Chapter 5 - THE SILVER BRACELET IN THE WALL
We pushed with everything we had.
The massive industrial washing machine screeched against the tiled floor, exposing the drywall behind it.
Luca didn't hesitate. He wrapped his hand in his jacket and punched directly through the plaster.
The wall crumbled.
He reached inside, feeling around the dark cavity.
“My father built this house during the syndicate days,” Luca grunted, pulling away chunks of wood and wire. “He always had a blind spot in the laundry room for the basement ventilation shaft.”
He yanked a final piece of drywall away, revealing a narrow, dark metal grate.
“I can’t fit through there,” Luca said, looking at my smaller frame. “But you can.”
My heart pounded. “Where does it lead?”
“The wine cellar. From there, you can take the service stairs directly to my mother’s bedroom. You have to get to her before Carlo’s men do.”
I didn't think twice. I squeezed through the hole, the sharp metal scraping against my uniform.
The shaft was pitch black and smelled of dust. I crawled quickly, terrified of what was happening upstairs.
When I dropped into the wine cellar, the mansion was eerily quiet.
I slipped off my shoes, running up the stone steps in my socks.
I reached the second-floor landing.
Teresa’s bedroom door was slightly open.
I crept closer, holding my breath.
Inside, a man in a dark suit was standing over Teresa’s bed.
He held a pillow in his hands.
Walter was growling, a low, rumbling sound from his throat, his teeth bared as he stood defensively over Teresa’s sleeping form.
“Shut up, mutt,” the man hissed, raising his foot to kick the dog.
I didn't scream. I didn't announce myself.
I grabbed a heavy, brass candlestick from the hallway table, ran up behind the man, and swung it as hard as I could against the back of his head.
He collapsed instantly, hitting the carpet with a dull thud.
Walter stopped growling and immediately licked my hand.
Teresa woke up with a gasp, clutching her chest. “Claire? What’s happening?”
“We have to go, Mrs. Moretti,” I whispered urgently, helping her sit up.
As she moved, the sleeve of her nightgown slipped down, revealing a thick, heavy silver bracelet on her wrist.
I had seen her wear it every day. I always assumed it was a gift from Antonio.
But as the moonlight hit the silver, I saw a crest engraved on the inside.
The Bellini family crest.
“Mrs. Moretti,” I breathed, staring at her wrist. “Why are you wearing Carlo Bellini’s crest?”
Teresa looked down at her wrist, her eyes filling with terror.
“Because,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Carlo Bellini isn't just Vanessa’s father.”
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She looked at the unconscious man on the floor, then at me.
“He’s my brother.”
