Chapter 5 - BLOOD ON THE SILVER
“Back off!” Arthur screamed, his scarred face twisting into a grotesque mask of panic.
The dining room descended into absolute chaos once again.
Guests screamed and scrambled away from the table, overturning chairs and shattering crystal goblets in their desperation to escape. Luca’s tactical team instantly raised their suppressed rifles, laser sights painting Arthur’s forehead with three glowing red dots.
“Hold your fire!” Luca roared, throwing his hand in the air. His face, usually an unreadable mask of control, was suddenly pale with raw terror. “Nobody shoots! If he flinches, my mother dies!”
Teresa Moretti stood rigid against Arthur’s chest. The seventy-eight-year-old matriarch’s eyes were wide, but she didn’t beg. She stared straight at Luca, her chin lifted defiantly despite the silver steak knife pressing dangerously close to her carotid artery.
“Arthur, drop the knife,” my real father, Thomas, said. His voice was incredibly calm, though his fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were stark white. “This is between you, me, and Vincent. Don’t hurt the old woman.”
“Shut up, Thomas!” Arthur shrieked, spittle flying from his lips. “You were supposed to burn! I took your name, I took your life, and I’ve been living in hell for twenty-seven years! Every time I look in a mirror, I see a monster! I’m not going to prison!”
Vincent Bellini, who was still surrounded by guards, let out a dark, booming laugh.
“Well done, little brother,” Vincent praised, his arrogance returning in full force. He smoothed the lapels of his charcoal suit, acting as though he were the one holding the knife. “Now, we have leverage.”
Vincent turned his cold, predatory gaze toward me.
“Emily,” Vincent commanded, holding out his hand. “Take off the necklace. Give me the wooden bird.”
I clutched the wooden pendant. The cheap leather cord dug into the back of my neck. My heart was beating so fast I could feel it in my teeth. I looked at Teresa, who had always treated me with kindness. She had paid for my mother’s funeral. She had given me a job when I was a desperate nineteen-year-old with nowhere to go.
“Emily, don’t do it,” Teresa rasped, wincing as the serrated edge of the knife nicked her skin. A tiny bead of blood appeared on her neck. “If you give him the key to the Geneva money, he’ll use it to fund a war against my son. Let him cut me.”
“Mom, stop!” Luca yelled, his voice cracking. The mafia boss was completely unraveling at the sight of his mother’s blood.
“Give it to him, Emily,” my father said softly, stepping closer to me. “The money doesn’t matter. Her life matters.”
I reached up with trembling fingers and unknotted the leather cord. I pulled the carved wooden sparrow from my neck. It felt warm from my skin.
“Good girl,” Vincent sneered. “Now, bring it here. Slowly.”
I took a step forward.
“No!” Vanessa shrieked from her chair.
Everyone looked at her.
Vanessa’s hair was disheveled, her red silk dress stained with spilled champagne. She scrambled to her feet, her eyes wild with a manic, desperate energy.
“Don’t give it to him, Emily!” Vanessa yelled, pointing a shaking finger at her own father. “He won’t use that money to save the family! He’ll take it and run! He owes the cartel twenty million dollars, and they told him if he doesn’t pay by midnight, they’re going to kill me!”
Vincent’s face hardened. “Shut your mouth, Vanessa.”
“I won’t!” Vanessa screamed hysterically, stepping toward him. “That’s why you pushed for the wedding! That’s why you needed Teresa’s trust signature tonight! You were going to drain Luca’s accounts and leave me here as collateral for the cartel!”
A stunned silence fell over the room.
Even Arthur seemed shocked, his grip on Teresa loosening slightly as he stared at his brother. “Vincent… is that true? You’re bankrupt?”
“The family business hit a rough patch,” Vincent growled, not breaking eye contact with me. “The key, Emily. Now. Or Arthur slits the old lady’s throat.”
I took another step forward, holding the wooden bird out.
I watched Vanessa’s face. She realized her father was going to take the key, run to Switzerland, and leave her to be slaughtered by a Mexican cartel.
With a feral shriek, Vanessa lunged.
She didn’t lunge at her father. She lunged at me.
Her manicured hands clawed at my face. “Give it to me! It’s mine! The money is mine!”
We crashed to the hardwood floor. The heavy silver serving tray dug into my ribs. Vanessa was screaming, tearing at my hair, trying to pry the wooden bird from my fingers. I fought back, driven by twenty-seven years of repressed anger. I drove my knee into her stomach, flipping us over.
“Get off her!” my father shouted.
Through the chaos, I heard Luca yell an order. I heard the scuffle of heavy boots.
Vanessa’s nails dug into my hand, ripping the wooden bird from my grasp. The carving hit the floor with a sharp CRACK.
The wood split cleanly down the middle.
Vanessa scrambled on her hands and knees to grab the pieces. But as she lifted the broken halves of the wooden bird, she froze.
The bird was completely solid.
There was no hidden compartment. There was no microchip, no map, no account numbers. It was just a piece of cheap pine wood my father had carved for me.
“It’s empty,” Vanessa whispered, her voice breaking. “There’s no key.”
Vincent stared at the broken wood, his face draining of all color. “No. No, that’s impossible. Thomas stole the key before the fire. He hid it in the coat! Where is it?!”
My father, Thomas, slowly straightened up. He looked at Vincent with a cold, terrifying calm.
“You’re right, Vincent,” my father said quietly. “I did take the master key from your office the night of the fire. I knew it was the only leverage I had to keep you from hunting my daughter down.”
Vincent’s eyes went wide. “Where is it? Tell me where it is!”
My father turned to Luca.
“Mr. Luca,” my father said, “would you please ask your men to retrieve the gift I sent to your mother this afternoon? The one wrapped in brown paper?”
Luca blinked, confused for a fraction of a second. Then realization dawned on his face. He nodded to one of the tactical guards, who sprinted out of the room toward the foyer.
Moments later, the guard returned, holding a small, rectangular package wrapped in simple brown butcher paper.
Teresa, still held at knifepoint by a trembling Arthur, stared at the package.
“Open it, Mr. Luca,” my father instructed.
Luca tore away the brown paper.
Inside was a beautiful, vintage leather-bound Bible. The gold leaf on the pages was worn from years of use.
“I don’t understand,” Vincent breathed.
Luca opened the heavy cover of the Bible. The center of the pages had been hollowed out. Resting in the hidden square compartment was a heavy, intricate brass key engraved with the crest of a Swiss bank.
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But it wasn’t just a key.
Attached to the brass key was a small, blood-stained piece of fabric. And the pattern on the fabric perfectly matched the dress Vanessa Bellini was wearing.
