Chapter 4 - The Smoke and the Truth
Panic exploded in my chest.
Gasoline dripped down the wooden stairs, pooling on the concrete floor. Isabella coughed, pulling her cream-colored coat over her mouth.
"Daniel!" Vincent roared, throwing his entire body against the locked metal grate at the top of the stairs. The iron didn't budge. "Let the women go! This is between you and me!"
"There is no 'between us', Vincent," Daniel's voice floated down, cold and detached. "You were always the weak twin. Your father knew it. That's why he wanted to eliminate Anthony. He knew Anthony would grow up to ruin the family business with Eleanor's soft morals."
I grabbed Vincent's arm. Answer One, Open Two. Daniel hadn't acted alone. Vincent's own father had conspired to kill Anthony, and my father had saved him. But how did Daniel know Anthony had a child?
"Vincent, the window," I coughed, pointing to a narrow, ground-level coal chute embedded in the stone wall.
It was barely wide enough for a person. Vincent raised his gun and shot the rusted iron latch three times. The lock shattered.
"Go," Vincent ordered, shoving Isabella toward the chute. "Get out!"
"I'm not leaving without the baby!" Isabella cried.
"I will get my nephew," Vincent swore, his gray eyes blazing with a terrifying promise. "Go!"
I helped push Isabella through the narrow opening. As she squeezed through, a match struck in the darkness above us.
The stairs ignited.
A wall of orange flame roared down the stairwell. The heat was instantaneous and suffocating.
"Grace, go!" Vincent yelled, physically lifting me toward the chute.
I scrambled through the dirty stone tunnel, scraping my arms, and tumbled out into the freezing Chicago alley. A second later, Vincent hauled himself out just as the basement became an inferno.
We lay on the wet asphalt, gasping for air. Sirens wailed in the distance.
"He's taking the baby to the roof," Vincent wheezed, getting to his feet. He looked at the fire escape clinging to the brick wall.
"He'll drop him, Vincent," Isabella sobbed, clutching my arm. "He told me he would throw him if anyone followed."
I looked at my mother's silver rosary, still clutched in Vincent's hand. She had protected this family's bloodline for twenty-seven years. I wasn't going to let it end tonight.
"I'm going up," I said, running toward the rusted fire escape.
"Grace, no!" Vincent yelled.
But I was already climbing. I reached the third floor, my lungs burning, when I heard a voice that made my blood run cold.
"Stop right there, Grace."
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I looked up. Standing on the landing above me was Frank. My manager from the restaurant.
He was holding a gun pointed directly at my chest.
