Chapter 4 - THE COUNTDOWN
I froze in the doorway. The world around me seemed to tilt on its axis.
A hitman.
My father. The gentle man who spent his evenings building model airplanes because his legs hurt too much to take long walks. The man who apologized every time I handed him my tip money to pay for his medication. Someone was going to kill him tonight.
“Rachel, go,” Dante commanded, his voice cracking like a whip. “Take Leo. Now.”
I didn't argue. Pure, unadulterated adrenaline flooded my veins. I practically carried Leo down the hallway, rushing him into the massive estate kitchen. The catering staff was bustling around, oblivious to the nightmare unfolding in the study.
“Chef,” I said, my voice trembling as I handed Leo to the head cook. “Please. Three scoops of vanilla. Do not let him out of your sight.”
Without waiting for a response, I pulled my cell phone from my apron pocket. My hands were shaking so badly I dropped it twice before I could dial my father’s number.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Come on, Dad,” I prayed aloud. “Pick up.”
“You have reached Arthur Bennett. I can't get to the phone right now, but leave a message and I’ll—”
I hung up and dialed again. Nothing. It was 8:45 PM. My dad’s physical therapy appointment ended at 8:00. He should be home by now. He should be sitting in his worn recliner, watching historical documentaries.
Why wasn't he answering?
I turned and sprinted back down the hallway toward the study. I didn't care about the rules. I didn't care that I was just a maid. I shoved the heavy oak doors open.
Victoria was on her knees on the Persian rug. She was weeping hysterically, the elegant facade entirely shattered. Dante stood over her, his phone pressed to his ear.
“I need a team at the Westside Clinic immediately,” Dante was barking into his phone. “And send another to the Bennett apartment in Pilsen. If you see Thomas Haines or any of his men, you do not ask questions. You put them on the ground. Am I clear?”
He hung up and looked at me. His expression was grim.
“He’s not answering his phone,” I choked out, tears finally spilling hot down my cheeks. “Dante, please. If he dies because of this—”
“He is not going to die,” Dante said fiercely. He walked over to me and gripped my shoulders. His hands were large and warm, grounding me in the terrifying whirlwind. “Arthur Bennett survived three bullets to the chest to save my life when I was nineteen years old. He is the toughest man I have ever met. I will tear this city apart brick by brick before I let Thomas Haines touch him.”
He turned back to Victoria, who was sobbing into her hands.
“Why, Victoria?” Dante demanded. “Why tonight? My mother has been dead for ten years. Why is your father moving against Arthur now?”
Victoria looked up, her mascara smeared black across her cheeks. She looked pathetic. She looked broken.
“Because Rachel turned thirty-one yesterday,” Victoria whimpered.
I stared at her. “What does my birthday have to do with anything?”
Evelyn answered from her wheelchair. Her voice was weak, but perfectly clear. “The trust fund. The forty million dollars that Dante’s mother left to your father.”
Evelyn wheeled herself slightly forward. “Your father refused to take the money, Rachel. He said blood money would only bring a curse upon you. But Dante’s mother wouldn't take no for an answer. So, she put it in a blind trust. A trust that would automatically transfer to you, his only child, on your thirty-first birthday.”
I couldn't process it. “I’m… I have a trust fund?”
“And Thomas Haines knew it,” Victoria sobbed. “My father stole the money over the last ten years, making bad investments, hiding his losses. But yesterday, the bank initiated the automatic transfer to Rachel’s name. When the accountants look for the money tomorrow morning to finalize the transfer, they are going to find out the accounts are empty. They’ll know my father stole it.”
Dante’s eyes widened with dark realization. “Unless Rachel and Arthur are dead. If the beneficiaries are gone, the money reverts to the estate, which Thomas controls as the executor.”
“He didn't want to hurt anyone!” Victoria cried desperately. “Dante, my father owes money to the Moretti syndicate! The Chicago outfit! He borrowed millions from them to cover his losses, and they are demanding repayment tonight. If my father doesn't deliver the deed to Evelyn’s cottage and the rights to the Romano estate to the Morettis by midnight, they are going to kill me. They’re going to kill Leo!”
The room went dead silent.
Victoria wasn't the mastermind. She wasn't just a greedy socialite trying to evict an old woman. She was a hostage to her father’s gambling debts. She forged Dante’s signature to sell the estate to the mob because it was the only way to save her son’s life.
“You brought the Morettis into my business?” Dante whispered, the betrayal carving deep lines into his face.
Before Victoria could answer, the heavy crystal chandelier above us flickered.
Once. Twice.
Then, the entire mansion plunged into pitch-black darkness.
The music from the ballroom abruptly cut off. Thirty-two guests began to murmur in confusion.
I heard Evelyn gasp in the dark.
Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the study slammed shut. The sound of the deadbolt clicking into place echoed like a gunshot. We were locked inside.
May you like
“Dante,” a voice came from the darkness of the hallway, amplified by a megaphone. It was a smooth, chilling voice that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
“You have five minutes to hand over the old woman and the deed to her cottage,” the voice echoed. “Or we start shooting your wedding guests.”
