Chapter 5 - THE IRON KEY
The heavy iron key dangling from Isabella’s fingers looked ancient. It was thick, forged in black iron, with intricate grooves that caught the dim hallway light.
Vincent stepped completely in front of Mia and me, using his broad shoulders as a human shield.
“What are you talking about, Isabella?” Vincent demanded, his voice echoing in the vast corridor. “That key goes to the old wine cellar vaults. They’ve been empty for thirty years.”
Isabella laughed—a sharp, venomous sound.
“You really are blind, Vincent,” she mocked, taking another step down the marble stairs. “You inherited the Romano empire, but you never bothered to look at the foundation it was built upon. Your father didn’t build this estate on empty land. He built it directly over the old Conti syndicate tunnels.”
My mind raced, struggling to piece together the history of these violent families. The Contis and the Romanos had been rivals for decades, until a supposed truce was reached years ago.
“The iron key doesn’t open a wine cellar,” Isabella continued, her eyes flashing with greedy triumph. “It opens the subterranean vault where your father locked away fifty million dollars in untraceable bearer bonds. Money he stole from my grandfather.”
Vincent’s jaw locked. “That’s a myth. The bonds don't exist.”
“Oh, they exist,” Isabella hissed. “And Elena found out. She found the blueprints in your father’s old study. She found out my family was going to kill you to take the estate back. She was trying to get Mia out of the city before the war started.”
I looked at the train ticket still clutched in my hand.
My mother hadn't been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had died a hero, trying to help a terrified woman save her child from a Mafia war.
“So you ran them off the road,” I said, my voice shaking with raw, agonizing grief. “You murdered my mother and a sick woman for money.”
Isabella glared at me, the gun wavering slightly as her anger flared.
“I did what I had to do for my family!” she snapped. “But the crash was a mess. Elena managed to hide the key before the car went into the ravine. We searched the wreckage for weeks. We couldn't find it.”
Isabella smiled, a cruel, satisfied expression.
“I had to spend three years seducing you, Vincent. Three years pretending to love you, just to get access to this house so I could find where she hid it.”
“And where was it?” Vincent asked, his voice deadly calm.
“Sewn into the lining of Mia’s favorite stuffed rabbit,” Isabella said, nodding toward the toy Mia was still clutching tightly against her chest. “The little brat wouldn’t let it go for three years. I finally cut it open tonight while she was sleeping.”
The sheer evil of it—violating a grieving child’s only comfort—made my stomach turn.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the dining room doors. The heavy wood splintered as someone kicked it from the inside.
Isabella’s eyes darted toward the sound.
It was the distraction Vincent needed.
He moved with terrifying speed. He didn't run away; he lunged straight up the stairs.
Isabella panicked and fired.
The gunshot deafened me.
Vincent didn't stop. He tackled Isabella around the waist, slamming her hard against the marble steps. The gun flew from her hand, clattering down the stairs and sliding across the polished floor.
I didn't think. I dove for the gun, scooping the cold metal into my hands, my fingers shaking as I gripped it.
On the stairs, Vincent pinned Isabella down, prying the heavy iron key from her fingers.
“It’s over, Isabella,” Vincent growled, his knee pressing into her chest. “Your men are trapped in the dining room. You have nothing left.”
Isabella wasn't struggling. Instead, she started to laugh.
It was a wet, hysterical sound that sent a shiver down my spine.
“You think I needed the key to get the money out, Vincent?” she gasped, staring up at him with wild eyes.
Vincent frowned, easing his grip slightly. “What?”
“I don't need the money,” Isabella smiled, her teeth stained with blood from a cut on her lip. “I already transferred the deeds to the Romano properties into my family’s name. Forging your signature was remarkably easy.”
“The board would never approve a transfer without my physical signet ring,” Vincent stated confidently, holding up his right hand, where a heavy gold crest ring sat on his index finger.
Isabella’s smile widened.
“I know,” she whispered. “That’s why I don't need the key, Vincent. I just needed a reason to get you all into the main hallway.”
Behind me, the grand front doors of the estate suddenly swung open.
A cold gust of night air swept into the hallway.
I spun around, raising the gun.
Standing in the doorway wasn't a squad of Conti soldiers.
It was Marcus.
Vincent’s loyal head of security. The man who had been fighting Isabella’s men in the dining room just minutes ago.
Marcus stepped into the hallway, completely unharmed. He calmly closed the heavy front doors behind him and locked them.
He looked at me, then up at Vincent on the stairs.
He didn't raise his weapon. He simply reached into his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a heavy, glittering object.
He tossed it onto the marble floor.
It slid to a stop right at my feet.
I looked down.
It was a diamond bracelet.
The exact same diamond bracelet Elena Romano had been wearing in the last photograph taken of her.
“I told you I’d find it for you, Isabella,” Marcus said, his deep voice entirely devoid of emotion.
Vincent froze on the stairs, staring at the man he had trusted with his life, the man he had trusted to protect his daughter.
“Marcus?” Vincent whispered, the absolute betrayal fracturing his voice.
May you like
Marcus looked up at Vincent, pulling a suppressed pistol from his holster.
“Sorry, Boss,” Marcus said coldly. “But the Conti family pays a hell of a lot better than you do.”
