Chapter 3 - THE TRAITOR IN THE WALLS
Vincent lunged for the door, twisting the brass handle violently.
Locked.
“Daniel!” Vincent roared, his voice shaking the framed maps on the walls. He slammed his fist against the heavy oak. “Open this door!”
Silence answered him.
Panic flared in my chest. Tyler. My eleven-year-old son was sitting in the staff breakroom doing his math homework. He was supposed to be safe here while I worked the evening shift.
“My son is downstairs,” I said, my voice trembling. “Mr. Caruso, my son is in the house.”
Vincent turned around, his dark eyes instantly focusing on my panic. The mafia boss vanished, replaced by a protector.
“He’s safe, Olivia. The staff wing has reinforced steel doors. I’m going to get us out of here.”
He pulled his cell phone from his tailored jacket.
No signal.
“The signal jammers,” Vincent muttered, staring at the screen. “Daniel activated the perimeter defense. He’s locking the house down.”
“Why would Daniel do this?” I asked, clutching the diamond cufflink. “He’s your best friend.”
“In my world, loyalty usually has a price tag,” Vincent said grimly. He walked over to the mahogany desk and opened the bottom drawer. He pulled out a heavy black Glock 19 and checked the magazine.
Seeing the weapon made my breath hitch. I was a mother, a housekeeper. I scrubbed floors and folded linens. I didn't belong in a room with loaded guns and locked doors.
Vincent saw my fear. He placed the gun on the desk and walked over to me.
“Olivia. Look at me.”
I forced my eyes up to his.
“I swear on my sister’s memory,” Vincent said softly, “nobody is going to touch you, and nobody is going to touch Tyler. Do you understand?”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “How do we get out?”
“This house was built for men who have enemies.”
Vincent walked to the large stone fireplace. He reached under the heavy wooden mantelpiece and pressed a hidden latch.
With a deep, grinding sound, the entire brick back of the fireplace swung inward, revealing a narrow, pitch-black passageway.
“Stay close,” he instructed, grabbing a heavy brass flashlight from his desk.
We stepped into the dusty darkness. The air was cold and smelled of old mortar. As we moved through the walls of the mansion, I realized how little I truly knew about the man I worked for.
“Where does this lead?” I whispered.
“The underground garage,” Vincent replied. “If Daniel took whatever was in that music box, he’s heading for a vehicle.”
We hurried down a steep, winding set of concrete stairs.
At the bottom, Vincent pushed open a heavy iron door.
We stepped into the sprawling, brightly lit garage. Vincent’s collection of vintage cars sat in perfect, gleaming rows.
But my eyes immediately fell on the black SUV parked near the exit.
The driver’s side door was wide open.
And a man was lying face-down on the concrete, a pool of dark blood expanding around him.
Vincent rushed forward. “Daniel!”
I followed, my hands covering my mouth.
It was Daniel. He was wearing his formal suit from the party, but the white shirt was soaked in crimson from a deep stab wound to his abdomen.
Vincent dropped to his knees, pressing his hands hard against Daniel’s stomach to stop the bleeding.
Daniel gasped, his eyes fluttering open. He looked up at Vincent, his face pale and sweating.
“Boss…” Daniel choked out.
“Don’t speak,” Vincent commanded, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve got you.”
“I didn’t… take it,” Daniel whispered, coughing violently. “I saw him in your study… I tried to stop him.”
Vincent froze. “Who?”
“He dropped this.” Daniel’s bloody hand uncurled.
He wasn’t holding the missing contents of the music box.
He was holding a crumpled, blood-stained piece of paper.
I recognized the paper instantly. It was the same heavy parchment I used to clean out from the old estate’s storage boxes.
Vincent took it and gently unfolded it.
It was a child’s drawing done in bright crayon. A drawing by Lily.
It showed a house surrounded by orange flames. But that wasn’t what made my blood run cold.
In the corner of the drawing, Lily had drawn a tall man standing in the hallway, watching the fire.
The man was drawn with a very specific, oversized gold ring on his right hand. A ring shaped like an eagle.
Vincent stared at the drawing, all the color draining from his face.
“Uncle Marco,” Vincent whispered.
His father’s brother. The man who had practically raised Vincent after the fire.
“He has… the ledger,” Daniel gasped, his eyes losing focus. “He took… the ledger from the box.”
“Stay with me, Daniel!” Vincent yelled.
But Daniel’s head rolled to the side, his breathing shallow.
Suddenly, the heavy metal security gates at the front of the garage began to lower with a loud, mechanical screech.
Someone was trapping us inside.
I spun around and saw a shadow moving near the control panel on the far wall.
The man stepped into the light. He was wearing a dark suit, and on his right hand, a massive gold eagle ring caught the fluorescent glare.
Uncle Marco smiled.
May you like
“You shouldn’t have opened that box, Vinny,” Marco called out, pulling a suppressed pistol from his coat. “Some ghosts are better left in the ashes.”
TITLE: THE FIRE BREATHES AGAIN
