Chapter 6 - THE HOUSE WITH THE CLOCK TOWER
The rain began to fall as our black SUV tore through the South Side of Chicago.
I sat in the back seat next to Luca. He was loading a dark, heavy magazine into a matte-black handgun. The cold metallic clicks echoed in the silent car.
“You shouldn't be here, Claire,” Luca said without looking up. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I’m the only one who knows the back roads into that property,” I replied, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. “The main gate is rusted shut. If you go through the front, Arthur’s men will see you coming a mile away.”
Luca finally looked at me.
He studied my face, seeing the fierce determination behind my maid’s uniform and bandaged hand.
“You’re remarkably brave for someone who just wanted to save a doorframe,” he said softly.
“I want to save the little boy who drew that picture,” I answered.
The SUV slowed as we approached the edge of the abandoned estate. Through the heavy rain and bare winter trees, the silhouette of the crooked clock tower loomed against the dark sky. The single clock hand was frozen at six o'clock.
“Park here,” I whispered to the driver.
We left the vehicles behind the tree line. Luca, Daniel, and four heavily armed security men moved like shadows through the wet grass. I walked closely behind Luca, guiding them toward the crumbling stone wall at the rear of the property.
“There’s a cellar door beneath the old greenhouse,” I whispered, pointing through the rain. “My friends and I used to dare each other to go inside when we were teenagers.”
Luca nodded. He signaled to his men.
We slipped through the rusted greenhouse frame and down a set of slippery stone steps.
Daniel took a pair of heavy bolt cutters and snapped the padlock on the cellar door.
We stepped into the darkness.
The air inside was stale, smelling of damp earth and old oil. But as we crept up the wooden stairs into the main house, another smell drifted toward us.
Cigarette smoke.
Someone was here.
Luca raised his weapon, his face devoid of mercy.
We moved silently down the main hallway. The house was supposed to be abandoned, but faint light flickered from under a door at the end of the corridor.
Daniel kicked the door open.
Two of Arthur’s guards were sitting at a card table, smoking. They barely had time to reach for their weapons before Luca’s men had them pinned to the floor, guns pressed to the backs of their heads.
“Where is the boy?” Luca demanded, his voice a low, terrifying growl.
One of the guards spat blood onto the floor. “Go to hell, Moretti.”
Luca didn't hesitate. He drove the heel of his boot into the guard’s hand, crushing it against the floorboards.
The man screamed.
“I won't ask twice,” Luca said.
The second guard panicked. “Upstairs! Third floor! The room with the deadbolt!”
Luca left the guards to his men and sprinted toward the grand staircase. I followed, my heart pounding so hard it hurt my ribs.
We reached the third floor. At the end of the dusty hallway was a heavy oak door secured with a massive iron deadbolt.
Luca didn't bother looking for a key. He stepped back and kicked the door with bone-shattering force. The wood splintered around the lock, and the door flew open.
I rushed in behind him.
The room was bare except for a small mattress on the floor and a single lamp.
Huddled in the corner, clutching a ragged blanket, was a little boy.
He had messy, dark hair and wide, terrified brown eyes. He looked exactly like the old photos of Luca when he was a child.
Leo.
Luca dropped his weapon. He fell to his knees, sliding across the dusty floor, and stopped a few feet from the boy.
He raised his hands slowly, showing they were empty.
“Leo?” Luca whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.
The boy flinched, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
“Who are you?” Leo asked, his voice barely a squeak.
Luca swallowed hard. “I’m your Uncle Luca. Your dad... your dad was my brother.”
Leo stared at him. The terror in his eyes slowly shifted to confusion.
He reached beneath his ragged blanket.
For a terrifying second, I thought Arthur had given him a weapon.
But Leo didn't pull out a gun.
He pulled out a tarnished silver pocket watch.
The exact same watch Teresa had wept over in the library an hour ago.
“My dad told me to wait for you,” Leo whispered, holding the watch out with a trembling hand.
Luca gently took the watch. He looked at it, confused.
“I already have this watch, Leo,” Luca said gently. “We found it in the doorframe.”
Leo shook his head.
“No,” the little boy said. “My dad said you have the case. But I have the key.”
Leo pressed a tiny button on the side of the watch.
The back casing popped open.
It wasn't a clock face inside.
It was a tiny, intricately carved brass key.
May you like
And engraved on the inside of the silver lid were three words.
Check the floorboards.
