Chapter 6 - THE FRYING PAN AND THE BURNER PHONE
I stared at the unconscious mercenary on the floor, then up at the fifty-eight-year-old cafeteria worker standing over him with a cast-iron skillet.
“Mary?” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper in the chaotic silence of the kitchen.
“Grace, honey, you shouldn't be in here,” Mary said, quickly stepping over the massive man and grabbing my arm. Her hands were surprisingly strong, calloused from decades of hard work. “They’re tearing the house apart looking for the deed to the estate.”
“How did you get here?” I asked, completely bewildered, as she pulled me toward the back pantry. “Marco said your apartment was destroyed. He said they left a message in blood on the wall.”
Mary let out a bitter, exhausted sigh. “They did. Dominic’s men kicked my door down an hour ago. But I’ve been expecting Dominic Rossi to come for twenty years, Grace. I didn't survive raising the daughter of a mafia boss by being stupid.”
She pushed me behind the heavy oak door of the pantry and locked it from the inside. The small room smelled of dried herbs and flour.
“I wasn't in the apartment when they broke in,” Mary explained, leaning against the shelves, catching her breath. “I was hiding in the alley across the street. When they left the message and drove away, I knew they were coming here. Dominic wants to publicly execute Luca and force Vanessa to sign the estate over to him as the last surviving Rossi heir.”
“Vanessa knows,” I said softly in the dark.
Mary froze. “Knows what?”
“Everything. Luca opened the safety deposit box. He saw the adoption papers. He saw the watch.”
Mary closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her bruised cheek. “She must hate me.”
“She doesn't hate you, Mary,” I said firmly, reaching out to squeeze her trembling hand. “She’s terrified. She finally understands what you sacrificed for her.”
Mary wiped her eyes, her jaw setting with a renewed, fierce determination. “Then I have to get her out of here. Where is she?”
“She’s in the SUV out front. But we can’t go out there. The front lawn is a war zone. Luca is fighting Dominic’s men in the foyer.”
As if to punctuate my words, a terrifying explosion rocked the foundation of the house, shaking dust from the pantry ceiling.
Mary reached deep into the pocket of her torn blue coat and pulled out a cheap, plastic burner phone.
“I need you to do exactly as I say, Grace,” Mary ordered, her voice completely devoid of the nervous, apologetic tone she had used at the dinner table. She sounded like a woman who had spent two decades preparing for a war.
She handed me the phone.
“There is one number programmed into this phone,” Mary said. “Press send. When the man answers, tell him Elena’s sister needs the favor returned. Tell him we are in the pantry of the Moretti estate.”
I took the phone, my hands shaking. “Who is it? The police?”
Mary gave a dark, humorless laugh. “The police don't cross the Rossi family. The man you’re calling is the only person Dominic fears more than Luca Moretti.”
She turned and grabbed a heavy chef’s knife from the magnetic strip on the wall, gripping it tightly.
“Call him,” Mary said. “Before they breach the kitchen.”
I pressed the single button on the burner phone and held it to my ear. It rang twice before a deep, gravelly voice answered.
“Speak.”
The voice was terrifying. It sounded like grinding stones.
“Um, hello,” I stammered, my heart hammering. “I’m calling for Mary. She says… she says Elena’s sister needs the favor returned. We’re in the pantry of the Moretti estate.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
“Tell Mary to keep her head down,” the voice grumbled. “I’m five minutes out.”
The line went dead.
I looked at Mary. “He said he’s five minutes out. Who is he?”
Before Mary could answer, the heavy wooden doors of the kitchen swung open again, crashing violently against the walls.
“Check the back rooms!” a harsh voice yelled in Italian. “The old woman has to be in here!”
Footsteps pounded across the tile floor, stopping right in front of the locked pantry door.
The handle rattled violently.
“It’s locked,” a mercenary growled.
He didn't bother trying to pick it. The deafening roar of an assault rifle tore through the heavy oak wood, splintering the door just inches above our heads.
Mary and I dropped to the floor, screaming as wood chips and bullets rained down on us in the dark.
The gunfire stopped, and a heavy boot kicked the ruined door open.
A flashlight beam cut through the dust, blinding us.
“Found her,” the mercenary sneered, stepping into the pantry, his rifle aimed directly at Mary’s head.
But as he stepped forward, his boot slipped on something wet and sticky on the floor.
I looked down.
It was the peach pie.
When Mary had grabbed the frying pan earlier, she had knocked the glass baking dish off the counter. The pie had shattered, spreading sticky peach filling across the tiles right in front of the pantry door.
The massive mercenary lost his footing, his arms flailing as he pitched forward.
Mary didn't hesitate.
She surged upward from the floor, driving the heavy chef’s knife directly into the gap between the mercenary’s tactical vest and his collarbone.
The man let out a wet, choked gasp, his rifle clattering to the floor. He slumped forward, unconscious or dead, pinning Mary against the shelves.
I scrambled forward, grabbing the heavy assault rifle from the floor. I had never held a gun in my life, but I pointed it blindly at the doorway, my hands shaking violently.
Mary shoved the heavy mercenary off her, gasping for breath, her hands covered in blood.
“Good girl, Grace,” Mary panted, grabbing my shoulder. “But we can’t stay here. There will be more of them.”
We stepped over the body and ran back into the ruined kitchen.
But we were too late.
Standing near the swinging doors, completely unharmed and impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, was a man with stark white hair and cruel, aristocratic features.
May you like
He was holding a silver revolver, pointed directly at my chest.
“Hello, Mary,” Dominic Rossi smiled, his voice smooth and venomous. “I must admit, your peach pie almost took out my best man. But I think it’s time we had a family reunion.”
