Chapter 5 - THE IRON KEY
Julian's eyes darted to the key in my hand. His finger hesitated on the trigger.
"What is that?" Julian demanded, his arrogant smile faltering.
"It's the master key to Elena's private vault," I said, my voice trembling but loud enough to echo in the damp tunnel.
I was guessing. I had only seen a key like this once, hanging on a restricted board in Andrew’s office, labeled Vault 4 - E.V.
But the look on Julian's face told me I had guessed right.
"Give it to me," Julian ordered, stepping closer, his gun still trained on Matteo's chest.
"Why do you want it?" Matteo asked, his voice deadly quiet. He kept his body perfectly positioned to shield Leo.
"Because," Julian sneered, "your beloved wife didn't just keep her jewelry in that vault. She kept a journal. She figured out I was skimming from the family accounts long before you ever suspected me. She was going to ruin me, Matteo."
Reversal.
Julian hadn't joined Marcus for power. He had joined him out of self-preservation.
"You killed her," Matteo realized. The words felt like stones dropping onto the floor. "The car accident. It was you."
Julian shrugged, a sickeningly casual gesture. "Marcus helped with the brakes. But yes. I ordered it. And tonight, Marcus is going to let me walk away with a sizable severance package, as long as I hand over the vault key and make sure you don't survive this tunnel."
"You would kill your own blood?" Matteo asked.
"Blood doesn't pay my gambling debts," Julian replied coldly. "Toss the key, maid."
I looked at the heavy iron key. Then I looked at the dark brick walls of the tunnel.
I had cleaned the basement levels of this estate for a year. I knew these walls. I knew what ran behind them.
"Catch," I said.
But I didn't toss the key to Julian.
I threw it as hard as I could into the darkness behind him, toward the heavy metal grate that covered the old drainage sump.
The key clattered loudly, bouncing off the brick and dropping perfectly through the grate, plunging into the deep, stagnant water below with a quiet plop.
Julian screamed in frustration, spinning around and pointing his flashlight at the grate.
That one second of distraction was all Matteo needed.
The Mafia boss moved with a speed that defied logic. He closed the gap between them, grabbing Julian's gun hand and twisting it violently upward. The gun discharged, the bullet ricocheting off the stone ceiling in a shower of sparks.
Matteo drove his knee into his brother's stomach, then struck him across the jaw with the butt of his own weapon.
Julian collapsed to the tunnel floor, unconscious.
Matteo stood over him, breathing heavily. He looked down at the man who had shared his childhood, the man who had murdered his wife.
He raised his gun, pointing it at Julian's head.
"Matteo, no," I whispered.
He didn't look at me. "He killed Elena. He tried to kill my son."
"And if you shoot him, the gunshot will echo all the way back to the cellar," I said, grabbing his arm. "Marcus and the police will know exactly where we are. You can deal with him later. Right now, we have to save Leo."
Matteo's jaw clenched. The battle between vengeance and duty raged in his dark eyes.
Finally, he lowered the gun.
He kicked Julian's weapon into the drainage grate, then turned back to us.
"The metal door," Matteo said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion.
We hurried to the heavy door at the end of the tunnel. Matteo keyed in a code, and the heavy bolts slid back.
We pushed out into the freezing night air.
We were in the old carriage house, a massive wooden structure hidden deep in the forest on the edge of the estate. The smell of old hay and motor oil filled the air.
"We need a car," Matteo said, moving toward a tarp-covered shape in the center of the room.
He pulled the tarp back, revealing a sleek, restored vintage Mustang.
"Get in," he ordered.
I opened the passenger door and helped Leo into the small backseat. The little boy was exhausted, tears streaking his dirty cheeks. I wrapped the heavy coat tighter around him.
As I did, I noticed something sticking out of the inner lining of the coat.
Not a pocket. A tear in the silk lining.
I reached inside the tear.
My fingers brushed against thick, stiff paper.
I pulled it out just as Matteo climbed into the driver's seat.
It was a faded, folded photograph.
I opened it under the faint dome light of the car.
It was a picture of Elena, Matteo's wife. She was smiling, standing in front of this very carriage house.
But she wasn't alone.
She had her arm wrapped around another woman. A woman wearing a maid's uniform.
A woman I knew very well.
"My sister," I gasped, the air leaving my lungs.
Matteo stopped trying to hotwire the classic car and looked over. "What?"
I held the photo up with trembling hands. "This is my older sister, Clara. She worked here five years ago. She died of a sudden illness before I took this job."
Matteo stared at the photograph. His expression morphed into pure, unadulterated shock.
"Clara," Matteo whispered. "Clara wasn't just a maid. She was Elena's closest confidante."
"She never told me," I cried softly, my entire world tilting on its axis.
"Because Elena asked her to keep a secret," Matteo said, taking the photo from my hands. He turned it over.
On the back, written in Elena's elegant script, were three words:
The blue coat.
Matteo froze. He slowly looked up at the coat Leo was wearing. The coat I had grabbed from the closet.
It was a heavy, dark blue wool coat.
"The envelope Andrew stole," Matteo said, his voice barely audible. "The evidence against the corrupt police commissioner... it was never in his safe. Elena hid it."
"Where?" I asked.
Matteo reached into the backseat. He took the blue coat from Leo, feeling the thick padding of the collar.
With a sharp pull, he ripped the seam of the collar open.
A small, sealed plastic envelope fell onto the center console.
Inside was a USB drive.
The real evidence.
Before we could even process the discovery, the wooden doors of the carriage house suddenly burst open, flooding the dark barn with blinding floodlights.
Standing in the glare of the lights, surrounded by heavily armed corrupt police officers, was Marcus.
He smiled, raising a megaphone.
May you like
"End of the line, Matteo. Step out of the car, and I'll make sure the boy goes to a nice orphanage."
Marcus had found us. And he had the police on his side.
