Chapter 5 - THE DEADLY SECRET IN HIS POCKET
Glass rained down on us like sharp, glittering snow. The deafening roar of gunfire echoed through the grand foyer, ripping the expensive paintings from the walls and shredding the silk curtains.
Luca covered my body with his own, shielding Oliver beneath me. The sheer weight and heat of him was the only thing keeping me anchored to reality.
“Move! To the hallway!” Luca yelled over the chaos.
He grabbed my arm and hauled me up. We scrambled across the slick marble floor, Oliver clinging to my neck, his little face buried in my shoulder. Luca fired back through the shattered windows, his hand perfectly steady despite the nightmare erupting around us.
We dove behind the thick oak doors of the central corridor. Luca’s guards were already returning fire, barricading the entrances.
Vanessa had disappeared in the confusion, likely slipping out to join Silvio’s men.
Luca slammed the heavy door shut and threw the deadbolt. He was breathing hard, a thin cut bleeding on his cheek.
“Silvio isn't waiting until midnight,” Luca gritted out, reloading his weapon. “He’s making his move now. If he kills me tonight, he can claim I was the traitor all along.”
“What do we do?” I panicked, bouncing Oliver in my arms to keep him from crying. “We can't stay here!”
“We aren't,” Luca said. He walked over to a massive bookshelf, pulled a specific leather-bound volume, and pushed. The entire shelf swung silently inward, revealing a dark, narrow staircase.
“Go. Don't stop until you reach the bottom.”
I didn't hesitate. I rushed down the stairs, the cold, damp air rushing up to meet us. Luca followed, sealing the bookshelf behind him. The roar of the gunfire faded into a muffled thud above us.
We navigated a long, concrete tunnel that smelled of earth and old secrets.
When we finally emerged, we were two blocks away, inside a dimly lit, detached private garage. A sleek, unassuming black sedan sat in the center.
Luca put us in the back seat and climbed into the driver’s side. He peeled out into the rainy Chicago night, his eyes constantly checking the rearview mirror.
“We have the recording from the rosary,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady for Oliver. “Isn’t that enough to stop Silvio?”
“The commission won't accept an audio recording as absolute proof of embezzlement. Silvio will claim it's fake,” Luca said, gripping the steering wheel. “I need the account numbers to trace the stolen money. Without the money, Silvio loses his power. But Vanessa was right. Silvio moved the funds to a ghost account.”
I looked down at Oliver. He was sitting quietly, holding the child’s drawing we had taken from my apartment. He had refused to let it go.
“Daddy said he hid the numbers,” Oliver mumbled, tracing the green crayon lines of the dinosaur.
Luca slammed on the brakes, pulling the car into a dark alley. He turned around so fast his seatbelt locked.
“What did you say, buddy?”
Oliver looked up. “Daddy told me. He said the bad numbers were safe.”
“Where, Oliver? Did he tell you where?”
Oliver nodded slowly. “He said he buried a shiny ring under the big oak tree at our old house. He said if I ever needed a superhero, I should dig it up.”
My heart stopped.
Our old house. The little run-down rental on the south side where we lived before Matteo disappeared. I had moved out the week after he vanished, unable to pay the rent.
Luca looked at me. “Is the tree still there?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “But the house has been abandoned for years.”
“Then that’s where we’re going.”
Thirty minutes later, we parked down the street from the decaying house. Weeds choked the yard, and the windows were boarded up. It looked like a graveyard.
We walked into the overgrown backyard. The massive oak tree stood exactly as I remembered it.
Luca grabbed a rusted trowel from the broken shed and began digging at the base of the trunk. Rain soaked our clothes, but nobody cared.
After five minutes, metal scraped against metal.
Luca pulled a rusted coffee tin from the dirt.
He popped the lid.
Inside wrapped in plastic, was Matteo’s heavy gold signet ring. The real one. Silvio had worn a fake in the photograph.
But wrapped around the ring was a folded piece of parchment.
Luca opened it. It was a letter in Matteo’s handwriting.
“Luca. If you are reading this, I am dead, and Silvio has won. But he didn't get the money. I transferred the stolen funds into a secure trust that only a Moretti blood heir can access. Not Silvio. Not even you. Protect Claire. Protect my son.”
Luca stared at the paper, tears mixing with the rain on his face.
“He didn't leave the account numbers here,” Luca whispered, realizing the devastating truth. “He tied the money to the heir.”
I frowned. “But how do we access it? Where are the account numbers?”
Suddenly, headlights flooded the backyard, pinning us against the tree.
Car doors slammed.
A voice called out from the darkness.
“Put the tin down, Luca!”
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It was Silvio. He stood by the fence, flanked by six armed men, holding a forged document in his hand.
“It’s over!” Silvio yelled over the rain. “The commission has voted! You are under arrest for the murder of your own brother!”
