Chapter 10 - THE CATERING MANAGER
Luca slowly pulled his hand away from the deadbolt.
He looked at the door, his eyes narrowing.
"Who is out there?" Luca demanded, raising his voice.
"It's Officer Davies, Chicago PD," the voice replied, sounding muffled through the heavy steel. "It's safe to come out, sir."
I stood up, pulling Sophie behind me. "Luca," I whispered, my heart hammering in my throat. "That's not a police officer."
Luca looked at me sharply. "How do you know?"
"Because I know that voice," I said, a sickening sense of dread washing over me. "That's Marcus. The catering manager who hired me for this shift."
Isabella stood up, her face pale. "The caterer? Why would a caterer be trying to get into the panic room?"
"He was the one who called me this afternoon," I explained, the pieces finally clicking together in my mind. "He said someone called in sick. He begged me to come to this specific house. He knew Patrick was my husband. He brought me here on purpose."
Luca drew his weapon again, aiming it directly at the center of the heavy door.
"Marcus," Luca called out, his voice dangerously calm. "Step away from the door."
Silence.
Then, a low, humorless laugh echoed from the other side.
"You're sharp, Julia," Marcus's voice came through, completely dropping the 'police officer' act. "I always told Patrick you were too smart for your own good. That's why he needed you committed."
"Who are you working for?" Luca demanded.
"The same people Patrick works for," Marcus replied. "The syndicate. We needed Patrick to marry Isabella to get access to the Moretti accounts. But Patrick got sloppy. He couldn't get the deed to the lake house fast enough, and he let you find out about the wedding."
"So you brought me here to ruin it?" I asked, confused.
"I brought you here to clean up his mess," Marcus sneered. "If Patrick couldn't get the house quietly, the bosses decided it was time to eliminate the obstacles. All of them. The bride, the husband, and the wife."
Isabella gasped, covering her mouth.
"You cut the power to trap us," Luca realized.
"And to blind your security," Marcus confirmed. "The police are busy outside chasing ghosts in the garden. It's just us in the kitchen, Moretti. Open the door and give me the ledger Patrick kept, and maybe I let the women walk."
"I don't have a ledger," Luca lied smoothly.
"Don't play games!" Marcus shouted, banging on the door again. "Patrick kept a record of every hit, every payoff. We know he brought it tonight to use as leverage against us! Hand it over, or I blow the hinges off this door!"
I looked at Luca. He glanced at the small wooden box sitting on the crate—the box with his father's photograph.
Patrick hadn't just kept a trophy. He had kept proof.
"We're trapped," Isabella whispered, tears welling in her eyes again.
"No, we're not," Luca said quietly. He pointed to a small, grated air vent near the ceiling. "There's an emergency hatch that leads to the wine cellar. I can get you three out, but someone has to stay and hold the door."
"You can't stay," I argued. "He has explosives. He'll kill you."
"I'm not leaving my home to these animals," Luca said fiercely. He moved to a metal cabinet in the corner and pulled out a heavy crowbar. He wedged it under the door handle, reinforcing the lock.
Then, he turned to me.
"Julia, take my sister and your daughter. Go through the hatch. When you get to the cellar, there's a service elevator that goes straight to the garage. Take one of the cars and drive."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of heavy black car keys.
He pressed them into my hand.
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"Don't look back," he ordered.
Before I could answer, a massive explosion shook the walls.
