Chapter 3 - THE MAID'S HIDDEN PASSAGE
"Marcus." Dominic’s voice held no fear, only a terrifying disappointment. "You too?"
"Business is business, Mr. Russo. Paulie pays better, and he doesn't let an old woman run his conscience."
Marcus kept the gun leveled. "Slide the weapon over."
Mrs. Russo was leaning heavily against me. Her breathing was shallow. I could feel her frail ribs through the thin fabric of her nightgown. She squeezed my hand, a silent plea.
I realized we were standing right next to the linen chute. It was a massive, old-fashioned brass door built into the wall of the 1920s mansion, big enough to fit a person if they were desperate.
And I was desperate.
I didn't think. I just kicked the heavy laundry cart resting in the hall directly at Marcus’s knees.
The cart slammed into him. His gun discharged, the bullet embedding into the ceiling.
Before he could recover, Dominic fired once. Marcus collapsed.
"The chute!" I yelled, yanking the brass handle open.
It was a straight drop to the basement laundry room, padded by mounds of bedding I had sorted three hours ago.
"Mom, you first," Dominic ordered.
"I can't," she sobbed. "My hip—"
"I've got you," I said. I climbed in first, sliding down the smooth metal and landing softly in the massive canvas bins. A second later, Dominic lowered his mother down to me. I caught her gently, easing her onto the floor.
Dominic landed with a heavy thud beside us. The basement was pitch black, smelling of bleach and old stone.
"We need a car," Dominic whispered, helping his mother up. "The garage will be guarded."
"I have a car," I said softly.
He looked at me. "Where?"
"Parked by the kitchen loading dock. It's a 1998 Corolla. They won't look twice at it."
He nodded. "Lead the way."
We crept through the subterranean tunnels. I knew every inch of this basement. We reached the loading dock doors. I peeked through the frosted glass. The driveway was filled with black SUVs, but my faded blue Toyota was sitting quietly in the shadows.
"Give me the keys," Dominic said.
I dug them out of my apron and handed them over.
But as Mrs. Russo stepped into the dim light of the exit sign, she suddenly collapsed against the wall, clutching her chest.
"Mom!" Dominic caught her.
"Dominic," she wheezed, her hand grasping his collar. "Before we leave... you have to know why Celia did this tonight."
"She wants the territory. She made a deal with Paulie."
"No," his mother gasped, tears spilling down her wrinkled cheeks. "It's not about the territory. It's about the trust fund."
Dominic froze. "What trust fund? My accounts are locked."
"Not yours," Mrs. Russo whispered. She reached into her collar and pulled out a small, worn photograph she had kept hidden against her skin.
She pressed it into Dominic's hand.
I looked over his shoulder. It was a picture of a little boy, maybe six years old, with Dominic's exact dark eyes and stubborn jaw.
"Your brother's son," she breathed. "Leo is alive. And Celia knows where I hid him."
May you like
Dominic stopped breathing.
Then, the heavy metal door of the loading dock began to slowly rattle upward from the outside.
