The Lighter In The Driveway

“You are not going alone,” I said.

My voice trembled, but I stood up straight. I wiped my face with the back of my hand.

Roman turned around, loading a magazine into his weapon. “Megan, stay here. You are a civilian.”

“She’s my daughter!” I screamed.

The sound echoed off the stone walls. The wealthy guests huddled in the corner shrank back.

Roman stared at me. “It’s a trap, Megan. The Morettis want me dead. Greg is just the bait.”

“I know Greg,” I said, stepping closer. “He’s a coward. If you show up with an army, he’ll panic and shoot. If I show up, he’ll gloat. He loves to gloat. He wants to see me beg.”

Roman’s jaw tightened.

“Take me with you,” I pleaded, grabbing the sleeve of his charcoal suit. “Please. I can get her away from him.”

He looked at my hand on his arm. Then he looked at Elias.

The old sommelier nodded slowly. “She has her father’s spine, Roman.”

Roman exhaled sharply. “Daniel, prep the armored SUV. Just you driving. Me and Megan in the back. The rest of the team surrounds the perimeter, silent approach.”

“Yes, sir,” Daniel said, jogging toward the exit.

“Wait!” Bianca scrambled to her feet. She grabbed Roman’s other arm. “You’re leaving me here? The sniper is still out there!”

Roman looked at her hand. Then he ripped his arm away.

“You brought the sniper to my house, Bianca.”

“I made a mistake!” she cried. She tried to grab him again, but her foot caught on the heavy hem of her designer gown.

She tripped, falling hard against the wooden wine racks.

Something spilled from the neckline of her dress.

A heavy black velvet pouch hit the stone floor. The drawstring opened.

Dozens of brilliant, flawless diamonds spilled across the floor, glittering in the dim cellar light.

Elias gasped.

Roman stopped walking.

He looked down at the diamonds. He didn’t look angry. He looked hollowed out.

“My mother’s necklace,” Roman whispered.

Bianca scrambled on the floor, desperately trying to scoop the diamonds back into the pouch. “I can explain! I was just—I was keeping it safe!”

“You broke it apart,” Roman said, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. “You pried the stones out of the setting. To sell them individually.”

“I needed the cash to run away!” she sobbed. “Nicholas said the Morettis wouldn’t stop at the cases. He said they wanted everything. I was trying to survive!”

Roman stared at her as if she were a ghost.

“You sold my family’s secrets,” he said. “You tried to destroy Elias. And you mutilated the only thing I had left of my mother.”

He looked at Elias. “Lock her in the tasting room. Leave her there.”

“Roman, no!” Bianca screamed as Elias grabbed her arm by the elbow, dragging her without an ounce of gentleness.

Roman didn’t look back. He grabbed my hand. “Let’s go get your daughter.”

We ran through the service corridor. The mansion was completely silent, locked down tight.

We burst through the back doors into the cool night air. The armored SUV was idling. Daniel was at the wheel.

Roman opened the back door and pushed me inside, climbing in after me.

“Drive,” he ordered.

The SUV tore down the driveway, the tires screaming against the asphalt.

I was trembling violently. I clutched my knees to my chest.

Roman reached over and put his hand over mine. It was warm. Calloused.

“I will not let him hurt her,” Roman said softly. “You have my word.”

I looked at him. The cold, untouchable Mafia boss was gone. In the darkness of the car, he looked like a protector.

Then my phone vibrated again.

I answered it, putting it on speaker.

“Greg?” I cried.

“Change of plans, Megs,” Greg’s voice laughed through the speaker. “Don’t go to the warehouse. Go to the old Cole Wine & Spirits lot. Where it all started.”

Roman’s eyes locked onto mine.

“And Megs?” Greg added softly. “Bring the real 1982 Bellacourt. I’m thirsty.”

The line died.

I looked at Roman.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cork.

The real, old, wine-stained cork from the 1982 Bellacourt.

“How did you know?” I whispered.

Roman flipped the cork over. “Because my father didn’t brand the vintage on the bottom of this bottle, Megan. He branded something else.”

He showed me the bottom of the cork.