Chapter 7 - The Tunnels Beneath The House
The velvet drapes went up in flames instantly, a wall of orange fire separating the dining room from the front foyer.
Guests screamed, scrambling toward the terrace doors as the mansion’s fire alarms began shrieking, a deafening mechanical wail that drowned out the approaching sirens.
“Luca, what are you doing?!” Teresa cried, shielding her face from the heat.
“Buying time!” Luca shouted over the roar of the fire.
He grabbed my hand, his grip like a vice. “Mom, go with Mrs. Carter! The FBI won’t touch you, you’re an old woman. Tell them I panicked and ran. Do not tell them about Emily!”
Teresa didn’t argue. The sweet, fragile woman who had worried about her dancing shoes gave her son a fierce, understanding nod.
“Keep her safe, Luca,” she ordered, her voice cutting through the smoke. She looked at me, her eyes filled with tears. “We owe your family everything, sweetheart. Survive this.”
Before I could say goodbye, Mrs. Carter pulled Teresa toward the kitchen exit.
“Move!” Luca barked, yanking my arm.
We sprinted away from the burning drapes, weaving through the panicked guests. Luca didn’t head for the back doors. He dragged me toward the massive stone fireplace at the far end of the dining room.
The heavy front doors of the mansion burst open in the distance. Over the crackle of the fire, I heard men shouting.
“FBI! Nobody move! Hands where we can see them!”
Luca shoved me behind the high back of his father’s leather armchair. He reached under the heavy stone mantle, his fingers pressing into a hidden groove in the masonry.
There was a loud click.
The entire back wall of the fireplace, soot-stained and ancient, swung inward with a heavy groan, revealing a pitch-black tunnel.
“Get in,” Luca commanded, shoving me forward into the darkness.
I stumbled over the threshold, choking on the smell of damp earth and stale air. Luca followed right behind me, grabbing the iron handle on the inside of the stone wall and pulling it shut.
The heavy stone clicked into place. The screams, the sirens, and the crackle of the fire vanished, replaced by an absolute, suffocating silence.
It was pitch black. I couldn’t see my own hands. My heart was beating so fast I felt dizzy.
“Luca?” I whispered, terrified to speak too loudly.
“I’m here,” his voice came from right beside me.
A second later, a beam of light clicked on. Luca held a small tactical flashlight, casting a narrow, white circle onto the damp brick walls of the tunnel.
He looked down at me. His suit was wrinkled, his tie loosened, his dark hair falling over his forehead. He looked wild. Dangerous.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice rough but incredibly gentle.
I looked down at my hands. The massive emerald ring was loose on my finger, catching the beam of the flashlight. My starched maid’s uniform was covered in soot.
“I’m running from the FBI through a secret fireplace tunnel with a mafia boss,” I said, my voice trembling. “I’m not okay.”
A small, tight smile ghosted across Luca’s lips.
“Fair enough,” he said. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It smelled like expensive cologne and smoke, heavy and warm. “Stay close to me. This tunnel leads to a safehouse on the edge of the property. We have a car waiting.”
He grabbed my hand again and started walking fast. I had to jog to keep up with his long strides.
“How can Vanessa frame me?” I asked, my voice echoing off the brick walls. “I’ve never even met her mother. I don’t have access to their bank accounts.”
“She doesn’t need you to have access,” Luca said grimly, keeping the flashlight pointed ahead. “Her mother embezzled that money twenty years ago. If Vanessa planted forged documents in your apartment proving your father funneled that money into a trust fund in your name, the FBI will believe you’re sitting on millions of stolen dollars.”
I felt sick. “My apartment? But... I live on the estate. In the staff quarters.”
Luca stopped dead in his tracks.
He turned around to look at me, the flashlight casting harsh shadows across his face.
“You live in the staff quarters,” he repeated slowly.
“Yes,” I said, confused by his sudden stillness. “Room 4, above the garage.”
Luca cursed violently in Italian. He hit the brick wall with the heel of his hand.
“What? What is it?” I asked, panicked.
“Vanessa has been staying in the guest suite for the last two weeks while we planned the wedding,” Luca said, his eyes dark with realization. “She had access to the entire estate. She didn’t just call the FBI tonight, Emily. She’s been planning this.”
He grabbed his phone from his pocket, dialing a number rapidly. He put it on speaker.
It rang twice before a gruff voice answered. “Boss?”
“Marco,” Luca barked. “Did the Feds go into the main house?”
“Yeah, Boss,” the man replied over the sound of distant sirens. “But a second team just bypassed the mansion. They kicked in the door to the staff quarters above the garage. They’re tearing apart Room 4.”
I covered my mouth to muffle a gasp.
“They found something,” Marco continued, his voice tight. “I heard one of the agents yell that they found a duffel bag stuffed with offshore bank statements and three hundred thousand dollars in cash under the floorboards.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. “It’s a lie! I don’t have any money!”
Luca ended the call. He looked at me, his expression terrifyingly calm.
“Vanessa planted the money,” Luca said. “She framed you perfectly. If they catch you tonight, you’ll spend the rest of your life in federal prison for a crime your father was killed over.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me forward, breaking into a run.
“Come on! We have to get to the car!”
We ran through the damp, winding tunnel, the flashlight beam bouncing wildly ahead of us. My lungs burned. My cheap work shoes slipped on the slick bricks.
Finally, the tunnel ended at a heavy steel door.
Luca threw his weight against the rusted handle, shoving it open.
We spilled out into the cool, night air. We were deep in the woods at the edge of the Moretti estate. About fifty yards away, hidden beneath the trees, a sleek black Mercedes was idling, its headlights off.
“Get in the car!” Luca ordered, pulling me toward the passenger side.
I reached for the door handle.
Suddenly, a bright, blinding spotlight hit us from the trees.
“Freeze! FBI! Drop the weapon and put your hands in the air!”
I screamed, throwing my arms up to shield my eyes from the glaring light.
Dozens of armed men in tactical gear emerged from the shadows, their rifles trained directly on Luca’s chest.
Luca didn’t raise his hands. He didn’t drop the flashlight.
He stepped perfectly in front of me, shielding my body with his own.
“Luca, don’t!” I begged, grabbing the back of his shirt. “They’ll shoot you!”
A man in a sharp grey suit stepped out from behind the tactical team. He looked at Luca with a smug, satisfied smile.
“Well, well, well,” the agent said, adjusting his tie. “Luca Moretti. Aiding and abetting a federal fugitive. That’s going to look great in front of a judge.”
The agent looked past Luca’s shoulder, right at me.
“Emily Parker,” he said coldly. “You’re under arrest for grand larceny, wire fraud, and the embezzlement of twelve million dollars.”
Two agents stepped forward with handcuffs.
But before they could reach me, Luca reached into his pocket and pulled out the small leather diary Mrs. Carter had found in the coat.
“She didn’t steal a dime,” Luca yelled over the wind, holding the diary up in the glaring spotlight. “And if you arrest her, I’ll hand this to the press tomorrow morning!”
The agent in the suit paused. “What is that?”
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“Proof,” Luca snarled. “Proof that your entire investigation is bought and paid for by the Bellini family.”
He opened the diary. And then, he read a name that made the FBI agent’s face turn the color of ash.
