Chapter 5 - THE ACCOUNTANT'S DAUGHTER
The darkness was instantaneous and absolute.
Immediately, the deafening CRACK of a gunshot split the air. The muzzle flash briefly illuminated Vanessa’s terrified face like a strobe light. She had fired blindly in panic.
“Hannah! Down!” Dominic’s voice roared from the dark.
I didn't hesitate. I dropped to the floor, blindly sweeping my arms until my hands found Sophie’s small, trembling shoulders. I pulled her tightly against my chest, covering her completely.
The sound of a brutal physical struggle echoed through the dark room. Grunts, the sickening thud of fists hitting bone, and the clattering of overturned chairs. Dominic was fighting the two armed guards barehanded.
“Shoot him! Shoot him, you idiots!” Vanessa screamed from somewhere near the doorway.
BANG. BANG.
Two more shots went wild, shattering the antique mirror on the far wall. Shards of glass rained down on my back, but my thick maid’s uniform protected me from the worst of it.
“Run, Hannah! The kitchen!” Dominic yelled, his voice strained with effort.
I scooped Sophie into my arms, hoisting her 40-pound frame against my hip. Driven by pure adrenaline, I scrambled on my hands and knees toward the swinging doors that led to the servant's quarters. I knew this house better than anyone. I had scrubbed every inch of these floors. I could navigate it blindfolded.
I pushed through the swinging doors and locked the heavy deadbolt behind us.
The kitchen was eerily silent, illuminated only by the pale moonlight filtering through the skylight. I set Sophie down behind the massive marble island, out of the line of sight from the doors.
“Are you hurt, sweetheart?” I whispered, running my hands frantically over her arms and legs.
Sophie shook her head, tears streaming down her face in silence. She was in shock.
I pulled the black ledger from my pocket. My hands were shaking so violently I almost dropped it. My father. My sweet, quiet father who used to help me with my math homework at the kitchen table. He was the financial architect of the most ruthless crime syndicate in the South.
He had died to protect a secret. A secret Vanessa thought I possessed.
For my little strawberry moon. Always.
I frantically recalled the words from the recipe card. Vanessa said it was an anagram. A cipher.
My father used to play word games with me when I was little. Cryptograms. Crosswords. We spent hours on Sunday mornings decoding puzzles.
Strawberry Moon.
I squeezed my eyes shut, visualizing the letters. I rearranged them in my mind.
No, it wasn't an anagram. It was a date.
A Strawberry Moon is the full moon in June. My father always called me his little Strawberry Moon because I was born on June 22nd, during a rare lunar eclipse.
06-22.
But the passcode needed to be longer. What about the rest of the ingredients on the card?
3 layers of vanilla.8 ounces of strawberry.1 cup of sugar.
06-22-381.
That was it. That was the master passcode to unlock four billion dollars. My father hadn't left it for me to find the money. He had left it so that if anything happened to him, I would have leverage to survive. And Isabella, realizing my father had been murdered, had hidden his codebook in plain sight, disguising it with Sophie’s favorite cake recipe.
Isabella had protected me, even as she was dying.
A heavy thud against the kitchen door jolted me out of my thoughts.
Someone was trying to break in.
I grabbed a heavy cast-iron skillet from the stove and stood in front of Sophie, raising the pan over my head like a weapon.
The deadbolt rattled. Then, a key slid into the lock.
The door swung open, and a towering figure stumbled into the moonlight.
I swung the skillet with all my might.
A massive hand caught my wrist mid-air, stopping the iron pan inches from his skull.
“Easy, Hannah. It’s me.”
It was Leo, Dominic’s massive, scarred bodyguard. He was bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound to his shoulder, his black suit soaked in dark blood.
“Leo!” I gasped, dropping the pan. “Where is Mr. Caruso?”
“Holding them off in the hall,” Leo grunted, leaning heavily against the marble counter. He reached into his coat pocket with his good hand. “He sent me to give you this. Said if the house went dark, it was time.”
Leo pressed a heavy, cold object into my palm.
It was a gold pocket watch. The Caruso family crest was engraved on the front.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Open it,” Leo gasped, sliding down the cabinets to sit on the floor.
I clicked the top button. The gold lid popped open.
There was no clock face inside. Instead, there was a small keypad and a single, glowing red button.
“Dominic isn't the man Paulie thought he was,” Leo wheezed, applying pressure to his wound. “Dominic didn't want the empire anymore. After Isabella died, he wanted out. For Sophie. He made a deal with the FBI two years ago. He’s been working as a confidential informant, gathering evidence to dismantle the entire southern syndicate. That watch… it’s a direct panic button to the Federal Task Force.”
My jaw dropped. Dominic wasn't a ruthless monster. He was a father trying to burn down his own house to save his child.
“Press it, Hannah,” Leo ordered. “Press the red button. The FBI has a strike team stationed two miles away. They’ll be here in three minutes.”
I didn't hesitate. I jammed my thumb onto the red button. It beeped twice, then turned a solid, glowing green.
Help was coming.
But three minutes was an eternity when a killer was in the house.
Suddenly, the glass skylight above us shattered inward. Ropes dropped from the roof, and three men dressed in tactical black gear repelled directly into the kitchen.
They weren't FBI.
They were Vanessa’s men.
May you like
And they had their weapons aimed directly at me and Sophie.
“Well, well,” Vanessa’s voice echoed from the shattered kitchen door. She stepped through the frame, her red dress torn, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated madness. She held her silver gun in one hand, and with the other, she was dragging a bloody, beaten Dominic Caruso by the collar of his shirt.
