Chapter 3 - The Broken Safe Room
The dial tone echoed through the stainless-steel kitchen, a flat, terrifying drone.
Luca stared at the phone for a fraction of a second before springing into action. He was no longer just a father; he was the head of the Moretti family, and someone had just breached his territory.
"Marco!" Luca bellowed, shoving the kitchen doors open so violently they banged against the walls.
The security detail in the dining room instantly snapped to attention.
"Boss?" Marco asked, already reaching for his earpiece.
"Elena’s house," Luca ordered, his voice echoing over the startled guests. "Three men inside. They asked for Noah. Get the tactical team there now. I want the perimeter secured before I arrive."
Marco didn't hesitate. "On it."
Luca turned back to the kitchen. I was standing next to Noah, my hands shaking. The little boy was pale, staring at the dead phone on the counter.
"Dad?" Noah whispered, his voice trembling. "Is Mom okay?"
Luca crouched down, placing both hands on his son’s shoulders. The lethal intensity vanished from his face, replaced by fierce, protective love.
"Your mom is strong, buddy. We’re going to get her," Luca promised, looking directly into Noah’s eyes. He didn't lie to the boy, but he didn't let him panic. "I need you to be brave for me right now."
Noah nodded, swallowing hard. "I'm brave."
"I know you are." Luca stood up and looked at me. "Rachel."
"Yes, sir," I answered quickly.
"Take Noah down to the wine cellar. There’s a reinforced steel door behind the vintage racks. Lock it from the inside. Do not open it for anyone except me or Marco. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I said, grabbing Noah’s hand.
"My men will secure the restaurant," Luca said, pulling a spare magazine from his jacket and slamming it into his pistol. "Nobody gets in or out."
He didn't wait for a response. He sprinted through the dining room and out the front doors, Marco and two other heavily armed guards right behind him.
I didn't waste a second. I pulled Noah toward the back hallway that led to the basement stairs. The sounds of panicked guests leaving the restaurant faded as we descended into the cool, damp air of the wine cellar.
The cellar was massive, lined with thousands of dusty bottles. I found the reinforced steel door Luca had described, tucked behind a row of heavy oak barrels.
I ushered Noah inside the small, windowless panic room. It was stocked with water, emergency blankets, and a landline phone. I pulled the heavy steel door shut, turning the massive deadbolt until it clicked solidly into place.
It was silent.
Noah sat on one of the folding chairs, pulling his knees to his chest. He was shaking.
"Rachel?" he asked, his stutter returning in full force. "W-w-why did they a-ask for me?"
I sat next to him, wrapping an arm around his small shoulders. "I don't know, Noah. But you're safe here. Your dad is going to handle it."
I tried to sound confident, but my heart was pounding against my ribs. Three men had broken into the home of a mafia boss's ex-wife. They had asked for his only son. This wasn't a random burglary. This was a targeted hit.
Ten miles away, in the affluent suburb of Oak Park, Luca’s armored SUV tore through the quiet, tree-lined streets. He didn't wait for the vehicle to fully stop before he kicked the door open, his weapon raised.
Elena's house, a beautiful, sprawling colonial, was dark. The front door was splintered, hanging awkwardly off its hinges.
Marco and his tactical team were already sweeping the perimeter, their flashlights cutting through the darkness.
"Clear the ground floor!" Luca commanded, stepping over the shattered wood of the front entrance.
The house was a mess. Furniture was overturned, lamps were shattered, and picture frames lay broken on the hardwood floors. A violent struggle had taken place in the living room.
"Elena!" Luca yelled, moving swiftly toward the stairs.
"Boss!" Marco called out from the second-floor landing. "Up here!"
Luca took the stairs two at a time.
Marco was standing outside the master bedroom. The heavy, reinforced door to Elena’s panic room—the safe room Luca had installed specifically for her and Noah’s protection after the divorce—was wide open.
Luca stopped. His breath caught in his throat.
The steel hinges hadn't been blown off. The door hadn't been breached by force.
It had been opened from the inside.
Luca walked into the safe room. It was empty. The emergency phone was dangling from its cord.
"She opened it," Luca whispered, disbelief coloring his voice. "She locked herself in, but she opened it."
"Why would she do that?" Marco asked, his flashlight sweeping the empty room. "She knows protocol. You never open the door until we arrive."
Luca stepped out of the safe room, scanning the master bedroom. His eyes fell on the bed.
Lying in the center of the pristine white duvet, stark and terrifying against the fabric, was a small object.
Luca walked over and picked it up.
It was a heavy, silver pocket watch. The silver was tarnished, engraved with a delicate, intertwining crest.
Luca’s blood ran cold.
He hadn't seen this watch in ten years.
"Boss?" Marco asked, noticing Luca’s sudden, terrifying stillness. "What is it?"
"It's a message," Luca said, his voice dropping an octave, turning instantly lethal. "She didn't open the door because she was forced to. She opened the door because she recognized the voice on the other side."
Marco frowned. "Who?"
Luca stared at the tarnished silver watch in his hand. He clicked the casing open. The hands were frozen, stopped exactly at 11:15.
"The last time I saw this watch," Luca said quietly, "it was on the wrist of the man who tried to murder Elena when she was pregnant with Noah."
Marco froze. "That's impossible. We killed him, boss. We put a bullet in his head ten years ago."
"We put a bullet in the man who hired him," Luca corrected, his dark eyes burning with a sudden, horrifying realization. "We never found the trigger man. We assumed he fled the country."
Luca squeezed the watch tightly in his fist.
"He didn't flee," Luca said. "He waited. He waited for ten years, until he thought I was distracted by a new life. By a new marriage."
"If he wanted Elena dead, he would have killed her here," Marco reasoned. "Why take her?"
"He doesn't want Elena," Luca realized, the puzzle pieces snapping together in a horrifying picture. "He wanted Noah. When Elena told him Noah wasn't here, he took her to find him."
Luca’s phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out. The caller ID was restricted.
He answered, putting it on speaker.
"Hello, Luca."
The voice was rough, heavily accented, and laced with cruel amusement.
"Where is she, Victor?" Luca growled, recognizing the hitman's voice instantly.
"She's right here," Victor chuckled darkly. "Say hello to your ex-husband, Elena."
A muffled, terrified sob echoed through the phone. "Luca... please. Don't give him Noah. He wants Noah."
"Shut up," Victor snapped, followed by the sound of a sharp slap.
Luca gripped the edge of the bed frame so tightly the wood groaned. "If you hurt her again, Victor, I will spend the rest of my life making sure you die slowly."
"Save the threats, Moretti," Victor sneered. "I was hired ten years ago to end your bloodline. I intend to finish the job. Bring the boy to the old steel mill on the South Side in one hour. Come alone. If I see a single one of your men, I put a bullet in Elena's head and drop her in the river."
"I'm not bringing my son," Luca said firmly.
"Then she dies," Victor countered. "And I will spend the rest of my life hunting the boy anyway. Your choice, boss."
The line went dead.
Luca stared at the phone.
"Boss, we can't take Noah," Marco said urgently. "It's a trap. It's suicide."
"I know," Luca said softly. He looked down at the silver watch in his hand.
He popped the back casing of the watch off. Tucked inside the tiny mechanism was a small, folded piece of paper.
Luca pulled it out and unfolded it.
It was a bank deposit slip. Dated yesterday.
The account name on the deposit slip made Luca’s breath hitch.
May you like
Vanessa Bellini.
"Victor wasn't waiting for ten years," Luca whispered, his eyes wide with betrayal. "He was hired yesterday. By my fiancée."
