Chapter 6 - THE GHOST IN THE TRUNK
The harsh fluorescent lights of the underground garage buzzed aggressively, casting long, unforgiving shadows across the concrete floor.
Vanessa stood perfectly composed in her crimson gown, the very picture of lethal elegance. Five guards fanned out behind her, their tactical rifles raised, the red laser sights dancing across Luca’s chest.
Our only escape route was gone. Every car, from the armored Mercedes to the sleek Ferrari, sat crippled on shredded rubber.
“It’s over, Luca,” Vanessa said, lowering the megaphone. Her voice echoed off the concrete walls, cold and final. “You put up a remarkably good fight for a man who hasn’t fired a weapon in a decade. But the king is dead. Hand over the ledger.”
Luca didn’t move. He stood firmly in front of Isabella and me, his broad shoulders shielding us from the lasers.
“You destroy the cars, you trap yourself too, Vanessa,” Luca said, his voice calm, projecting the authority of a man who refused to beg.
“I don’t need the cars,” Vanessa smiled. “I have a helicopter waiting on the roof of the South Tower. Once I have the passwords, I disappear. And you three… well, a tragic gas leak in the boiler room will take care of the rest.”
Answer One: Vanessa never intended to take over the house. Her plan was always a hit-and-run—steal the fortune and burn the evidence, leaving no witnesses.
Open Two: If she was leaving via the roof, how were we supposed to get out of an underground concrete box?
I looked frantically around the garage. My eyes scanned the tool benches, the stacks of winter tires, the heavy steel exit doors.
Then, I noticed it.
Tucked away in the far, dark corner of the garage, beneath a canvas tarp, was a car that didn’t look like the rest. It wasn’t a modern luxury vehicle. It was the silhouette of an old, classic muscle car. Luca’s vintage 1969 Mustang Mach 1.
The tarp was partially pulled back.
And the trunk was popped open just an inch.
I nudged Isabella’s arm gently. I signed low, close to my waist where the guards couldn’t see.
Look at the old car.
Isabella’s eyes darted to the corner. She squinted in the harsh light. Then, her breath hitched.
She signed back frantically, her hands shaking.
Someone is inside.
My heart pounded against my ribs. Through the small gap in the trunk, I could see the distinct shape of a man’s hand dangling over the bumper. The fingers were coated in blood.
“Give me the rosary, Luca,” Vanessa demanded, taking a step forward. “Or I tell Silas to shoot the maid first. I know you don’t care about her.”
Luca’s jaw clenched. He looked at the blue rosary wrapped around his fist. The entire wealth of the Moretti empire, sitting in the palm of his hand.
“If I give this to you,” Luca said slowly, “you let them go. Emma and Isabella walk to the front gates right now.”
“You are in no position to negotiate!” Vanessa snapped, her patience cracking.
Suddenly, a voice echoed from the dark corner of the garage.
It was a weak, ragged, wet cough.
Vanessa jumped, spinning around. The guards instantly swung their rifles toward the canvas-covered Mustang.
The trunk of the car slowly creaked all the way open.
A man pulled himself up over the bumper, falling onto the concrete floor with a heavy, sickening thud.
It was Silas.
The real Silas. The loyal head of security whom Vanessa had claimed was bought and paid for.
Reversal: The man standing next to Vanessa in the bedroom wasn’t Silas. It was an imposter, a Falco soldier wearing Silas’s uniform. The real Silas had been bleeding out in the trunk of the Mustang.
The loyal guard groaned, clutching a massive, bleeding wound on his side. He didn’t have a gun. But he had something else.
In his trembling, blood-stained hand, he held a heavy, red metal cylinder.
A road flare.
He struck the cap against the concrete.
The flare hissed violently to life, spitting blinding red sparks and thick, blinding crimson smoke into the air.
“Boss!” Silas roared with his dying breath. He threw the burning flare directly into a massive puddle of gasoline that had been quietly leaking from the slashed tires of the Mercedes.
The fuel ignited instantly.
A wall of fire erupted between us and Vanessa’s men.
The heat was instantaneous and suffocating. The guards shouted in panic, backing away as the flames licked the concrete ceiling. The garage fire suppression system immediately kicked in, raining heavy, freezing water down on all of us.
Steam hissed into the air, mixing with the thick red smoke of the flare, plunging the garage into total, chaotic blindness.
“Run!” Luca roared over the sound of the fire.
He grabbed my arm and Isabella’s hand, pulling us through the blinding smoke, away from the gunfire that had started popping blindly through the steam.
Bullets pinged against the concrete walls and shattered car windows.
We sprinted blindly through the fog, Luca navigating by memory. He led us to the heavy metal fire door at the back of the garage, kicking it open with a massive heave of his boot.
We spilled out into the freezing Chicago night air.
We were in the back gardens, a sprawling labyrinth of manicured hedges and stone fountains. The rain was pouring down in sheets, soaking us to the bone in seconds.
Luca didn’t stop. He dragged us behind a massive stone fountain, pressing our backs against the cold marble.
He peered around the edge, his chest heaving.
“They’ll come out the side doors in thirty seconds,” Luca shouted over the rain. “We have to make it to the tree line.”
I looked at Isabella. She was shivering violently, her pink dress plastered to her skin, her eyes wide with terror.
She grabbed my face, forcing me to look at her hands.
Daddy is bleeding, she signed.
I looked down.
In the chaos of the garage, a stray bullet had grazed Luca’s side. His white shirt was rapidly turning dark red beneath his suit jacket.
“Luca, you’re hit,” I gasped, reaching for his side.
He swatted my hand away gently. “It’s nothing. A scratch.”
He looked at me, his dark eyes intense and fully focused. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the blue rosary.
He pressed it into my hand.
“Take it,” Luca commanded.
“What? No, I can’t—”
“Take it, Emma,” Luca said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Vanessa wants the ledger. She wants me. She doesn’t care about you. If I run out there and draw their fire, you take Isabella and run through the hedges to the main road. Flag down a car. Go to the police. Do not look back.”
“Daddy, no!” Isabella mouthed the words silently, grabbing his jacket. She shook her head violently, tears mixing with the rain on her cheeks.
We stay together. We fight together.
She signed it with such fierce, undeniable strength that Luca hesitated.
For ten years, he had treated her like a fragile glass doll. He had hidden her away, trying to protect her from the world. But looking at her now, standing in the freezing rain, signing her defiance, he finally saw the truth.
She was a Moretti. She wasn’t fragile.
“I’m not leaving you either,” I said, gripping the rosary tight in my fist. “I know this house. I know the electrical grid. If we can get to the breaker box on the side of the guest house, I can cut the power to the entire estate. Including the backup generators. The security gates will default to open.”
Luca stared at me. A slow, dangerous smile crept onto his face.
“You’re a terrifying maid, Emma Carter,” Luca said.
He pulled Isabella close, kissing the top of her wet head.
“Okay,” Luca said. “We move on three.”
He held up his fingers.
One.
Two.
Three.
We broke from cover, sprinting into the storm.
Behind us, the metal doors of the garage burst open, and flashlight beams pierced the rain.
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“There they are!” a voice shouted.
Gunfire erupted into the night.
