Chapter 7 - THE TRAIN TICKET
The glass ceiling exploded into a thousand glittering, deadly shards.
“Get down!” Matteo roared.
He tackled Clara to the dirt floor as bullets chewed through the wooden tables and dead plants around us. Vince threw himself over Mia, shielding the terrified child with his massive body. I dropped to my knees, covering my head as the heavy glass rained down.
The gunfire was relentless. Automatic weapons. They were firing from the cover of the dense woods surrounding the conservatory.
“Vince! Get the girl out through the service tunnel!” Matteo shouted over the deafening roar of the rifles. He pulled Clara behind a thick, stone planter.
“What about you, Boss?!” Vince yelled back, already crawling toward an old iron grate in the floor.
“Do it!”
Vince yanked the heavy iron grate open, scooped Mia into his arms, and dropped into the old drainage tunnel that led back to the main estate.
I was pinned behind a rotting wooden pillar, gripping the silver pistol Matteo had given me. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely hold the weapon. I was a maid. I swept floors. I had never been in a war zone.
Matteo returned fire, his shots measured and precise, taking down two shadows in the tree line. The incoming fire paused for a fraction of a second as the attackers reloaded.
“Natalie!” Matteo yelled, looking at me from behind the stone planter. “Run for the tunnel!”
“I’m not leaving you!” I screamed back, terrified that if I moved, I would be cut in half.
Clara was huddled next to Matteo, weeping hysterically. The cold, calculating mastermind from five minutes ago had completely shattered under the reality of live gunfire.
“Who are they, Clara?!” Matteo demanded, shaking his sister by the shoulders. “Who is shooting at us?”
“It’s Bianca’s men!” Clara sobbed. “She knew I was going to frame her! She must have followed me! She’s trying to kill us all!”
Reversal: Bianca wasn't a victim of Clara’s frame-job. She was a predator who had anticipated it.
“You said Bianca knew a secret about you,” Matteo pressed, his voice hard as steel. “You said she threatened to tell me what you did. What secret, Clara?!”
Clara looked at the faded train ticket lying in the dirt between them.
“Mother’s car crash wasn't an accident, Matteo,” Clara choked out, the confession tearing from her throat. “The brakes didn't fail. They were cut.”
Answer One: The mother’s death fifteen years ago was a murder.
“I know that,” Matteo growled. “Our father’s enemies claimed responsibility. That’s why we went to war.”
“No!” Clara screamed, tears streaming down her face. “It wasn't our father’s enemies! It was Bianca’s father!”
Matteo froze. The gun in his hand dipped slightly.
“Bianca’s father was our mother’s driver,” Clara wept. “He was supposed to drive her home from the train station that night. But I paid him to cut the brakes instead. I wanted mother dead so I could inherit my trust fund and run away with my boyfriend to Montreal. But Bianca’s father got greedy. He blackmailed me for years. When he died, he left the evidence to Bianca. She came to this house to marry you, take the empire, and destroy us from the inside out to avenge the fact that we treated her father like a servant!”
My stomach violently turned. Clara had orchestrated her own mother’s murder for money. And Bianca had infiltrated the family for revenge.
Matteo stared at his sister, a look of profound, absolute betrayal washing over his face. He looked at the train ticket, the proof of Clara’s guilt.
“You killed her,” Matteo whispered.
“I’m sorry!” Clara cried, grabbing his jacket. “Matteo, please!”
Suddenly, the greenhouse doors were kicked open.
Four men in tactical gear stepped inside, their rifles raised.
And walking behind them, wearing her pristine white silk dress, was Bianca.
She didn't look terrified anymore. She looked like a queen surveying her conquered territory.
“A touching confession, Clara,” Bianca smiled, stepping into the ruined greenhouse. She looked at Matteo, who was trapped behind the planter. “Drop the gun, Matteo. It’s over.”
Matteo didn't drop the gun. He kept it aimed directly at Bianca’s chest.
“You won't shoot me, Matteo,” Bianca laughed softly.
She raised her left hand.
Wrapped around her wrist, glinting in the pale moonlight pouring through the shattered roof, was a heavy, solid gold bracelet.
It wasn't just jewelry. It was a dead-man’s switch. A thick wire ran from the bracelet into the pocket of her silk dress.
“Do you know what this is connected to?” Bianca asked, her smile widening into something truly psychotic.
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Matteo didn't answer. He just stared at the gold bracelet.
“It’s connected to a remote detonator,” Bianca whispered. “And the C4 is strapped directly under the dining room floorboards. Where thirty-five of your closest friends, your Capos, and your precious nephew Leo are currently locked inside.”
