Chapter 3 - THE BOY IN THE BASEMENT
The cold concrete of the stairwell seemed to close in around them.
Evelyn stared at the silver pocket watch in Dominic’s bloody hand. The double-headed eagle gleamed in the dim light of his phone. "That's impossible," she breathed, shaking her head. "The police gave me that watch. They said Arthur had it in his coat pocket when the car went up in flames."
"The police were on Carmine's payroll," Dominic said grimly, his thumb tracing the worn silver edge. "My father was shot in an alley two days before your father's car crash. The coroner said his personal effects were missing. This watch was his most prized possession."
Evelyn felt the blood drain from her face. "You're saying my father was at the scene of your father's murder?"
"I'm saying," Dominic replied, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, "that Answer One just opened two massive doors. Your father wasn't just my father's accountant. He was there when he died. And whoever killed them both made sure you ended up with this watch as a message."
Before Evelyn could process the horrific implication, heavy boots thundered on the floor above them. Carmine's strike team had entered the mansion. The muffled popping of silenced gunfire echoed through the ceiling. The slaughter in the dining room had begun.
"We need to get to the basement. Now," Dominic ordered, shoving the pocket watch deep into his jacket pocket.
They rushed down the remaining flights of stairs, the air growing thick and damp. The basement of the estate was a sprawling labyrinth of wine cellars, laundry facilities, and staff quarters. Evelyn sprinted ahead, her catering heels long abandoned, her bare feet slapping against the cold linoleum.
"Leo!" she screamed, throwing open the door to the staff breakroom.
The room was empty.
A half-eaten sandwich sat on the folding table. The small television in the corner was still playing a cartoon on mute. But the six-year-old boy with messy brown hair and Evelyn's green eyes was gone.
"No, no, no," Evelyn sobbed, tearing through the small room, throwing open locker doors. "Leo! Mommy's here! Where are you?"
Dominic stepped into the room, his eyes scanning the space with the cold, tactical precision of a predator. "He wasn't taken by force," Dominic observed, pointing to the untouched chairs and undisturbed rugs. "There's no sign of a struggle. Did you tell him to hide if he heard loud noises?"
"Yes," Evelyn choked out, tears blurring her vision. "I told him it was a game. That if he heard firecrackers, he should go to the safest place he could find."
Dominic’s gaze dropped to the floor. Next to the leg of the table was a piece of crumpled white paper. He picked it up and smoothed it out.
It was a child’s drawing in blue crayon. It depicted a large, square box with bars on the front, and a tiny stick figure sitting inside.
"The wine vault," Dominic realized. "It has a heavy iron gate. A kid would think it looks like a safe cage."
Evelyn snatched the drawing. But as her thumb brushed the edge of the paper, she froze. Smeared across the corner of the white page was a distinct, fresh smudge of dark red blood.
"Dominic," she whispered, her hands shaking violently. "Leo isn't bleeding. He didn't have any cuts when I left him."
Dominic touched the red smear. "It's fresh."
A heavy, metallic thud echoed from the corridor outside the breakroom. Someone was down here with them.
Dominic pulled Evelyn behind a row of metal lockers, his combat knife held in a reverse grip. Through the slats of the lockers, Evelyn saw a shadow move across the hallway wall.
It wasn't a heavily armed mercenary. It was a woman.
Isabella stumbled into the doorway of the breakroom. Her stunning evening gown was torn, and blood was pouring from a gunshot wound in her left shoulder. She looked terrified, her predatory confidence completely shattered.
She collapsed against the doorframe, clutching her bleeding arm. "Dominic?" she whimpered into the empty room. "Please. They killed the Russian. They killed everyone."
Evelyn started to step forward, the instinct to help overriding her fear. But Dominic’s hand clamped hard over her mouth, pulling her back into the shadows. He shook his head sharply, his eyes hard.
"Isabella," a new voice echoed from the hallway. It was smooth, gravelly, and dripping with false sympathy.
Uncle Carmine stepped into the light. He was a distinguished, silver-haired man in a bespoke tuxedo, holding a high-powered handgun casually at his side.
"Carmine, thank God," Isabella sobbed, reaching out a bloody hand to him. "Your men... they saved me. Dominic ran. He left me to die."
Carmine smiled gently. "Oh, my dear. My men didn't come to save you."
Isabella froze. The realization dawned on her beautiful face a second too late.
"You got greedy, Isabella," Carmine sighed. "You thought you could poison my nephew and take the empire with your Russian friends. I simply let you do the dirty work of lowering his guard, so my team could walk through the front door."
Isabella backed away, pressing herself against the wall. "Please. I have money. The offshore accounts—"
"Are heavily encrypted by a cipher I don't possess," Carmine interrupted. "Which brings me to my next problem."
Carmine raised his hand, gesturing to two massive armed guards who stepped into the doorway behind him.
And in the grip of the largest guard, dangling by the collar of his little superhero t-shirt, was Leo.
"Mommy!" Leo cried out, kicking his small legs.
Evelyn screamed, biting down hard on Dominic’s hand to break his grip. She lunged out from behind the lockers, placing herself directly in the line of fire.
"Let him go!" Evelyn shrieked, her body trembling with a mother's absolute rage.
Carmine smiled, lowering his gun slightly. "Ah. The invisible waitress. Or should I say, little Evie Reed."
Dominic stepped out of the shadows behind her, his presence instantly shifting the gravity of the room. Carmine’s smile widened into a grin of pure victory.
"Dominic, my boy," Carmine chuckled. "How poetic. Both heirs, right where I want them."
"Let the boy go, Carmine," Dominic said, his voice dropping to a lethal calm. "He has nothing to do with this."
"On the contrary," Carmine said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a crumpled cocktail napkin—the exact napkin Evelyn had slipped under Dominic’s glass. "This cipher. It's Arthur Reed’s. And little Evie here is the only one alive who can read it. So, here is the deal, nephew. She decrypts the accounts for me, or I blow her son's head off right in front of you."
Before Dominic could respond, Isabella, bleeding and desperate, made her move. With a feral scream, she launched herself at Carmine, tackling the older man to the linoleum floor.
"Run!" Isabella screamed, blood spraying from her lips.
It was the perfect opening. But as Dominic lunged forward to grab Leo, the chief of security, Marcus, stepped out from the darkness of the hallway.
Evelyn let out a cry of relief. Marcus was Dominic’s most loyal man.
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But Marcus didn't aim his weapon at Carmine's guards. He leveled his assault rifle directly at Dominic’s chest.
"Drop the knife, Boss," Marcus said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. And as his sleeve rode up his forearm, Evelyn saw it—a thick, black tattoo of a double-headed eagle, identical to the one on her father's watch.
