted the bottom of the cross.
With a faint click, the bottom half of the wooden cross slid open.
Inside was a tiny, tightly rolled piece of paper, and a small glass vial filled with a dark crimson liquid.
I didn't know what it was, but the Rossi hitmen flanking Marcus suddenly shifted nervously. I could see the insignia stitched onto their tactical vests—a red wolf. The Rossi family crest.
I didn't have time to think. I didn't have time to be a maid anymore.
“Wait!” I screamed, stepping out from the shadows into the moonlight filtering through the broken door.
Marcus jerked his shotgun toward me. “Emma? Get back in the dark before I blow you in half.”
“Don't shoot her!” Vincent yelled.
I held my hand high, holding the small glass vial and the unrolled piece of paper in the air.
“Marcus, you promised the Rossis the waterfront!” I shouted, my voice cracking but loud enough to echo. “But you can't give it to them!”
The lead Rossi hitman frowned, lowering his weapon slightly. “What is the girl talking about, Marcus?”
“She’s a stupid maid, don't listen to her!” Marcus snapped.
“Look at this!” I yelled, unfurling the tiny piece of paper. I couldn't read the Italian writing in the dark, but I recognized the heavy wax seal at the bottom.
It was the seal of the Mafia Commission in New York.
Vincent gasped. “My father’s blood oath.”
“Yes!” I bluffed, praying I was right. “Antonio Carbone didn't just leave the warehouses to Eleanor! He signed a blood oath with the Commission! If any Rossi sheds Carbone blood on this property, the Commission authorizes a full retaliation! Every Rossi in Chicago will be executed!”
The Rossi hitmen looked at each other, panic flashing in their eyes. The blood oath was a sacred, terrifying law in their world.
“She’s lying!” Marcus roared. “It’s a piece of trash!”
“Is it?” I challenged, holding up the vial of dark crimson liquid. “This is Antonio’s blood, sealed with the Commission’s mark! If you kill Vincent tonight, you aren't taking over the waterfront, Marcus! You’re starting a war the Rossis will lose!”
The lead Rossi hitman took a step back, lowering his rifle completely. “Marcus, you said this was a clean hit. You didn't say the Commission had a blood oath protecting the deeds.”
“They don't! It’s a trick!” Marcus screamed, aiming his shotgun at me.
But the Rossi hitman raised his rifle and pointed it directly at Marcus’s head.
“We don't mess with the Commission’s blood oaths,” the hitman said coldly. “You lied to us, Marcus. You brought us into a death trap.”
Marcus froze, caught between Vincent’s revolver in front of him and the hitman’s rifle beside him.
In that split second of hesitation, the wail of police sirens pierced the night air. Red and blue lights suddenly flooded the boathouse windows from the riverbank.
Sabrina let out a weak laugh from the floor. “I told you Marcus was a terrible shot. But I forgot to mention I triggered the silent panic alarm in the master bedroom before he fired.”
The Rossi hitmen didn't hesitate. They dropped their weapons and scattered into the darkness of the boathouse, desperate to escape before the police swarmed the property.
Marcus stood alone, his shotgun trembling in his hands. He looked at Vincent, then at the approaching police lights.
With a roar of pure frustration, Marcus dropped the shotgun and turned to run toward the river.
BANG.
Vincent fired a single shot.
Marcus screamed, falling to the concrete floor clutching his kneecap. He writhed in pain as the Chicago police burst into the boathouse, their flashlights cutting through the smoke.
“Drop your weapons!” the officers shouted.
Vincent slowly lowered his revolver and placed it on the floor, raising his hands.
I slumped against the brick wall, my legs finally giving out. The tiny vial of blood and the paper slipped from my trembling fingers.
Vincent rushed over to his wife and mother, helping Sabrina sit up as paramedics flooded into the tunnel.
As they loaded Sabrina onto a stretcher, she reached out and grabbed my hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong.
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“You’re a terrible maid, Emma,” Sabrina whispered, a genuine smile touching her pale lips. “But you’re a hell of a liar.”
I smiled back, tears stinging my eyes. “I learned from the best, Mrs. Carbone.”
