Chapter 2 - THE PADLOCK ON THE LOBBY DOORS
The silence in the ballroom was absolute.
Luca stood perfectly still, his phone pressed to his ear.
The wealthy donors, the champagne glasses, the string quartet—everything seemed to fade into a cold, terrifying vacuum.
"Lucy," Luca said, his voice dropping to a calm, steady register that hid the absolute panic in his eyes. "Where are you right now?"
"In the hallway," the six-year-old whispered, coughing softly through the speaker. "Grandma is asleep on the floor. She won't wake up."
Smoke inhalation.
Caleb let out a broken sob, gripping the armrests of his wheelchair so hard his knuckles turned white.
"Lucy, listen to me," Luca instructed, his tone commanding but incredibly gentle. "Get down low. Touch the carpet. Is it hot?"
"No," she whimpered.
"Good. Stay on your hands and knees. Stay by your grandmother."
Luca lowered the phone, placing his hand over the microphone.
He slowly turned toward Vanessa.
She had backed up against the catering table, her red silk gown suddenly looking like a warning sign. Her hands were trembling, diamonds catching the chandelier light.
"A man locked the doors," Luca repeated, his voice dangerously quiet. "Vanessa, who did you send to my building?"
"Nobody!" she cried, her voice pitching high. "Luca, I swear, I just hired a private contractor to do a structural assessment before the demolition!"
"Demolition?" I whispered, unable to stop myself. "It’s a charity housing project. It was just renovated."
Luca didn't look at me. His eyes were locked on his fiancée.
"Who did you send?"
"I don't know his name!" Vanessa wept, looking around at the staring guests. "My father arranged it. He said the building was sitting on prime commercial zoning. He said if we cleared the tenants, we could sell the land to a developer and double the foundation's endowment!"
Luca’s expression went entirely blank.
It was the look of a man realizing he was engaged to a monster.
"You ordered an illegal eviction to sell charity land to your father’s shell companies," Luca said, the pieces snapping together. "And when the tenants didn't leave fast enough, your father sent an arsonist to smoke them out."
"I didn't know he was going to start a fire!" Vanessa pleaded, reaching for his arm.
Luca violently shoved her hand away.
"If that little girl dies," Luca said, his voice a lethal whisper, "there isn't a hole on earth deep enough to hide you from me."
He turned to his security chief.
"Daniel. We take the SUV. Now."
"Yes, Boss."
Luca looked at Caleb.
"Rachel," he ordered, his eyes meeting mine. "Bring the boy. We might need him to navigate the layout."
I grabbed the handles of Caleb’s wheelchair. "Yes, sir."
We sprinted through the grand double doors of the estate, abandoning the stunned guests. The cold night air hit my face like a physical blow.
Daniel had the armored black SUV running at the curb.
I helped Caleb into the backseat, carefully lifting his bandaged ankle, before folding the wheelchair into the trunk. I climbed in beside him, pulling the seatbelt tight.
Luca jumped into the passenger seat.
Daniel floored the accelerator. The heavy vehicle tore out of the estate gates, tires screaming against the asphalt.
"Lucy?" Luca asked, putting the phone on the dashboard speaker. "Are you still there?"
"It's getting hot, Mr. Moretti," the tiny voice coughed. "The black stuff is hurting my eyes."
"I'm coming, sweetheart. I'm coming right now," Luca promised, his jaw tight.
Caleb leaned forward, his face pale and slick with sweat. "Lucy, put your face in Grandma’s sweater. Breathe through the wool."
"Okay, Caleb," she cried.
We wove through the city traffic at terrifying speeds. Daniel laid on the horn, running red lights, nearly clipping a city bus.
"Daniel," Luca said, staring out the windshield. "Where is the fire department?"
"I called dispatch, Boss," Daniel replied, his voice tense. "They said a massive pile-up on the interstate has all local units diverted. They're twenty minutes out."
"We don't have twenty minutes," Caleb sobbed.
I looked out the window as we turned onto 4th Avenue.
In the distance, against the dark night sky, a thick plume of black smoke was billowing into the clouds.
Willow Creek Apartments.
Daniel skidded to a halt in front of the five-story brick building.
Flames were licking out of the second-floor windows.
There were no fire trucks. No police. Just a few terrified neighbors standing on the sidewalk in their pajamas, screaming.
Luca didn't wait for the car to stop completely.
He kicked the door open and sprinted toward the main entrance.
I jumped out, helping Caleb into his wheelchair.
We rushed toward the courtyard, the heat of the fire radiating against our skin.
Luca grabbed the handles of the heavy glass lobby doors and pulled.
They didn't budge.
Wrapped tightly around the interior handles was a thick, heavy-duty steel chain, secured with a massive brass padlock.
Someone had intentionally trapped everyone inside.
Luca grabbed a heavy concrete trash urn from the sidewalk and hurled it into the glass.
The reinforced glass shattered, raining sharp fragments onto the tile.
"Stay here!" Luca yelled at Daniel. "Keep the boy back!"
Luca reached through the jagged hole, ignoring the glass slicing his tailored suit sleeve, and pushed the interior crash bar.
The door swung open, releasing a horrific wave of black smoke.
Luca disappeared into the darkness.
I stood next to Caleb, coughing from the toxic air rolling out of the lobby.
"He's going to find her," I told the boy, gripping his shoulders tightly. "He's going to find her."
But as I looked down at the shattered glass on the sidewalk, I noticed something resting near the concrete urn.
It was a heavy, fire-resistant leather jacket.
Discarded in a hurry.
I walked over and picked it up. It smelled like gasoline and sulfur.
But it wasn't the smell that made my heart stop.
Pinned to the collar of the jacket was a small, distinct emblem.
A silver scorpion wrapped around a red rose.
I stared at it, my hands trembling.
Caleb wheeled forward, wiping his tear-stained face. "Rachel? What is it?"
May you like
I looked at the fifteen-year-old boy.
"It's the Bellini syndicate crest," I whispered. "Vanessa didn't just hire a contractor. She hired her father's favorite assassin."
