Chapter 4 - THE GHOST OF THE PAST
I stared at the photograph of my sister, the edges of the Polaroid trembling in Luca’s hands.
Emily. My twenty-two-year-old sister who was supposed to be safely studying at a library across town.
Bring the ledger, maid.
The air in the bedroom completely evaporated. My knees buckled, and if Daniel hadn't caught my arm, I would have collapsed onto the floor beside Walter.
“Emily,” I choked out, a raw, animal panic clawing at my throat. “They have Emily.”
Luca stared at the back of the photograph, his dark eyes turning entirely devoid of emotion. It was the terrifying, dead calm of a man who had just decided to go to war.
“Daniel,” Luca ordered, his voice dangerously quiet. “Lock down the estate. Call every man we have on the payroll. Nobody sleeps tonight.”
“Yes, boss,” Daniel nodded, immediately pulling his phone and stepping into the hallway.
Luca turned to me. He gently gripped my shoulders, forcing me to look into his eyes.
“Claire, breathe,” he commanded. His grip was firm, grounding me in the terrifying reality of the moment. “Panic gets people killed. Focus on me.”
I swallowed hard, trying to fight back the hysterical tears.
“Marco took my sister,” I sobbed. “He thinks I have the ledger!”
“He doesn't have your sister,” Luca corrected smoothly. “Carlo Bellini has your sister. And he has my mother.”
He let go of my shoulders and began tearing through Teresa’s dressing table drawers, searching for any clue she might have left behind.
“How did they get past security?” I asked, my voice shaking. “The estate was locked down!”
“Marco is my brother,” Luca said bitterly, slamming a drawer shut. “He knows the security patrols. He knows the blind spots. He let them in.”
He stopped, his eyes landing on a small, framed photograph sitting on Teresa’s nightstand.
It was a picture of Luca’s father, Antonio, holding a tiny golden retriever puppy. Walter.
Luca picked up the frame.
“My mother found my father’s ledger yesterday,” Luca murmured, piecing the puzzle together. “She knew Carlo was coming for it tonight. She hid the key on Walter’s collar. But where did she hide the book?”
“She didn't tell me,” I cried. “I didn't even know the ledger existed until ten minutes ago!”
Luca looked at the picture in his hand. Then, he looked down at Walter, who was still whining softly on the rug.
“My father didn't trust banks,” Luca said softly. “He didn't trust floorboards or wall safes. He said a secret is only safe if it’s buried with a ghost.”
He knelt beside Walter, gently stroking the old dog’s gray ears.
“Where did he take you, Walter?” Luca whispered. “Where did my father go when he didn't want to be found?”
Walter didn't answer. He just nudged Luca’s hand, seeking comfort.
But as Walter moved, his old blue blanket shifted on the floor.
I noticed something stitched into the corner of the fabric.
It wasn't a brand tag. It was a small, embroidered emblem.
A weeping angel.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said, pointing to the blanket. “Look at that embroidery.”
Luca leaned closer. His eyes widened slightly.
“That’s the crest of the St. Jude Cemetery,” Luca breathed.
He stood up quickly, his mind racing.
“My father bought a family mausoleum at St. Jude twenty years ago. It’s where he’s buried. My mother visits every Sunday.”
He looked at me.
“The ledger is in the crypt. She hid it in my father’s tomb.”
“But Marco has the key,” I panicked.
“The brass key opens the lockbox inside the tomb,” Luca said, grabbing his suit jacket from a chair. “But Marco still needs the master code to open the mausoleum door. And only my mother knows it.”
My heart plummeted.
“That’s why they took her,” I realized. “They took my sister to force me to bring the ledger, and they took your mother to force her to open the door.”
Luca checked the magazine of his pistol, slamming it back into the grip with a sharp, metallic click.
“Carlo is headed to the cemetery right now,” Luca said. He looked at me, his expression softening for just a fraction of a second. “I am going to get your sister back, Claire. I promise you.”
“I’m coming with you,” I said instantly.
Luca shook his head. “Absolutely not. It’s going to be a bloodbath.”
“She’s my sister!” I yelled, stepping into his path. “And that note was addressed to me! If Carlo sees you walk into that cemetery alone, he’ll kill Emily and your mother instantly. He needs to think I brought him what he wants!”
Luca stared at me. He saw the fierce, unyielding terror in my eyes, and he knew I was right.
“Fine,” Luca said grimly. “But you stay behind me. And you do exactly what I tell you.”
Ten minutes later, we were in the back of Luca’s armored SUV, speeding through the rain-slicked streets of Chicago.
The storm had intensified, lightning flashing across the dark sky, illuminating the towering stone monuments as we pulled into the wrought-iron gates of St. Jude Cemetery.
It was completely dark. The streetlights inside the cemetery had been shot out.
“They’re already here,” Luca whispered, killing the headlights of the SUV.
He parked near the entrance, and we slipped out into the pouring rain.
The air was freezing, smelling of wet earth and ozone. Luca moved silently, keeping me close to the shadows of the massive stone crypts.
We crept toward the center of the cemetery, where the Moretti family mausoleum stood—a massive, gothic structure of white marble.
Through the driving rain, I saw them.
Two black SUVs were parked on the grass near the mausoleum.
Six armed men stood in a perimeter.
And standing in front of the heavy bronze doors of the crypt was Carlo Bellini.
He was holding an umbrella, looking completely unbothered by the storm.
Kneeling in the mud at his feet, her hands bound behind her back, was Teresa. She was shivering violently, her nightgown soaked through.
And standing beside her, holding a gun to my sister’s head, was Marco.
Emily was crying hysterically, her eyes wide with terror as she knelt in the mud beside Teresa.
“Open the door, Teresa,” Carlo demanded, his voice echoing off the stone monuments. “Give Marco the code.”
Teresa didn't look up. She kept her eyes fixed on the muddy ground.
“I’d rather die,” she whispered fiercely.
Carlo sighed, a sound of genuine disappointment. He nodded to Marco.
Marco cocked the hammer of his gun and pressed the barrel harder against Emily’s temple.
“If you don't give me the code, mother,” Marco said coldly, “I’ll blow the girl’s brains out right here.”
“No!” I screamed, unable to stop myself.
I ran out from the shadows, stepping into the dim light cast by the SUV headlights.
Luca cursed under his breath, stepping out right behind me, his weapon raised.
Carlo smiled.
“Ah,” the older boss said. “The maid arrives. Do you have my ledger, Claire?”
“Let my sister go!” I yelled, my voice breaking.
“The ledger first,” Carlo insisted.
“I don't have it!” I cried.
Marco laughed harshly. “She’s lying. Shoot Luca and take the girl.”
Carlo’s men raised their weapons, aiming directly at us.
But before anyone could fire, Teresa suddenly lifted her head.
She looked past Carlo. Past Marco. Past the guns and the men.
She looked directly at the massive bronze doors of the mausoleum.
“You shouldn't have come here, Carlo,” Teresa whispered, a strange, terrifying calm washing over her face.
Carlo frowned. “Why not?”
“Because,” Teresa said, “Antonio didn't just build a tomb.”
Suddenly, the heavy bronze doors of the mausoleum didn't beep with a code.
They unlocked with a heavy, mechanical clank from the inside.
The doors slowly swung open.
May you like
And stepping out of the absolute darkness of the crypt, holding an assault rifle, was a man who had been dead for seven years.
Antonio Moretti.
