Chapter 7 - THE OLD WINE CELLAR
The words on the paper burned into my mind.
Elias DeLuca hadn’t just hidden a fortune for me. He had orchestrated a way for me to destroy his legitimate son, the man bleeding to death on the stone floor in front of me.
Elias was a monster from the grave, pulling strings to punish Adrian for not being ruthless enough.
Answer One: The vault didn't require my actual blood, just Elias's synthetic DNA stored in the watch.
Open Two: Why did Elias hate Adrian so much that he would leave the ultimate power to an illegitimate daughter he never raised?
"Emily?" Sofia tugged on my sleeve, her voice raw with terror. "Is my daddy going to wake up?"
I shoved the watch and the vial into my pocket.
"Yes," I lied, my voice steady despite the panic threatening to consume me. "But we have to get him to the safe room. I need your help, Sofia."
I couldn't leave him. Elias wanted me to abandon Adrian, to take the money and run. But I was not Elias. I was not a DeLuca in my soul. I was Emily Carter, a housekeeper who knew how to clean up messes.
And right now, my family was a mess.
I hooked my arms under Adrian's shoulders.
"Lift his legs, Sofia," I instructed.
She was tiny, but fear gave her strength. She grabbed her father’s ankles.
Together, step by agonizing step, we dragged the unconscious mafia boss down the pitch-black, sloping tunnel. The air grew colder, smelling of damp earth and old cork.
Above us, muffled through the stone ceiling, I could hear the sounds of boots tearing the mansion apart. Vincent’s men were hunting us.
Finally, the tunnel opened into the sprawling, cavernous expanse of the old wine cellar.
Thousands of dusty bottles lined the brick walls. In the far corner, disguised behind a massive wooden wine rack, was a heavy steel door.
The panic room.
I dragged Adrian toward it, my muscles screaming in protest. My injured left hand was practically useless, throbbing with a sickening, hot pain.
We reached the steel door. Beside it was a biometric scanner.
I reached into my pocket, pulling out the gold watch and the vial of synthetic DNA.
I unscrewed the cap, poured a few drops onto my thumb, and pressed it against the glass pad.
The scanner beeped green.
The heavy steel bolts slid back with a loud, mechanical clunk.
I pushed the door open.
The panic room was illuminated by emergency LED lights. It was stocked with medical supplies, weapons, and a communication terminal.
But it wasn't empty.
Sitting in a leather chair in the center of the room, casually cleaning a fingernail with a combat knife, was Marcus.
The head of security. The man who had supposedly been blackmailed into deleting the footage.
"Hello, Emily," Marcus said, not looking up.
I froze, dropping Adrian’s shoulders.
"Marcus," I gasped. "Help me. He's shot."
Marcus stood up slowly. He didn't move toward Adrian. He walked toward me.
"I can't do that, Emily," Marcus sighed, his face a mask of regret. "I told Vincent I'd secure the vault down here while he flushed you out from above."
My blood ran cold.
"You're with Vincent?"
"Vincent is old school," Marcus said, gesturing with the knife. "He pays better. And he doesn't care about collateral damage. Adrian got soft when he had the kid. The families don't respect soft."
Answer One: Marcus was the true inside man all along. He deleted the footage to cover his own tracks, not because he was blackmailed.
Open Two: If Marcus was securing the vault, where was the fifty million dollars?
"Where is the money?" I asked, backing up, shielding Sofia behind me.
Marcus laughed. "The money isn't down here, sweetheart. The vault down here is just a decoy. Elias was paranoid. The real fifty million is in bearer bonds, stored in a safety deposit box at the Federal Bank."
He pointed the knife at the vial in my hand.
"But I need that DNA to authorize the bank transfer. Hand it over."
"No," I said, gripping the glass vial tightly.
"Emily, don't be stupid," Marcus warned, taking a step closer. "You're a housekeeper. I'm a trained killer. You have a busted hand and a bleeding boss. Give me the DNA, and I'll let you and the kid walk out of here."
I looked around the panic room. Medical kits. Radios. Racks of assault rifles.
And on the desk, a heavy, vintage silver lighter.
The exact lighter Marcus used to carry in his pocket every single day.
"You left that lighter on Adrian's desk," I realized aloud. "When you scrubbed the footage. You framed Silas."
"Silas was an idiot who thought he was a mastermind," Marcus sneered. "I just used his ambition to cover my tracks. Now. The vial."
He lunged for me.
I didn't try to fight him. I knew I couldn't win.
Instead, I raised my arm and smashed the glass vial against the steel doorframe.
The glass shattered. The clear liquid splashed across the concrete floor, instantly soaking into the dust.
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks.
His eyes widened in absolute horror.
"What did you do?" he whispered.
"I just burned the empire to the ground," I said coldly.
Marcus screamed in rage, raising the combat knife.
"I'm going to carve you to pieces!"
He charged at me.
But before he could close the distance, a deafening gunshot rang out inside the small steel room.
Marcus stopped. He looked down at his chest, where a blooming red flower of blood was expanding rapidly.
He collapsed to his knees, dropping the knife, and then pitched forward onto the concrete, dead.
I turned around, gasping for air.
Laying on the floor of the cellar, his arm trembling violently as he held a smoking pistol, was Adrian.
He had woken up.
"Nobody," Adrian coughed, blood spilling from his lips, "threatens my sister."
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And then, the heavy steel door to the panic room slammed shut behind us, and the electronic lock engaged.
We were trapped inside. And Vincent was coming.
