Chapter 6 - THE CLOCKWORK SAFE
The heavy crystal pitcher shattered against the antique chandelier.
Glass rained down like diamonds, slicing through the tense air of the dining room.
Victor ducked, throwing his arms over his head with a startled shout. His thumb slipped off the red button of the remote for a fraction of a second.
It was all the time Luca needed.
With the speed of a predator, Luca lunged across the shattered glass. He didn't go for the remote; he drove his knee directly into Victor’s chest, tackling the older man to the floor. The silver remote skittered across the marble, spinning out of reach.
“Get it!” Sofia screamed, diving for the remote.
But Vanessa’s father, Richard, who had been cowering by the door, suddenly found his desperate courage. He lunged and kicked the remote under the massive, heavy oak credenza.
“No!” Sofia cried, scrambling after it.
Victor roared, struggling under Luca’s weight. He managed to free one arm, pulling a hidden, snub-nosed revolver from his ankle holster.
“Luca, look out!” I screamed.
A gunshot deafened the room.
The bullet missed Luca by an inch, shattering a priceless vase on the mantelpiece.
“Everyone, get down!” Luca yelled, pinning Victor’s gun hand to the floor.
But Victor was fighting with the desperate strength of a man who had nothing to lose. He twisted violently, throwing Luca off balance just enough to aim the gun toward the oak credenza where Sofia was reaching for the remote.
I didn't think. I moved.
I grabbed Teresa’s arm, ignoring protocol, ignoring Vanessa’s shrieks, and pulled the old woman toward the massive grandfather clock in the corner.
“The numbers, Teresa!” I urged, my voice shaking over the sound of the struggle. “What were the numbers on the back of the photo?”
Teresa’s hands trembled as she looked at the faded Polaroid.
“Three… one… four… two,” she gasped, her breath coming in shallow, ragged bursts.
I looked at the ornate face of the grandfather clock. It didn't have a traditional combination lock. It had heavily carved wooden hands.
I reached through the glass panel and forced the minute hand to the three. The hour hand to the one.
Nothing happened.
“It’s not working!” I cried in panic, as another gunshot rang out, followed by a grunt of pain from Luca.
“No, Hannah,” Teresa whispered fiercely, pushing my hands away. “You have to pull the pendulum.”
She reached down, her arthritic fingers gripping the heavy brass pendulum. She pulled it outward, then swung it sharply to the four, then the two.
With a deep, mechanical groan that vibrated through the floorboards, the entire wooden casing of the clock shifted.
The wall behind it seamlessly slid open, revealing a dark, steel-reinforced passage.
“Sofia! Luca! The wall!” I screamed over the chaos.
Sofia had managed to grab the remote. She scrambled backward, clutching it to her chest, and bolted toward the hidden passage.
Luca delivered a final, brutal punch to Victor’s jaw, momentarily stunning the older man. He grabbed Vanessa by the arm—not out of love, but out of duty—and hurled her toward the opening.
“Get in!” Luca roared.
I pushed Teresa into the dark passage. It smelled of stale air and old dust. The space was small, barely a six-by-six steel cube.
Sofia tumbled in behind us, followed by a sobbing Vanessa.
Luca was the last to enter. He grabbed the heavy steel handle on the inside of the secret door and pulled.
Just as the door began to slide shut, Victor recovered. His face was bloodied, his eyes wild with absolute madness. He aimed the gun directly at the narrowing gap.
“You won't leave me here!” Victor screamed.
He fired.
The bullet ricocheted off the closing steel door with a terrifying shower of sparks.
The heavy door sealed shut with a massive, airtight thud.
We were plunged into absolute pitch-black darkness.
The silence was sudden and suffocating, broken only by the sound of our ragged breathing and Vanessa’s hysterical sobbing.
“Is everyone alright?” Luca’s voice was steady, commanding in the dark.
“I’m okay,” Sofia panted. “I have the remote.”
“Teresa?” I asked, reaching out until my fingers found the old woman’s soft, trembling hand.
“I am here, Hannah,” she whispered.
Suddenly, the floor beneath us violently shuddered. A muffled, deep BOOM echoed through the thick steel walls.
Victor hadn't needed the remote. He had triggered the incendiary device manually.
“The west wing,” Luca said grimly. “He actually blew it.”
We were safe in the panic room, but we were trapped.
Luca reached into his pocket and turned on his cell phone flashlight. The harsh white beam illuminated the small steel room.
There were emergency oxygen tanks, cases of bottled water, and a heavy iron lever on the wall.
“My father showed me this room when I was a boy,” Luca said, inspecting the lever. “It leads down to an old smuggling tunnel that exits near the lake. We can get out.”
He grabbed the heavy iron lever and pulled.
It didn't budge.
He pulled harder, his muscles straining against his tailored suit jacket. The lever groaned, but the gears were rusted solid from decades of disuse.
“It’s rusted shut,” Luca cursed, kicking the steel wall in frustration.
“We’re going to die in here!” Vanessa shrieked, collapsing against the floor. “The fire is going to roast us alive!”
“Shut up, Vanessa,” Sofia snapped.
I looked around the small steel room, trying to control my panic. My eyes landed on a small, heavy iron lockbox sitting on a shelf above the emergency water.
It was covered in a thick layer of dust.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said, pointing the light toward the shelf. “What is that?”
Luca frowned, pulling the box down. It was surprisingly heavy.
He wiped the dust away.
Engraved on the lid was the Moretti family crest.
But below the crest was a word that made Teresa gasp.
Antonio.
“It’s your father’s private lockbox,” Teresa whispered.
Luca tried to pry the lid open, but it was sealed tight with a heavy, antique keyhole.
“We need a key,” Luca said, frustrated.
I looked at Teresa. She was staring at her own hands.
Slowly, she reached toward her neck and pulled out a delicate, worn silver chain she always wore hidden beneath her blouses.
Hanging from the chain was a small, ornate silver key.
“He gave me this the night we were married,” Teresa said, her voice filled with a heartbreaking sorrow. “He told me that if the day ever came when the family was truly lost, this key would open the truth.”
She handed the key to Luca.
He slid it into the lockbox. It turned with a smooth, oiled click.
He opened the lid.
Inside rested a stack of old, yellowed letters, a thick leather-bound diary, and a small, heavy object wrapped in a silk cloth.
Luca pulled the cloth back.
It was a solid gold pocket watch.
But the glass face was shattered, and the hands were frozen exactly at 11:42 PM.
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Teresa let out a strangled cry.
“That’s the time,” she wept. “That’s the exact time your father died.”
