Chapter 8 - THE TUNNELS
The air in the tunnel was damp and smelled of salt water.
I turned on the flashlight app on Nicholas’s phone.
The narrow beam illuminated ancient brick walls covered in moss.
“Stay close to me, Ethan,” I whispered.
He gripped my hand like a vise.
We moved quickly, our footsteps echoing in the cramped space.
Above us, I could faintly hear the sounds of shouting. Sirens. The police had breached the house.
I prayed Nicholas could handle Vivienne.
We walked for what felt like miles, though it was probably only ten minutes.
The tunnel began to slope upward.
Finally, we hit a heavy iron door.
I pushed against it with all my weight.
It groaned open, revealing the misty, moonlit expanse of the harbor.
We were in the boathouse.
A sleek, black speedboat was tied to the dock, bobbing gently in the water.
“We made it,” I breathed out, lifting Ethan into the boat.
I climbed in after him and moved to the console.
Just as Nicholas promised, the keys were in the ignition.
I turned them.
The engine roared to life, a deep, powerful purr.
I untied the mooring lines.
We drifted out of the boathouse and into the open water of the sound.
The cold night air whipped against my face.
I looked back at the sprawling DeLuca estate, lit up by the flashing red and blue lights of the police cruisers.
I steered us toward the opposite shore, keeping the speed moderate to avoid drawing attention.
Once we were a safe distance away, I pulled out Nicholas’s phone.
I opened the contacts.
There was only one name listed.
The Fixer.
I hit dial.
It rang twice before a woman’s voice answered.
“Code phrase,” she demanded.
I froze. Nicholas hadn't given me a code phrase.
“I… I don't have one,” I stammered. “Nicholas told me to call this number.”
Silence on the other end.
Then, a heavy sigh.
“Of course he didn’t. He’s always dramatic.” The woman’s voice softened slightly. “You must be Claire.”
“Yes.”
“And the boy?”
“He’s safe. He’s right here.”
“Good. Head to Montauk. Pier 44. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”
“Wait, who are you?” I asked.
“My name is Sofia,” the woman said.
“Sofia who?”
“Sofia DeLuca. Nicholas’s sister.”
I stared at the phone.
Nicholas had a sister? He had never mentioned her. Nobody ever had.
“I’ll be there,” I said, and hung up.
I pushed the throttle forward, speeding toward Montauk.
We arrived at Pier 44 twenty minutes later.
A tall, striking woman in a black trench coat was waiting on the docks.
She looked exactly like Nicholas, right down to the piercing blue eyes.
She helped us out of the boat.
“Get in the car,” she said, pointing to a black SUV parked in the shadows.
As I buckled Ethan into the backseat, Sofia handed me a thick manila envelope.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It’s the truth,” Sofia said grimly. “Everything my brothers tried to bury.”
May you like
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a DNA test.
