Chapter 7 - The Stand-In
The heavy silence in the library was shattered by the cocking of the antique shotgun.
"Drop the torch, Vanessa," the man in the grey suit said. His voice wasn't the terrified, trembling squeak I had heard at the pawnshop. It was deep, authoritative, and laced with absolute authority.
Vanessa froze, staring at him in utter disbelief. "Marco? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be guarding the south side!"
Beside me in the dark tunnel, Luca slowly lowered his gun. He let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
"That isn't a pawnshop owner," Luca whispered to me, his eyes gleaming in the dark. "That’s Marco Moretti. My uncle."
My mind spun. The terrified man who had handed over Matthew’s toolbox was a Moretti?
"He’s my father's younger brother," Luca explained quietly. "He runs our counter-intelligence. He’s been posing as a Bellini pawn broker for three years."
In the library, the three armed Bellini men raised their rifles, aiming at Marco.
"You're one man, Marco," Vanessa sneered, recovering her false bravado. "You can't shoot all of us before my men put you in the ground."
"I don't have to," Marco smiled, his eyes cold. "I just have to keep you busy."
Suddenly, the lights in the library completely died.
The entire mansion plunged into pitch blackness.
"Now!" Luca hissed.
He kicked the wooden vent hard. The aged slats shattered, and Luca rolled out of the hidden tunnel directly into the dark library.
I scrambled out behind him, pressing my back against the cold stone wall, clutching the silver rosary in my pocket.
Gunfire erupted.
The flashes of muzzle light strobed through the darkness like violent lightning. I squeezed my eyes shut, terrified a stray bullet would find me. The sound was deafening in the enclosed space. Shouts, the heavy thud of bodies hitting the floor, the splintering of wood.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the gunfire stopped.
The emergency backup lights flickered on, casting a dim, red glow across the ruined library.
The three Bellini men were on the floor, groaning and disarmed.
Marco was still standing in the doorway of the armory, the antique shotgun smoking in his hands.
And Luca was standing in the center of the room, Daniel’s gun pressed directly against Vanessa Bellini’s forehead.
Vanessa’s red silk engagement dress was torn, her perfectly styled hair falling in messy strands across her pale, terrified face.
"Where is my mother?" Luca demanded, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly quiet whisper.
"Inside," Marco answered, stepping aside.
The steel door of the armory opened wider. An elegant, older woman with silver hair stepped out, flanked by two armed guards. Behind her, a teenage girl and two young boys were huddled safely in the reinforced room.
Luca’s mother, Isabella Moretti, looked at her son. She didn't look frightened. She looked furious.
"Luca," Isabella said sharply. "Remove this trash from my house."
Vanessa let out a desperate, jagged breath. She looked at Luca, her eyes filling with fake tears. "Luca, please. You have to understand. My family forced me to do this. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I loved you."
"You don't know how to love," Luca said coldly.
He didn't pull the trigger. He wasn't a monster. He lowered the gun and gestured to Marco. "Tie her up. The police are on their way. Daniel already confessed to everything."
Vanessa’s face went completely slack. "Daniel?"
"He told us about the offshore accounts. The bankruptcy. The hit on my father," Luca said.
Then, Luca stepped aside, revealing me standing by the wall in my torn maid’s uniform.
"And he told us about Matthew Foster," Luca added.
Vanessa stared at me. The fake tears vanished, replaced by a venomous, cornered hatred.
"The mechanic," Vanessa spat, her lip curling in disgust. "He was a fool. He found the ledger in my car and thought he could play hero. He wouldn't take the bribe. So I had him crushed in that little car of his."
She looked at me, a cruel smile twisting her face. "He died screaming, Abigail. And for what? So you could scrub my toilets?"
The words were meant to break me. To reduce me back to the crying, humiliated widow in the dressing room.
But I didn't cry.
I walked forward, stopping just inches from the woman who had murdered my husband.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the heavy silver rosary.
Vanessa’s eyes dropped to it, her face draining of all color.
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"He didn't die for nothing," I said, my voice steady, ringing clearly through the quiet library. "He died to protect innocent people. He died with honor. Something you will never, ever understand."
And then, with every ounce of grief and anger I had carried for eighteen months, I raised my hand and slapped Vanessa Bellini across the face so hard the sound echoed off the stone walls.
