Chapter 12 - THE FINAL INHERITANCE
The catacombs beneath St. Jude’s Cathedral were freezing, smelling of ancient dust and melting wax.
I held Anthony’s hand tightly as we descended the stone spiral staircase. My six-year-old son was brave, sensing my tension, keeping completely quiet as we walked surrounded by Carlo and eight of his heavily armed soldiers.
“Almost there,” Carlo echoed from the front, his silver cane clicking against the stone floor.
At the bottom of the stairs, flanked by two stone gargoyles, was a massive, modern steel vault door. It looked entirely out of place in the ancient cathedral.
Standing in front of the vault, his hands bound by heavy zip-ties, was Vincent.
He looked terrible. His face was bruised, a fresh cut bleeding over his left eye, but the moment he saw us, his eyes flared with a desperate, protective rage.
“Evelyn,” Vincent gasped, struggling against his restraints. “Carlo, you promised you wouldn't bring the boy into this!”
“I promised you wouldn't die if she complied,” Carlo corrected, turning to me. “Bring the boy forward.”
I squeezed Anthony’s hand.
“It’s okay, baby,” I whispered, kissing his head. “Just like we practiced this morning. Remember?”
Anthony nodded, his big brown eyes filled with a terrifyingly mature understanding.
I walked him toward the massive steel door.
Next to the heavy locking mechanism was a sleek, digital biometric scanner.
“Place his hand on the glass,” Carlo ordered, his eyes gleaming with greed.
I lifted Anthony up.
He placed his small palm against the scanner.
A red laser swept across his hand.
The machine beeped loudly. A green light flashed, illuminating the dark catacombs.
DNA MATCH. MORETTI HEIR CONFIRMED.
The massive steel bolts groaned, retracting into the door. With a heavy sigh of pressurized air, the vault swung open.
Carlo laughed, a triumphant, greedy sound.
He stepped past us, rushing into the vault. His men followed, their weapons lowered as they stared in awe at the stacks of bearer bonds and gold bullion stacked floor to ceiling.
“Cut him loose,” Carlo ordered over his shoulder.
One of the guards sliced the zip-ties off Vincent’s wrists.
Vincent immediately rushed forward, pulling me and Anthony into a crushing embrace.
“You shouldn't have come, Evie,” Vincent whispered, kissing my face. “He’s going to kill us anyway.”
“No, he isn't,” I whispered back, my voice completely calm.
I looked into the vault.
Carlo was standing in the center of the room, running his hands over the stacks of bonds.
“Beautiful,” Carlo murmured. “A billion dollars of untraceable wealth.”
“Don Carlo,” I called out, my voice echoing off the steel walls.
The old Don turned around, looking at me with mild amusement. “Yes, Evelyn?”
“When I found the letter from Vincent’s father yesterday,” I said, stepping forward, “I noticed something strange about the wax seal. It wasn't twenty years old. The wax was fresh.”
Carlo’s smile faltered slightly.
“I realized,” I continued, “that Vincent’s father didn't write that letter. You did. You forged it, hoping I would find it and bring Anthony to you willingly.”
Vincent looked at me in shock. “Evelyn, what are you doing?”
“But you made one fatal mistake, Carlo,” I said, pulling a small, black remote detonator from my coat pocket.
Carlo’s eyes widened in absolute terror.
“The letter said this vault belonged to the Moretti family,” I said, raising the detonator. “But Vincent told me years ago that his father hated St. Jude’s. He never built anything here.”
“Evelyn, stop!” Carlo yelled, stepping toward the door.
“This isn't a Moretti vault,” I said coldly. “This is a Commission vault. This is where you keep your money.”
I looked at Vincent.
“Run.”
Vincent grabbed Anthony’s hand, and we sprinted toward the stone staircase.
“Kill them!” Carlo screamed to his men.
I pressed the button on the detonator.
I hadn't packed clothes in my duffel bag in New York. I had packed the heavy, military-grade C4 explosives my mother had stolen from Dominic’s safe house three years ago, hiding them inside the lining of Anthony's oversized winter coat before we walked down the stairs. Anthony had dropped the coat right inside the vault door when he scanned his hand.
The explosion shook the foundation of the ancient cathedral.
A massive fireball ripped through the vault, instantly incinerating the billion dollars in bearer bonds, the gold, and Don Carlo himself.
The heavy steel door slammed shut from the concussive force, trapping the blast inside the reinforced walls.
The shockwave knocked us off our feet, sending us tumbling onto the stone steps.
Dust and debris rained down on us.
Then, total silence.
I gasped for air, coughing through the thick smoke.
“Anthony?” I panicked, feeling around in the dark.
“I’m here, Mommy,” a small voice coughed.
Strong arms wrapped around us both. Vincent pulled us tightly against his chest.
He looked back at the smoldering, sealed vault door. The New York Commission was gone. The money was ash.
Vincent looked at me, a profound, awestruck smile breaking across his bruised face.
“Remind me,” Vincent laughed, wiping the soot from my cheek, “to never, ever make you angry.”
I leaned my forehead against his, tears of relief washing the dirt from my face.
“Let’s go home, Vincent,” I whispered.
May you like
We climbed the stairs together, stepping out of the dark catacombs and into the bright, blinding sunlight of a new day.
We were finally free.
