Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF LOYALTY
The silence in the art studio was deafening.
Marco’s gun was aimed squarely at my heart. His hand didn’t tremble. This was a man who had killed for the Moretti family for two decades, and now he was turning that ruthless efficiency against his own blood brother.
“Marco,” Luca said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He slowly stepped sideways, placing his body directly between the barrel of the gun and me. “You’ve been at my table for twenty years. You held Isabella when she was born. You want to kill me? Fine. But you don’t touch the women.”
Marco let out a harsh, humorless laugh.
“Don’t talk to me about family, Luca,” Marco spat, his dark eyes flashing with a decade of buried resentment. “You think you’re a good man because you grieve your wife? You think sitting in this dusty room makes you a saint?”
Marco took a step closer, the moonlight catching the cold steel of his weapon.
“Your father slaughtered Vanessa’s family,” Marco said, his voice rising in anger. “And what did you do? You inherited the throne. You took their money, their territory, and you built this beautiful house on a graveyard. I watched you play the king while I cleaned up the blood. Vanessa was the only one who saw me as an equal. Not a servant. An equal.”
Answer One: Marco’s betrayal was born of deep-seated envy and a secret marriage to the Falco heir. He wanted the throne, and Vanessa was his key to claiming it.
Open Two: If Marco and Vanessa had been married for five years, why make their move tonight? What forced their hand?
“You’re pathetic,” Luca snarled. “You’re handing my empire to a woman who poisoned my wife.”
“Sofia had to die,” Marco said coldly. “She was too smart. She found the discrepancies in the accounts. She knew I was siphoning money. She was going to tell you, Luca. So Vanessa gave her a little push. A slow-acting heart failure. Very clean.”
Isabella let out a sharp, choked gasp.
It was the first sound I had heard her make from her throat. It wasn't a word, but a sound of pure, unadulterated heartbreak. The man she had called 'Uncle Marco' had helped murder her mother.
Isabella stepped out from behind her father.
Her face was twisted in a mask of absolute rage. She didn't sign. She didn't use her hands. She reached into her small pocket, pulled out the washcloth rabbit I had made for her just an hour ago, and threw it as hard as she could at Marco’s face.
It was a child's weapon. A harmless, desperate act of defiance.
The soft cloth hit Marco in the chest and fell to the floor.
Marco sneered. He took his eyes off Luca for exactly one second to look down at the rabbit.
It was the only second Luca needed.
Luca moved with a speed that defied logic. He didn't run; he exploded forward. He lunged across the distance between them, ducking under the line of fire just as Marco pulled the trigger.
Pfft.
The suppressed gunshot shattered a large vase behind me. Dust and porcelain rained down on my hair.
Before Marco could fire a second shot, Luca slammed into him.
The two men crashed into a heavy wooden easel, sending old canvases tumbling to the floor. Luca grabbed Marco’s wrist with both hands, twisting it violently upward. Marco roared in pain, but he didn't drop the gun. He drove his knee into Luca’s stomach.
Luca grunted, stumbling back, but he didn't let go of the wrist.
“Emma!” Luca shouted, his veins bulging as he fought the larger man. “Get her out of here!”
I grabbed Isabella’s hand. We ran toward the heavy steel door.
I grabbed the handle, pulling with all my strength.
It was locked. Marco had the key.
“It’s locked!” I screamed, watching in horror as Marco managed to free his other hand and punch Luca squarely in the jaw.
Luca spit blood onto the floorboards. He didn't fall. He smiled.
It was a terrifying, feral smile.
“You forgot who taught you how to fight, Marco,” Luca whispered.
Luca suddenly released Marco’s wrist, grabbed the lapels of his tailored suit, and threw his entire body weight backward. He used Marco’s own momentum against him, tossing the larger man over his hip in a flawless judo throw.
Marco slammed onto the hardwood floor with a bone-rattling crunch. The gun skittered across the room, sliding under a heavy velvet sofa.
Luca didn't hesitate. He dropped his knee squarely onto Marco’s throat, pinning him to the floor.
He reached into Marco’s pocket, pulling out a ring of keys.
Luca tossed the keys across the room. They slid to a halt right at my feet.
“Open the door,” Luca ordered, not taking his eyes off the choking man beneath him.
I scooped up the keys with shaking hands, jamming the largest one into the deadbolt. It turned with a heavy click. I pushed the door open to the dark hallway.
Reversal: Luca wasn't the out-of-touch, grieving widower they thought he was. He was still the most dangerous man in the room.
Luca stood up, breathing heavily. He looked down at Marco, who was gasping for air, clutching his bruised throat.
“Tell your wife she has five minutes to leave my house,” Luca said, his voice cold and flat. “If she is still here when I secure my daughter, I will burn her alive.”
Luca turned his back on Marco and sprinted toward us.
He grabbed my arm, pulling me into the hallway.
“Where do we go?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs. “They have the front doors. They have the garage.”
“The servant passages,” Luca said, looking at me. “You’ve been cleaning this house for eighteen days. Tell me you found the dumbwaiter shafts in the East Wing.”
I nodded frantically. “Yes. Behind the linen closets. They lead straight down to the sub-basement boiler room.”
“Take us there,” Luca commanded.
We ran down the moonlit hallway. The massive house felt like a labyrinth designed to trap us.
I led them to the heavy wooden door of the linen closet. I pushed past the stacks of towels and found the false panel on the back wall. I slid it open, revealing a dark, narrow shaft that dropped directly down to the basement. A thick, industrial rope ladder was bolted to the brick.
“You go first,” Luca told me. “Isabella in the middle. I’ll cover the rear.”
I grabbed the ladder and began to descend into the pitch-black darkness. It smelled of rust and old dust. Isabella followed quickly above me, her small feet finding the rungs with practiced ease.
Luca slid into the shaft, pulling the false panel shut behind him.
We climbed down in total darkness for what felt like hours, though it was only two floors.
My boots hit the concrete floor of the boiler room.
It was hot, loud, and smelled heavily of oil. The massive furnaces hummed in the dark, casting an orange glow across the room.
I reached up and helped Isabella down. Luca dropped down beside us a second later.
“We made it,” I gasped, leaning against the cold brick wall. “The exit to the garage is just down this hall.”
Luca nodded, checking the blue rosary still wrapped tightly around his fist. “We get to the cars. We drive straight through the front gates. They can’t stop an armored SUV.”
He pushed the heavy metal door of the boiler room open, leading us into the underground garage.
The garage was massive, holding at least six luxury vehicles.
But as we stepped into the cavernous concrete space, the overhead fluorescent lights suddenly buzzed to life, blinding us.
I threw my hand up to shield my eyes.
When my vision adjusted, my blood ran cold.
All six cars were sitting on their bare rims. The tires had been slashed to ribbons.
Standing in the center of the garage, holding a megaphone and surrounded by five armed guards, was Vanessa.
May you like
And she was smiling.
“Did you really think I didn’t know about the servant passages, Luca?” Vanessa’s voice echoed through the garage, sweet and lethal. “I’ve been living here for three years. I know this house better than you do.”
