Chapter 7 - The Buried Secret
The smell of gasoline mixed with the cold rain, sharp and terrifying.
Marco Bellini stood by the service gate, the flame of his silver lighter flickering dangerously close to the soaked wooden crate. Behind him, a dozen armed men stood in absolute silence, waiting for the order to fire.
"What are you talking about?" Luca demanded, stepping in front of Teresa to shield her.
Marco laughed, a raspy, grating sound that barely carried over the storm. "You really didn't know, did you? Your father was a paranoid man, Luca. When I killed Tessa, Antonio knew I had him cornered. He knew I had the police chief on payroll. So, he took out an insurance policy."
Marco pointed toward the center of the garden, right where the old wooden bench sat beneath the pear tree.
"There's twenty pounds of military-grade C4 buried beneath that bench," Marco revealed, his eyes manic. "Wired to a dead-man switch inside this crate. Antonio told me if I ever came for him, he’d blow the entire estate to ash."
Teresa gasped, clutching Luca’s arm. "Antonio never told me."
"Of course he didn't, Teresa," Marco sneered. "He didn't trust you. He didn't trust anyone. He just used you to breed."
Luca’s jaw tightened. "If you blow the estate, Marco, you die with us. You're too close."
"I don't care," Marco spat, looking at his daughter, who was currently zip-tied and kneeling in the mud beside Luca’s guards. "You disgraced my family today. You broke an engagement. The Commission told me to handle my house, or they’d handle me. I'm taking you all down."
He moved the lighter an inch closer to the gasoline-soaked wood.
"Wait!"
The word tore from my throat before I could stop myself.
Everyone froze, looking at the soaked, terrified maid standing near the conservatory doors.
Marco frowned. "Who the hell are you?"
"I... I know where the ledger is," I lied, stepping forward. My legs felt like lead, but I forced myself to walk toward Luca. "The microfilm. The one that proves you killed Tessa."
Marco’s eyes narrowed. "I know where it is too. It’s in Luca’s pocket."
"No, it isn't," I said, praying my bluff would hold. I looked at Luca, hoping he would understand. "Luca didn't trust himself to bring it here. He gave it to me."
Luca caught my gaze. His eyes flickered with brief, intense comprehension. He didn't correct me.
"You gave a ledger that can destroy my family to a maid?" Marco asked, incredulous.
"She's a civilian," Luca said smoothly, playing along. "If you kill us, she walks away and hands it to the FBI. The Commission won't just kill you, Marco. They'll hunt down every living relative you have for bringing the feds to their doorstep."
Marco hesitated. The flame on the lighter wavered in the wind.
"Where is it?" Marco demanded, looking at me.
"It's hidden in the house," I said, forcing my voice to stop shaking. "If you let Teresa and Luca walk out the front gate, I'll go inside and get it for you."
"Hannah, no," Teresa whispered, her face pale.
"It's the only way," I said gently, looking at the older woman.
Marco stared at me, weighing the options. A massive explosion would definitely kill Luca, but it would also draw the ATF, the FBI, and national news. If he could get the ledger quietly, he could eliminate the threat without a suicide mission.
"Fine," Marco grunted. "You go inside and get it. The Morettis stay right here until I have it in my hand. If you try to call the cops, I drop the lighter."
I nodded slowly and backed toward the conservatory doors.
Once inside, I sprinted through the grand dining room and down the hallway toward Luca’s private study. I didn't have the microfilm—Luca still had it in his pocket. I was buying time, but I had no idea what to do with it.
I burst into the study, desperately scanning the room for a weapon, a phone line that wasn't cut, anything.
My eyes landed on a heavy, antique humidor on Luca’s desk. Next to it was a framed photograph of Antonio holding a young Luca.
I stared at Antonio's face. A paranoid man. Took out an insurance policy.
If Antonio had wired the garden to explode from a dead-man switch by the service gate, he wouldn't have left himself without a way to disarm it from inside the house. He was paranoid, not suicidal.
I fell to my knees and crawled under the massive mahogany desk, frantically running my hands along the bottom of the wood.
Nothing.
I pulled out the desk drawers, dumping files and pens onto the floor.
Still nothing.
"Think, Hannah, think," I muttered, tears of frustration pricking my eyes.
I looked at the walls. The study was lined with built-in bookshelves. I ran to them, pulling heavy leather-bound books off the shelves, searching for a hidden switch, a wire, anything.
Two minutes had passed. Marco wouldn't wait much longer.
Then, I noticed it.
On the bottom shelf, tucked behind a row of encyclopedias, was a small, dusty wooden box. It wasn't ornate or expensive. It looked exactly like the wood from the trellis in the garden.
I grabbed it and pulled it open.
Inside was a heavy, industrial electrical switch. It was currently flipped to the 'ON' position. A thick black wire ran from the back of the box straight into the wall, heading toward the garden.
This was the override.
Without hesitating, I slammed the switch down to 'OFF'.
A loud, metallic CLUNK echoed from the wall, signaling a break in the circuit.
I prayed it was enough.
I grabbed a blank ledger book from the desk, shoved it under my arm, and sprinted back through the house.
When I reached the conservatory doors, the scene in the garden hadn't changed. Marco was still holding the lighter over the crate. Luca was still standing in front of Teresa.
I stepped out into the rain, holding up the blank ledger.
"I have it," I called out.
Marco smiled. It was a cold, victorious sneer.
"Good," Marco said. "Toss it over here."
I walked slowly down the patio steps. "Let them go first."
"I don't think so," Marco laughed. He looked at Luca. "You really thought I'd let you walk away, Moretti? The Commission wants you gone."
He opened his hand and dropped the burning lighter straight onto the gasoline-soaked crate.
"NO!" Teresa screamed.
Luca threw himself over his mother, tackling her to the muddy ground to shield her from the blast.
I braced myself, closing my eyes, waiting for the concussive force to tear the garden apart.
The lighter hit the wood. The gasoline ignited in a flash of bright orange flame, engulfing the crate instantly.
We waited. One second. Two seconds.
Nothing happened.
The crate burned brightly, but the ground beneath the old wooden bench remained perfectly still. The C4 didn't detonate. The circuit was broken.
Marco stared at the burning crate in absolute shock. "What... what did you do?"
Luca didn't waste the opportunity.
He rolled off Teresa, pulled a backup weapon from his ankle holster, and fired two shots in rapid succession.
Marco Bellini fell backward into the mud, clutching his shoulder and screaming in agony.
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Before his men could raise their weapons, a siren wailed in the distance. Not a police siren, but the heavy, low hum of armored black SUVs crashing through the front gates of the estate.
Luca’s reinforcements had arrived.
