Chapter 11 - THE BASEMENT
The drive back to the estate was a nightmare of agonizing traffic and red lights. Luca drove like a man possessed, his sirens wailing, running every intersection.
I dialed the landline to the mansion over and over. It rang out every time.
“Frank has a gun,” I kept saying, mostly to convince myself. “He protected Mia once. He’ll do it again.”
“Marco trained my guards,” Luca replied grimly. “He knows their blind spots. He knows the patrol routes.”
We violently swerved through the wrought-iron gates of the Moretti estate. The front doors were wide open. Two guards lay unconscious on the marble steps.
Luca was out of the car before it fully stopped. He swept the first floor, his weapon drawn.
“Frank!” Luca yelled.
Silence.
“Mia!” I screamed, running into the kitchen.
A muffled sound came from the pantry. I threw the door open.
One of the kitchen staff, an older woman named Maria, was bound and gagged on the floor. I quickly untied her.
“Where are they?” I demanded.
“The man with the scar,” Maria sobbed, shaking violently. “He took Mr. Frank and the little girl. He took them downstairs.”
The basement.
Luca appeared beside me, his eyes dark with lethal intent.
We moved silently down the narrow stone stairs leading to the estate’s massive wine cellar. The air grew cold and damp.
At the bottom of the stairs, the heavy oak door was ajar.
We slipped inside.
Marco was standing in the center of the cellar, holding a suppressed pistol to Frank’s head. Frank was on his knees, clutching Mia tightly to his chest. The little girl was too terrified to even cry.
“Drop it, Luca,” Marco called out without turning around. He knew we were there. “Or Uncle Frank’s brains paint the vintage Bordeaux.”
Luca slowly stepped into the light, his gun raised. I stayed just behind the doorway, hidden in the shadows.
“You’re a dead man, Marco,” Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
“Maybe,” Marco smirked, finally turning to face him. “But not today. I want the portfolio, Luca. I know the girl went to the vault. Bring me the deeds, and I let the old man and the kid walk.”
“You think I brought them with me?” Luca lied smoothly.
“I think you love your uncle more than money,” Marco countered. “Call the maid. Have her bring it down.”
I looked around the dark stairwell. I needed a distraction.
I remembered the blueprint note. The real power is in the basement.
My father was a beat cop, but he was also a combat engineer in the military before he joined the force. I scanned the stone walls, looking for anomalies.
Behind a row of dusty wine racks, I saw it. A modern, heavy-duty electrical junction box that had no business being in a 19th-century wine cellar. It matched the wiring schematic my father had drawn.
It was a master kill switch. Not just for the lights. For the estate’s entire automated security lockdown.
I crept toward the junction box, my heart pounding in my throat.
“Ten seconds, Luca,” Marco threatened, pressing the barrel harder against Frank’s temple. “Call Emily down here.”
“She’s not a maid anymore,” Luca said, stalling, his eyes locked on Marco. “She’s the boss.”
I reached the junction box. I threw the heavy metal lever down.
Instantly, the cellar plunged into pitch-black darkness.
A deafening alarm klaxon erupted through the house. The heavy steel blast doors of the cellar—designed for a panic room—slammed shut with a massive, echoing boom, sealing us all inside.
“What the—” Marco yelled in the dark.
I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed a heavy wine bottle from the rack and hurled it into the darkness toward where Marco’s voice had come from.
It shattered against the stone floor. Marco fired a suppressed shot into the dark, the muzzle flash illuminating the room for a microsecond.
May you like
It was enough for Luca.
In the brief flash of light, Luca tackled Marco.
