Chapter 8 - THE WINE CELLAR
Camille’s hands were shaking as she gripped the heavy pistol, but her eyes were venomous.
"Back up," she ordered, gesturing with the barrel toward the servant’s corridor.
I slowly raised my hands, my mind racing. "Camille, Marco is using you. He doesn't care about you or Marcus. He just wants Alessandro's shipping company."
"Shut up!" she shrieked, the silencer wavering. "Marco promised me five million dollars from the Swiss account once Alessandro signs the papers. I'm going to get my money, and I'm going to watch you bleed out on this cheap linoleum."
She stepped closer, her finger tightening on the trigger.
"Camille," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm, "Marco told us the truth about the key. He told us Giovanni killed Alessandro's mother. Do you really think he's going to leave witnesses?"
That made her hesitate. Just for a second.
In that fraction of a moment, a massive shadow loomed behind her.
Rossi didn't make a sound. He simply raised his massive hand and delivered a brutal, precise chop to the back of Camille's neck.
She dropped to the floor like a puppet with cut strings. The gun clattered across the tiles.
Rossi stepped over her unconscious body, barely glancing down.
"Good distraction, Miss Dawson," Rossi grunted, picking up the gun and checking the chamber. "The Boss sent me when he heard the scuffle over the comms. Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," I breathed out, my heart pounding. "Leo is in the wine cellar. Marco's man dropped a radio, Leo found it. We have to go."
"Stay behind me," Rossi ordered.
We moved swiftly down the stairs into the sub-basement levels. The temperature dropped as we approached the massive, heavy oak doors of the Romano family wine cellar.
Rossi held up a hand, signaling me to stop. He pressed his ear to the wood.
Then, he kicked the door open with a force that splintered the frame.
The cellar was vast, filled with towering rows of dusty bottles. At the far end, two men in tactical gear were searching frantically between the barrels with flashlights.
"Where is the kid?" one of them yelled.
Rossi didn't hesitate. He raised his weapon and fired two suppressed shots.
Pfft. Pfft.
Both men dropped, neutralized instantly.
Rossi moved forward to secure their weapons while I ran down the center aisle.
"Leo!" I called out. "Leo, it's Claire! It's safe!"
I heard a small whimper from behind a massive oak cask of vintage Barolo.
I knelt down and peered into the shadows. Leo was huddled against the cold stone wall, trembling uncontrollably.
"Come here, sweetheart," I said softly, holding out my arms.
He launched himself into my chest, wrapping his little arms around my neck in a death grip. I held him tight, burying my face in his curls.
"You're okay," I whispered. "I've got you."
“Claire, Rossi, report.” Alessandro’s voice cracked over my earpiece, strained and desperate.
"We have him," I said, tears of relief pricking my eyes. "Leo is safe. We're in the wine cellar."
A heavy sigh of pure relief echoed over the comms. “Bring him to my study. Now. It’s over.”
When we walked into the study five minutes later, Leo ran straight to his uncle. Alessandro dropped to his knees and caught the boy, burying his face in his nephew's neck. For a long moment, the ruthless mafia boss disappeared entirely, replaced by a terrified, grateful father figure.
I looked across the room.
Marco was sitting in one of the leather armchairs, his hands zip-tied behind his back. Two of Alessandro's guards were standing over him.
Marco's face was bloodied, his sharp suit ruined.
"It's over, Marco," Alessandro said, standing up and holding Leo behind his legs. "Your men are dead or captured. Camille is in custody. You get nothing."
Marco spat blood onto the expensive Persian rug and laughed.
"You think this is a victory, Sandro?" Marco wheezed. "You still don't know the truth. You still don't know what the key opens."
Alessandro walked over to his desk, picked up the silver box Marco had brought, and pulled out the cheap wooden rosary and the brass key.
"You're right," Alessandro said coldly. "I don't know what this opens. But I know it's not a Swiss bank box."
He tossed the rosary onto Marco's lap.
"Because my mother gave that rosary to Harold Bennett twenty years ago."
Marco's eyes widened in genuine shock.
I gasped.
The door to the study opened, and Mr. Bennett walked in. He looked completely different than he had in the vault. His posture was straight, his eyes hard and unyielding.
"Hello, Marco," Harold said quietly.
"What is this?" Marco demanded, struggling against his ties. "Harold is a pawn! He was terrified of me!"
"I acted terrified so you would bring the key into this house," Harold said, stepping forward. "So you would deliver it directly to Alessandro."
Alessandro looked at Harold, then at the key.
"Harold," Alessandro said softly. "What does it open?"
Harold reached into his pocket and pulled out a faded, folded piece of paper. He handed it to me.
"Open it, Claire," Harold instructed.
I unfolded the thick paper. It was a birth certificate.
State of Illinois. Year: 2001.
Mother: Sofia Romano.
I looked at the name of the child.
The world stopped spinning. The air left my lungs.
"No," I whispered, staring at the paper.
Alessandro stepped beside me and looked at the document.
"Harold," Alessandro said, his voice trembling. "My mother died in 1998."
"She faked her death," Harold said gently, tears filling his eyes. "To protect you from Giovanni. She ran away and changed her name."
Harold looked at me.
"Your mother didn't run a framing shop, Claire. But she wasn't an art forger, either."
May you like
Harold pointed to the name on the birth certificate.
"Your mother is Sofia Romano. Alessandro's mother is alive. And she raised you."
