Chapter 9 - THE RUSTED KEY
“No!” Catherine screamed, lunging for the rusted key on the pavement.
Sabrina’s eyes rolled back, her body going limp on the wet concrete. She was dead. And she had taken the location of the basement to her grave.
Luca grabbed Carlo by the lapels of his jacket, hauling the massive gunman off his feet.
“Which basement?!” Luca roared, spittle flying from his lips. “Where did she keep him?!”
Carlo looked terrified. “I swear to God, Mr. Moretti, we don't know! She didn't trust us with the kid. She showed up here alone two hours ago carrying the blanket. We thought it was the baby!”
I stared at the rusted key in Catherine’s trembling hands. It was old, heavy iron, the kind used for antique doors, not modern buildings.
“Water is rising,” Catherine repeated Sabrina’s last words, her voice cracking with pure panic. “Luca, it’s been raining for two days. If he’s in a basement near the river…”
“Think!” Luca shouted to his men, who were already swarming the warehouse lot. “Where did she go today? Where are her safe houses?”
I looked at the key. My mind raced back to the mansion. To the little blue suitcase. To the hospital. To everything Sabrina had said.
She grew up in the dirt while you lived in a mansion.
“Mrs. Moretti,” I said, stepping forward. My voice was surprisingly steady.
Catherine looked at me, her eyes wild with fear.
“Sabrina didn't have the baby when she came to your anniversary dinner tonight,” I reasoned, trying to piece the timeline together. “She was wearing a silk gown. She had a small clutch purse. She must have hidden him before she arrived at the mansion.”
Luca turned to me, his eyes wide. “Emily’s right. She wouldn't have driven across town with a kidnapped baby in the trunk.”
“She hid him close to the estate,” Catherine realized, the color draining from her face.
“What’s near your house?” I asked. “What has a basement that floods?”
Catherine stared at the rusted key. Her breath hitched.
“The old carriage house,” Catherine whispered. “On the far edge of our property. It was built in the 1800s. It sits right on the edge of the creek. Luca, the creek has been flooding all week!”
Luca didn't say another word. He sprinted for the SUV.
Catherine and I dove into the back seat. Luca threw the massive vehicle into reverse, spinning the tires on the wet pavement, and tore out of the warehouse lot.
He drove like a madman. We flew through red lights, the heavy SUV hydroplaning on the flooded Chicago streets. The drive back to the Lake Forest estate normally took forty minutes. Luca made it in fifteen.
He didn't bother waiting for the security gates to open. He rammed the SUV directly through the iron bars, tearing them off their hinges.
He drove across the manicured lawns, tearing up the grass, and slammed the brakes near the edge of the dark, dense woods at the back of the property.
We spilled out of the car. The roar of the swollen creek was deafening. The water had breached its banks, turning the woods into a churning swamp.
Through the trees, the silhouette of the abandoned stone carriage house loomed in the darkness. The water was already a foot high against its foundation.
“Matteo!” Luca screamed into the rain, calling his dead son’s name as he sprinted into the freezing water.
Catherine and I ran right behind him, the icy water soaking through our clothes instantly.
Luca reached the heavy wooden doors of the carriage house. There was a massive, rusted padlock holding them shut.
Catherine shoved the iron skeleton key into the lock. Her hands were shaking so violently she could barely turn it.
With a loud crunch, the lock snapped open.
Luca threw the doors wide.
The inside of the carriage house was pitch black. The roar of the water rushing into the lower basement level was terrifying.
Luca pulled a heavy tactical flashlight from his belt and shined it down the stone stairwell.
The water in the basement was already chest-high.
And bobbing in the center of the dark, freezing water, was a plastic storage bin.
Inside the bin, a baby was screaming.
“I’m coming!” Luca roared.
He didn't hesitate. The billionaire mafia boss threw himself down the stone stairs, plunging into the freezing, filthy floodwater.
He waded fiercely through the debris, the water rising to his shoulders. He reached the plastic bin just as it tipped precariously to the side.
Luca scooped the screaming infant out of the bin, holding the tiny body high above his head to keep him dry.
He slogged back up the stairs, shivering violently, and collapsed onto the dry wooden floor of the carriage house.
Catherine fell to her knees beside him. She wrapped her arms around the freezing, wailing baby, pulling him against her chest.
“You’re safe,” Catherine wept, kissing the baby’s wet forehead. “Nana has you. You’re safe.”
Luca lay on his back on the floor, gasping for air, staring up at the rotting wooden ceiling.
Then, he rolled over and pushed himself up onto his knees.
Right in front of his wife.
The most feared man in Chicago lowered his head until his forehead touched the dirty floorboards.
“Forgive me,” Luca sobbed, his voice breaking with absolute, devastating remorse. “Cath, I am so sorry. I broke our family. I let the devil into our home. Please. Forgive me.”
Catherine held her grandson tightly. She looked down at her husband, the man who had just risked his life to save the last piece of their son.
She reached out with her free hand and gently rested it on the back of Luca’s wet, bleeding head.
“We have a lot of work to do, Luca,” Catherine whispered softly. “But we’re going to do it together.”
I stood by the doorway, shivering in my soaked uniform, crying tears of pure relief.
The nightmare was over. The baby was safe. The villains were dead.
And as the first rays of morning light broke through the storm clouds, illuminating the broken carriage house, I saw Catherine reach into her pocket.
She pulled out her gold wedding ring.
She didn't put it back on her left hand. She slid it onto her right hand—right next to the silver wolf ring.
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A new beginning. On her terms.
TITLE: THE WOODEN DESK
