Chapter 7 - THE WINE CELLAR
We ran.
Leaving Dominic tied to the staircase banister with his own silk tie, Luca, Isabella, Leo, and I sprinted down the long service corridor toward the kitchen.
The red emergency lights pulsed in rhythm with my racing heart.
Every breath felt like broken glass against my bruised ribs, but I didn't slow down.
We burst through the swinging doors into the massive, stainless-steel kitchen.
I bypassed the ovens and headed straight for the heavy wooden door at the back—the wine cellar.
“Emma, wait,” Luca grabbed my arm.
He reached into a hidden compartment under the butcher block island and pulled out a heavy, matte-black handgun. He racked the slide.
“Just in case Marcus left friends inside the perimeter.”
I nodded, my mouth completely dry.
We descended the stone steps into the cavernous wine cellar. It was freezing down here, smelling of damp earth and aged oak. Row after row of expensive vintages stretched into the darkness.
“Back wall,” I instructed, grabbing a heavy iron flashlight from the wall mount.
I led them past the wine racks to a corner covered in dust and old wooden crates.
Luca shoved the crates aside effortlessly.
Behind them was a low, arched brick tunnel, capped by a heavy, rusted iron grate.
The old coal chute.
“It’s padlocked,” Isabella said, her voice dropping in despair.
She pointed to a massive, ancient brass padlock securing the grate to the stone wall. It looked thick enough to stop a bullet.
“A gun won’t break that,” Luca growled, aiming his weapon at the lock anyway. “It’ll just ricochet.”
“I know,” I said.
I set the flashlight down.
I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out a small, heavy bottle of industrial acid solvent.
“Maria keeps this locked up for removing hard water stains on the marble,” I explained, twisting the cap off. “My father taught me it eats through oxidized brass in about three minutes.”
I carefully poured the thick, clear liquid over the padlock’s keyhole and hinge.
Immediately, a foul-smelling white smoke hissed into the air.
“We have twenty-two minutes until Dominic’s deadline,” Luca said, checking his watch. His voice was steady, but I could see the tremor in his hands.
Isabella crouched beside me, holding little Leo tight.
Leo looked at the bubbling lock, then up at me.
“Is my brother coming back?” the little boy asked, his voice tiny and innocent.
My heart broke. I reached out and touched his soft curls.
“We’re going to get him, Leo. I promise.”
I looked at Isabella. She was clutching the cracked silver pocket watch her mother had left her.
“Do you have any idea where Marcus would take him?” I asked.
Isabella shook her head. “No. I haven't seen Marcus in three years.”
“Think, Bella,” Luca urged. “Marcus is meticulous. He wouldn’t just drive around. He needs a secure location. A place where Dominic could meet him later.”
Isabella closed her eyes, trying to force a memory through the panic.
“He… he always talked about the boats. Whenever he drove me to school, he said he hated the city. He liked the docks. He had a private slip at the Navy Pier.”
Luca’s eyes flashed in the dark.
“Pier 44. The old syndicate boathouses. We still own three of them.”
A sharp crack echoed in the small tunnel.
We all looked down.
The acid had eaten through the internal pins of the brass padlock.
Luca didn't hesitate. He raised the heavy iron flashlight and smashed it down onto the weakened lock.
The padlock shattered into pieces.
Luca grabbed the iron grate and hauled it open with a horrific screech of rusted metal.
A blast of cold, wet night air hit our faces.
The tunnel was narrow, sloping upward into the darkness.
“I go first,” Luca commanded.
He crawled into the chute, the handgun tight in his grip.
I went next, then Isabella, pushing Leo gently ahead of her.
The stone scraped my knees, the damp cold seeping through my thin housekeeping dress.
We crawled for what felt like miles but was only a hundred yards.
Finally, the tunnel sloped upward, opening into a concrete storm drain just beyond the mansion’s towering iron fence.
We spilled out into the pouring rain.
We were out.
“My car is down the block,” Isabella panted, pointing toward a dark sedan parked under a broken streetlight.
We ran to the car. Luca shoved Isabella and Leo into the back seat.
He grabbed the driver’s door, but before he got in, he turned to me.
“Emma,” Luca said, rain plastering his hair to his forehead. “You did enough. Go home. I will wire enough money to your father’s account to take care of him forever. But you cannot come to the docks.”
I stood in the freezing rain, my apron soaked, my thumb throbbing.
I should walk away. I had done my part.
But then I remembered the photo in my shoe.
Target secured.
Marcus was going to kill a child.
I opened the passenger door and slid into the seat.
“Drive, Mr. Moretti,” I said. “I’m not leaving until the boy is safe.”
Luca looked at me for a split second. Respect flickered in his eyes.
He slammed the door and threw the car into drive.
We tore off toward Pier 44.
We had fourteen minutes left.
But as we sped onto the empty highway, a set of headlights suddenly flashed to life in our rearview mirror.
A massive black SUV was accelerating rapidly, closing the distance.
Isabella looked out the back window and screamed.
“Dad! That’s the car that took Matteo!”
Luca checked the mirror. His face went dead white.
“If Marcus is driving that car…” Luca whispered. “Then who is at the boathouse?”
May you like
I looked back.
The SUV surged forward and violently rammed our rear bumper.
