The Lighter In The Driveway

“Where is your daughter right now?”

Roman’s voice was completely calm. It was the most terrifying sound in the world.

“At home,” I gasped, staring at the crushed silver charms in my palm. A little star. A crescent moon. “With her babysitter. She was supposed to be safe.”

“How did her bracelet get in my cellar?”

I looked at the ground. There were fresh scuff marks near the tasting room door.

“She lost this three days ago,” I said, panic rising in my throat. “I tore my apartment apart looking for it.”

“Someone took it from your home,” Elias said quietly. “And brought it here. To show they have access to her.”

My chest heaved. I couldn’t get enough air. “Greg. Greg took it.”

“Daniel,” Roman barked. “Get a team to Megan’s apartment. Now. Bring the child here.”

“Yes, sir.” Daniel stepped away, barking orders into his radio.

Bianca was still crying on the floor. “Roman, we have to call the police! They’re trying to kill me!”

Roman looked down at her with absolute disgust. “They’re trying to silence you. Because you’re a liability.”

He crouched down so he was eye-level with his fiancée. “Nicholas didn’t plan this. Nicholas is a pawn. Just like you. Who do you owe money to, Bianca?”

She shook her head, tears ruining her expensive makeup. “I can’t. They’ll kill me.”

“They are already trying to kill you,” Roman said softly. “Tell me.”

She sobbed. “The Moretti family.”

Roman froze. The entire cellar seemed to drop in temperature.

Even Elias closed his eyes.

The Morettis. The DeLuca family’s oldest rivals. They had been quiet for a decade.

“You sold me out to the Morettis,” Roman said. It wasn’t a question.

“I owed them from a casino debt!” she wailed. “Two hundred thousand. They said if I gave them your father’s cases, my debt was clear. Nicholas just provided the van. I swear, Roman, I didn’t know what was inside!”

Roman stood up. He didn’t yell. He simply turned his back on her.

He looked at me. “Your ex-husband works for the Morettis.”

Before I could answer, my cell phone vibrated in my apron pocket.

In the dead silence of the vault, the buzzing sounded like a chainsaw.

I pulled it out. The caller ID said: SARAH (BABYSITTER).

My thumb shook as I answered it. “Sarah?”

“Megan?” Sarah’s voice was trembling. “Megan, I’m so sorry.”

“Sarah, where is Lily? Is she okay?”

“A man came to the door,” Sarah cried. “He had a gun. He said he was your ex-husband. He took her, Megan. He took Lily.”

A scream tore out of my throat, raw and agonizing. My legs gave out.

I didn’t hit the floor.

Roman caught me.

His arm wrapped around my waist, holding me up. He took the phone from my hand.

“This is Roman DeLuca.”

A man laughed on the other end. “Mr. DeLuca. So glad you’re at the party.”

Greg.

“Listen to me very carefully,” Roman said, his voice laced with venom. “If you harm one hair on that child’s head, there isn’t a hole deep enough for you to hide in.”

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Greg said smoothly. “I just want the rest of the payment.”

“You have the six cases,” Roman said.

“The cases are full of old ledgers,” Greg sneered. “The real prize is the property deeds your father hid in Megan’s dad’s wine shop. I know you have them, DeLuca. Bring them to the old warehouse on 9th Street in one hour. Alone. Or Lily doesn’t come home.”

The line went dead.

Roman slowly lowered the phone.

He looked at me. Tears were streaming down my face.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a sleek, black handgun.