Chapter 8 - THE LULLABY IN THE DARK
The heavy silence of the sealed vault was suffocating.
The air was already growing stale, thick with the smell of old paper and cold iron. Dante paced like a caged tiger, testing every seam of the massive steel door, his hands bloodying against the unyielding metal.
"There has to be an override," Dante muttered frantically, checking the hinges. "Federal regulations require emergency releases on all modern vaults."
"Dante, this bank was built in 1930," Elina said quietly, sitting on the velvet viewing bench, holding Leo close to her chest. The baby had finally woken up, his big brown eyes blinking in the harsh fluorescent light. He didn't cry. He just looked up at Elina, reaching out to wrap his tiny fingers around the silver bird bracelet on her wrist.
Dante stopped pacing. He leaned against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the cold floor. The blood from his gunshot wound had soaked entirely through his makeshift bandage, pooling darkly on his coat.
"I failed him," Dante whispered, burying his face in his hands. The ruthless, terrifying mafia boss was entirely broken. "I promised Sofia I would protect him. And I brought him right into a tomb."
Elina’s heart ached. She walked over and sat on the floor beside him, shifting Leo so the baby rested between them.
"You didn't fail him, Dante," Elina said fiercely, placing her free hand over Dante's trembling knuckles. "You fought for him. You bled for him. That’s what a real father does."
Dante looked up, his dark eyes filled with agonizing regret. "You shouldn't be here, Elina. You should be in your apartment, complaining about your tips. I dragged you into my nightmare."
"I was already in the nightmare," Elina corrected softly. "I just didn't know it. If you hadn't walked into that restaurant, I would have lived my entire life never knowing who I was. Never knowing I had a sister who loved me enough to try and find me. Never knowing my nephew."
Leo babbled softly, reaching out his chubby hand to smack Dante playfully on the nose.
Dante let out a choked, wet laugh, catching his son's tiny hand and kissing the knuckles.
"He really does look just like her," Dante whispered, gazing at Elina. "And he knew it. The moment he saw you, his heart knew you were family."
The air was getting noticeably thinner. Elina felt a dull ache building behind her temples, the first sign of oxygen deprivation. They had maybe twenty minutes left before they lost consciousness.
Elina looked around the vault desperately. Her eyes scanned the towering rows of safety deposit boxes, the iron safe, the viewing table.
Then, she noticed something near the ceiling, tucked behind a thick steel beam in the far corner.
A small, red manual pressure valve, covered in decades of dust.
"Dante," Elina gasped, pointing upward. "Look."
Dante followed her gaze. His eyes widened. "The pneumatic release valve. If we can turn it, it depresses the airlock seal on the main door. But it’s fifteen feet in the air."
"Lift me," Elina said immediately, standing up and placing Leo safely on the velvet viewing bench. "I can reach it."
Dante struggled to his feet, groaning in pain as his wound tore further. He gritted his teeth, locking his hands together to form a step.
Elina stepped into his hands, gripping his broad shoulders for balance. Dante hoisted her upward with a powerful surge of strength, his muscles straining against the injury.
Elina reached for the ceiling. Her fingertips brushed the cold, rusted metal of the red wheel.
"I can barely reach it!" Elina strained, stretching her arm until her shoulder popped.
"Push, Elina!" Dante grunted from below, his knees buckling slightly under her weight and his blood loss.
Elina wrapped her fingers around the valve. She pulled with all her might. It didn't budge. The rust was completely fused.
"It's stuck!" she cried out in frustration.
Down on the bench, little Leo began to fuss, sensing the panic in the room. His whimpers quickly escalated into a full, terrified wail.
The sound of his crying hit Elina like a physical blow. It was the exact same cry she had heard in the restaurant—the sound of a motherless child desperate for comfort.
A sudden, fierce surge of maternal adrenaline flooded Elina’s veins. She wasn't just a waitress anymore. She was a Moretti. She was this baby's blood, and she refused to let him die in the dark.
Elina closed her eyes, gripped the rusted iron wheel with both hands, and screamed as she threw her entire body weight backward.
SCREEECH.
The rust snapped. The wheel turned violently to the left.
A massive hiss of pressurized air exploded through the vault as the hermetic seal around the three-foot-thick steel door released.
Dante lost his balance, dropping Elina safely to the floor as the heavy vault door slowly, agonizingly swung open a few inches.
Fresh, cool air rushed into the room.
Elina collapsed onto her hands and knees, gasping for breath, while Dante rushed to the bench to scoop up the crying baby.
"You did it," Dante breathed, looking at her with absolute awe.
But their victory was cut short.
The sound of slow, sarcastic clapping echoed from the hallway outside the cracked vault door.
Camilla stood there, flanked by her two armed guards. She hadn't left the building. She had stayed to watch them die.
"Impressive," Camilla sneered, her pistol drawn and aimed through the crack in the door. "But unfortunately, opening the door just means I have to finish the job myself."
Before Camilla could raise her weapon, Dante didn't hesitate.
He moved with the terrifying speed of a man who had nothing left to lose. He threw his full body weight against the massive steel vault door, slamming it outward.
The three-foot-thick door struck the two armed guards with the force of a freight train, knocking them entirely unconscious against the hallway wall.
Camilla shrieked, stumbling backward as Dante burst out of the vault like a demon released from hell.
He snatched the pistol from Camilla’s hand, twisted her arm behind her back, and slammed her face-first against the marble wall of the bank.
"It's over, Camilla," Dante growled, pressing the barrel of her own gun against the back of her head. "Your coup is dead."
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Camilla sobbed in terror, her elegant facade completely shattered. "Dante, please! I'm your sister!"
"You're nothing to me," Dante said coldly.
