Chapter 8 - THE GLASS RAIN
The shovel struck the rusted iron support beam with a deafening CLANG.
The old metal groaned, but it held.
Flames licked up the wooden tables around us, the heat blistering my skin. The smoke was getting thicker by the second, filling my lungs with toxic gray ash.
“Again!” I screamed over the roar of the fire.
Luca didn’t hesitate. He planted his feet, gripped the shovel handle with both hands, and swung with everything he had.
CRACK.
The rusted beam snapped.
The entire back wall of the greenhouse, composed of hundreds of small glass panes, buckled outward.
A shower of glass rained down on the wet grass outside, creating a jagged, smoking exit.
Cold night air rushed in, momentarily feeding the fire but giving us a path out.
“Go!” Luca yelled, dropping the shovel.
He rushed to my father’s wheelchair. Together, we shoved it through the shattered opening, the wheels grinding over broken glass and mud.
We pushed him out into the cold, torrential rain.
I collapsed onto the wet grass, coughing violently, my lungs burning.
Luca fell beside me, gasping for air, wiping soot and blood from his eyes.
Inside the collapsing greenhouse, a terrifying scream pierced the night.
It was my mother.
She was trapped on the other side of the fire, blocked by a burning workbench.
“Emma!” she shrieked, her hands pressing against the intact glass on the far side. “Help me!”
I froze.
The woman who had abandoned me, sold out my father, and ordered our execution was burning alive.
I started to stand up.
Luca grabbed my arm.
“Emma, no. It’s too late. The roof is going to cave in.”
“I can’t just let her die!” I cried, tears mixing with the soot on my face.
I pulled away from him and ran back toward the shattered opening.
“Mom! Cover your face!”
I grabbed the heavy iron shovel Luca had dropped and threw it into the flames toward her. “Break the glass!”
She grabbed the handle, but she was panicking. She swung wildly at the reinforced glass, but it didn’t break.
Suddenly, a massive wooden crossbeam above her cracked like a gunshot.
The burning roof collapsed.
A mountain of fiery debris crashed down, swallowing her completely.
The screams stopped.
I fell to my knees in the mud, staring at the inferno.
Luca was instantly behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me backward as the rest of the greenhouse exploded in a shower of sparks.
He held me tight against his chest while I sobbed.
I wasn't crying for the woman who died. I was crying for the mother I had lost a long time ago.
We sat in the rain for what felt like hours, the fire eventually dying down in the downpour.
My father sat in his wheelchair, staring at the ruins. He reached out his good hand and rested it on my shoulder.
A silent comfort.
Luca stood up, his face grim and resolute.
“She has the lace,” I said quietly, looking up at him. “Vanessa has the combination. She’s going to empty the vault.”
Luca reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a small, silver object.
It was the key David Mercer had mailed to Maria.
“She has the combination,” Luca corrected, a dark, dangerous smile touching his lips. “But she doesn’t have the key. And you need both to open the vault.”
He looked at his watch.
“It’s 3:00 A.M. The bank opens at 8:00 A.M. We have five hours to destroy the Bellini family.”
He helped me to my feet.
“We need to get your dad somewhere safe,” Luca said. “And I know exactly who to call.”
Forty minutes later, we arrived at a small, unassuming brick house in the suburbs.
Maria Conti opened the door wearing a thick bathrobe.
She didn’t ask questions when she saw our soot-stained clothes, Luca’s bleeding head, or my father in the wheelchair.
She just opened the door wider.
“Bring him in by the fire,” Maria said gently.
We got my dad settled with a warm blanket and a cup of tea.
Maria looked at my dad, her eyes softening. “It’s been a long time, Thomas.”
My dad offered a small, crooked smile.
Luca turned to me.
“Stay here, Emma. You’re safe with Maria.”
“No,” I said immediately, standing up. “I’m going with you.”
“It’s dangerous. Vanessa will have men watching the bank.”
“My father lost ten years of his life because of them,” I said, my voice steady and fierce. “I’m not sitting this out.”
Luca looked at me for a long moment. He saw the fire in my eyes.
He nodded.
“Let’s go.”
We drove to the First Chicago Trust downtown.
It was 7:45 A.M.
The city was just waking up.
We parked in the alley behind the bank.
But as we walked toward the rear entrance, two police cruisers suddenly pulled up, blocking the alley.
Four officers stepped out, guns drawn.
May you like
But it wasn't Vanessa they were looking for.
“Luca Moretti!” the lead officer yelled. “Put your hands on your head! You’re under arrest for the arson and murder of Diane Reed!”
