Chapter 5 - THE MAN IN THE GRAY SUIT
The heavy steel deadbolt on the basement door echoed with a terrifying finality.
We were locked in.
Vanessa stood on the third step, out of reach, holding the small electronic remote that controlled the mansion’s security doors. Her red dress looked like spilled blood against the dark wood of the stairs.
“You’re out of your mind,” Luca said. He didn’t shout. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble that rattled the floorboards.
Vanessa smiled down at him. The panic from moments ago was entirely gone, replaced by a cold, calculating arrogance.
“I’m pragmatic, Luca,” she said smoothly. “My father wants that port. He’s wanted it for thirteen years. But as long as the legal deed has Frank Delaney’s name on it, the Bellini family can’t touch it.”
She looked at Frank. The old man was still staring at the document in Luca’s hand, looking completely bewildered.
“If Frank dies tonight,” Vanessa continued, her voice echoing in the stairwell, “before the deed is officially filed with the city, the property defaults back to the Moretti estate. And since we are getting married…”
“We aren’t getting married,” Luca spat.
“Oh, we are,” Vanessa laughed. “Because in about five minutes, my men are going to break down that door. They’re going to find you, Luca, grieving over the bodies of a disgruntled ex-employee who broke in, killed your beloved handyman, and tragically shot a maid who got in the way.”
My stomach plummeted. She was talking about me.
Julian whimpered and hid behind my legs. I put my hands on his small shoulders, pulling him close.
“You’re going to frame Marco Rossi for our murders,” Frank said, his voice thick with disgust.
“It’s poetry, really,” Vanessa smiled. “He takes the fall for Antonio thirteen years ago, and he takes the fall for you tonight. Now, be good boys and wait for the executioner.”
She turned and began walking up the stairs.
“Vanessa!” Luca roared.
She didn’t look back. The door at the top of the stairs opened, and she slipped through.
The lock slammed shut again.
Silence fell over the basement, heavy and suffocating.
Luca turned to Frank. “Is there another way out?”
Frank shook his head. “Antonio built this study to be a panic room. Solid concrete walls. Reinforced steel door. The keypad only works from the outside.”
“Then we break it,” Luca said, grabbing a heavy steel crowbar from his father’s old tool belt on the floor.
He swung it at the reinforced glass of the narrow basement window near the ceiling.
CLANG.
The crowbar bounced off. The glass didn't even scratch.
“Lexan polycarbonate,” Frank said quietly. “Bulletproof. Antonio installed it after the first attempt on his life in ’09.”
Luca dropped the crowbar. He ran his hands through his dark hair, breathing hard. The mafia boss who controlled half the city was entirely trapped in his own house.
I looked down at Julian. The boy was shaking violently.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, kneeling down to hug him. “Mr. Luca is going to get us out.”
But I didn’t believe it.
Frank walked over to the desk. He picked up the faded deed, staring at his own name printed in Antonio’s elegant handwriting.
“I didn’t know,” Frank whispered, a tear finally escaping his eye. “I swear to you, Luca. I never knew he left it to me.”
Luca walked over and put a heavy hand on Frank’s shoulder.
“I know, Frank. He did it because he knew you’d never sell it to the Bellinis. He trusted you more than anyone.”
“I’m just a handyman.”
“You were his brother.”
It was a beautiful moment.
And it was immediately shattered by the sound of heavy boots walking on the floorboards directly above us.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
They were coming to the stairs.
Luca grabbed Antonio’s heavy brass lamp from the desk. Frank picked up his heaviest wrench from the lunchbox.
I pushed Julian behind the heavy oak desk and grabbed a letter opener. It was pathetic, but I wasn't going to die without a fight.
We heard the keypad beep outside the door.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The electronic lock clicked open.
The heavy door swung outward.
Luca raised the brass lamp, ready to strike the first man who came through.
But nobody stepped inside.
Instead, a man in a gray suit fell down the stairs.
He tumbled violently down the wooden steps, landing in a heap on the concrete floor at our feet.
He was coughing up blood. His suit was torn, and his face was badly beaten.
But as he rolled over and looked up at us, I saw the silver crescent-moon scar under his left ear.
Marco Rossi.
Julian screamed and ran from behind the desk. “Grandpa!”
Marco’s bruised eyes widened. “Julian…” He reached out a trembling hand, pulling the boy into a desperate hug.
Luca lowered the lamp, staring at the man his father had fired thirteen years ago.
“Marco,” Luca said. “What happened upstairs?”
Marco coughed, blood staining his white shirt. “Vanessa’s men… they caught me. They took the deed. But I broke away when I heard her say she was going to kill the boy.”
“She doesn't have the deed,” Frank said, holding up the yellowed document.
Marco squinted at it. Then, a broken, bitter laugh escaped his lips.
“That’s a fake, Frank,” Marco wheezed.
Frank froze. “What?”
“Antonio made three fakes,” Marco said, clutching his ribs. “To keep the Bellinis chasing ghosts. The one you’re holding is a decoy.”
Luca stepped forward, his eyes burning. “Then where is the real one, Marco?”
Marco looked up at the son of the man he used to serve.
He reached into his blood-stained jacket pocket.
He pulled out a heavy, tarnished gold pocket watch.
“Antonio didn't trust paper,” Marco whispered, handing the watch to Luca. “He trusted time.”
Luca opened the watch.
The glass face was shattered. The hands were permanently stopped at exactly 11:42.
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“That’s the exact time my father was pronounced dead,” Luca said, his voice going hollow.
“Yes,” Marco said. “And it’s also the combination to the only lock that matters.”
