Chapter 8 - THE GUNSHOT IN THE KITCHEN
BANG.
The gunshot echoed off the stainless-steel walls of the kitchen, deafeningly loud.
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the burning pain of a bullet, shielding Rosa with my own body.
But the pain never came.
Instead, a heavy thud shook the floorboards behind me.
Slowly, my ears ringing, I opened my eyes and looked over my shoulder.
Lillian was on the floor, clutching her right thigh, screaming in agony. The small pistol she had pressed to my ribs was skittering across the tiles. Her pristine white designer trench coat was blooming with a rapidly spreading crimson stain.
Dante stood ten feet away, his weapon still raised, the barrel smoking slightly. His face was a mask of cold, absolute fury.
He didn't rush toward her. He walked with terrifying, deliberate slowness until he stood over Lillian’s writhing form. He kicked her pistol under the nearest industrial stove.
“You shot me!” Lillian shrieked, her perfect, manicured hands covered in her own blood. “You animal, you shot me!”
“I warned you,” Dante said, his voice eerily calm. He reached down and picked up the leather-bound recipe book she had dropped. He brushed a speck of dirt off the cover and tucked it securely inside his jacket.
Then, he turned his back on her, completely dismissing her existence, and rushed to my side.
“Avery, are you hurt?” he asked, dropping to his knees. His hands, which had just pulled the trigger without hesitation, were incredibly gentle as he checked my arms and face for injuries.
“I’m fine,” I gasped, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Get Rosa.”
Dante pulled a knife from his belt and sliced through the thick zip-ties binding Rosa’s wrists and ankles. The elderly cook sobbed, throwing her arms around Dante’s neck.
“Oh, my boy,” Rosa cried, burying her face in his shoulder. “I thought she was going to burn everything. Your mother’s book…”
“It’s safe, Rosa,” Dante murmured, holding her tight, pressing a kiss to her silver hair. “Everything is safe now.”
Behind us, Lillian let out a wet, breathless laugh.
“You think you’ve won, Dante?” she choked out, leaning against the cabinets, her face pale from blood loss. “You think keeping that book changes anything? My father is already on a plane to South America. You’ll never find him. And you’ll never crack the code without the cipher.”
Dante slowly stood up. He walked back to Lillian, looking down at her with pity rather than anger.
“Your father isn't on a plane, Lillian,” Dante said quietly. “While you were sneaking into my house to torture an old woman, Marco paid a visit to the hospital. Your father was arrested in the lobby by federal agents ten minutes ago. I handed over the evidence of his offshore accounts this afternoon.”
Lillian’s eyes widened in sheer panic. “No. You’re lying. You don't have the cipher!”
“I didn't need the cipher to ruin him,” Dante said coldly. “I just needed the scarred man’s confession. And he sang like a bird.”
Lillian slumped against the cabinets, the reality of her total defeat finally crushing her.
“Marco,” Dante called out, not taking his eyes off her.
The heavy kitchen doors swung open, and Marco entered with four guards. They immediately moved to secure Lillian.
“Take her to the private clinic downtown,” Dante ordered. “Patch her leg. Then hand her over to the Feds. Let her rot in a cell next to her father.”
As the guards dragged a sobbing, defeated Lillian out of the kitchen, the silence that fell over the room felt different. It wasn't the heavy, oppressive silence of secrets and lies. It was the quiet, exhausted peace of a storm that had finally broken.
I helped Rosa sit up on the edge of the prep table. She wiped her eyes, offering me a weak, trembling smile.
“You saved my life, Avery,” Rosa whispered, squeezing my hand. “You have your mother’s courage.”
“And her stubbornness,” Dante added softly, walking over to us. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the tarnished silver locket I had used to strike Lillian. He gently placed it in my hand.
“Your mother was a hero, Avery,” Dante said, looking deeply into my eyes. “She sacrificed everything to make sure this family survived. She is the reason I am standing here today.”
I traced the bloodstains on the silver locket. For fifteen years, I had believed my mother was just a tired, unlucky woman who scrubbed toilets to survive. I had resented our poverty. I had resented her silence.
But now I knew the truth. She was a warrior in a maid’s uniform.
“We need to decode the book,” I said, looking up at Dante. “If Lillian was right, and we don't have the cipher…”
Dante smiled—a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes and transformed his intimidating face into something heartbreakingly handsome.
“We have the cipher, Avery,” Dante said.
He reached into his other pocket and pulled out the string of bloodstained pearls.
“My mother was brilliant,” Dante explained, holding the pearls up to the light. “The recipe book contains the account numbers. But the cipher… the key to reading them… is the sequence of the pearls. Small, large, small, medium. It’s a binary code.”
I stared at the necklace in awe. “She wore the key around her neck.”
“And Sarah kept it safe for fifteen years,” Dante said.
He gently took my hand and placed the pearl necklace into my palm, curling my fingers around it.
“This belongs to you now,” Dante said softly.
“Dante, no,” I protested. “This is your family’s fortune. It’s yours.”
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“No,” Dante corrected, his voice firm but incredibly warm. “It’s ours.”
TITLE: The Fortune In The Flour Tin
