Chapter 4 - THE MASTER KEYS AND THE BROKEN CANE
“Grace? What is it?”
Adrian saw my expression. I couldn’t speak. My hands were shaking so violently I nearly dropped the phone. I turned the screen toward him.
Adrian read the text. The anger in his eyes instantly transformed into a cold, terrifying focus.
The Rossi family knew exactly who I was. They knew where I lived. They had used my passcode to hack the cameras, and now they were using my disabled father as leverage to get the master keys to the Bellucci estate.
“Marcus,” Adrian barked. “Lock Sloane in the wine cellar. Do not let her mother know what is happening—keep Mrs. Keene safe in the guest wing. Give Grace a vest.”
“A vest?” I choked out.
“You’re coming with me,” Adrian said, already moving down the hallway. “They want the master keys. We are going to give them exactly what they want.”
Five minutes later, I was strapped into the passenger seat of Adrian’s bulletproof SUV. The heavy kevlar vest weighed down my shoulders. Adrian drove himself, the engine roaring as we tore down the dark Connecticut highways toward my neighborhood.
“Mr. Bellucci,” I stammered, tears stinging my eyes. “My dad can’t fight them. He can’t even walk down the stairs without help.”
“Your father is going to be fine, Grace,” Adrian said. His voice was incredibly steady, designed to anchor my panic. “You have my word.”
We pulled onto my small, dimly lit street. The neighborhood was quiet. Too quiet.
Parked halfway onto our front lawn was a rusted white catering van. The same van that had smashed through the estate gates.
The front door of my house was splintered off its hinges.
Adrian killed the headlights. He pulled a heavy pistol from the center console and racked the slide.
“Stay behind me,” he whispered.
We approached the broken doorway. My heart was in my throat. I expected to find my father bleeding on the floor. I expected to find Francesca dead.
Adrian sliced the corner, entering the small living room with his weapon raised.
I followed him inside and froze.
The living room was destroyed. The coffee table was smashed. But sitting in his worn recliner was my father. He was breathing heavily, his face bruised, but he was alive.
And lying on the carpet at his feet was a man in a black tactical jacket, groaning in pain.
My father was pressing the sharp, splintered end of his broken wooden walking cane against the man’s throat.
“Dad!” I cried, rushing forward.
My father looked up, his eyes fierce. “Stay back, Gracie. This piece of garbage thought a bad back meant I couldn’t swing a baseball bat.”
Adrian lowered his weapon, genuinely impressed. He walked over to the man on the floor. He recognized him instantly.
“Carlo,” Adrian said coldly. It was one of Dominic Rossi’s lieutenants. “Where is my sister?”
Carlo spat blood onto the carpet. He let out a dark, mocking laugh.
“We don’t have your sister, Bellucci,” Carlo wheezed.
Adrian pressed his boot hard into Carlo’s wounded shoulder. The man screamed.
“Where is she?” Adrian repeated.
“You’re an idiot,” Carlo sneered, his eyes wild. “Dominic didn’t want the master keys. He already has the master keys! He sent me here to get you out of the mansion.”
Adrian went completely still.
The realization hit us both at the exact same time. The text message wasn’t a ransom demand. It was a decoy.
“While you drove out here to save the maid’s daddy,” Carlo laughed, “Dominic just walked through your front door.”
Adrian pulled his phone and hit Marcus’s number.
It rang once. Twice. Then it went straight to voicemail.
Adrian looked at me, sheer terror flashing in his eyes for the first time.
“Mrs. Keene,” Adrian whispered.
We had left Sloane’s innocent mother back at the estate. And Marcus, the man tasked with protecting her, wasn't answering.
But as Adrian turned to run back to the SUV, the television in my living room suddenly flickered to life.
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It wasn't a broadcast. It was a live video feed.
Sitting in the center of the screen, tied to one of Adrian’s own dining room chairs, was Mrs. Keene. Standing behind her, holding a gun to her head, was Marcus.
