Chapter 7 - THE BOARDS BENEATH THE CARPET
The dust in the small room seemed to freeze in the air.
Luca stared at the tiny brass key nestled inside the broken watch casing, then read the engraving again.
Check the floorboards.
“Leo,” I said softly, stepping forward and kneeling beside Luca. I kept my voice calm, hoping my uniform would make me look less intimidating than the armed men outside the door. “Did your dad hide something under the floor?”
Leo looked at me, his large brown eyes assessing my bandaged hand and dirty apron.
Slowly, he nodded.
“He said Grandpa Arthur was a bad man,” Leo whispered, clutching his ragged blanket. “He said if I ever saw Uncle Luca, I should give him the key, and tell him to look under the rug.”
Luca immediately stood up.
He grabbed the edge of the filthy, moth-eaten rug that covered the center of the room and threw it back.
The old oak floorboards were warped from years of neglect. But right in the center, near where the rug had been, one board had a tiny, almost invisible scratch shaped like an 'X'.
Luca jammed his fingers into the seam and pulled upward with all his strength.
The board groaned, the rusted nails screeching, before it finally gave way.
Beneath the board was a small, dark cavity.
Resting inside was a heavy steel lockbox.
Luca lifted it out. It was identical in make to the one we had found at Union Station, but much newer.
He inserted the tiny brass key Leo had given him.
It turned with a satisfying click.
Luca threw the lid open.
I gasped.
The box wasn't filled with letters or photographs.
It was filled with high-density flash drives, stacks of micro-cassette tapes, and a thick bound dossier.
Luca picked up the dossier. The cover page bore the official seal of the Chicago Port Authority, heavily stamped with the word CONFIDENTIAL.
“What is this?” I asked, leaning closer.
Luca’s eyes scanned the first page, and a slow, lethal smile spread across his face.
“It’s an insurance policy,” Luca whispered. “Michael didn't just work for Arthur. He was Arthur’s bookkeeper. He recorded everything.”
Luca flipped through the pages.
“Bribes to federal judges. Extortion of the shipping unions. The exact locations of Arthur’s offshore accounts.” Luca looked up, his eyes burning with a triumphant fire. “Michael spent the last five years of his life secretly compiling enough federal evidence to put Arthur Bellini and his entire family in prison for the rest of their natural lives.”
This was it.
The absolute ruin of the Bellini empire, handed to Luca by the brother he thought he’d lost.
Suddenly, Daniel’s voice crackled frantically over Luca’s earpiece.
“Boss, we have a problem. Arthur’s men just pulled up to the front gate. A dozen vehicles. Heavily armed.”
Luca’s smile vanished.
Arthur had realized we were gone. He had come for the boy.
“Fall back to the third floor,” Luca ordered into his radio. “Defend the staircase. Nobody gets through.”
Luca turned to me. He grabbed my shoulders, his grip firm and urgent.
“Claire, I need you to take Leo and get out of here. Now.”
I shook my head. “I’m not leaving you.”
“You have to,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a desperate plea. “If Arthur gets this box, Michael died for nothing. If he gets Leo, my family is finished.”
He shoved the heavy steel lockbox into my arms.
“Take the cellar stairs. Go back through the greenhouse and into the woods. My driver is waiting. Get Leo to my mother.”
I looked at the terrified little boy shivering in the corner.
I set the box down, took off my uniform apron, and wrapped it securely around Leo’s shoulders. I picked him up. He was incredibly light, fragile from poor nutrition, and he buried his face in my neck immediately.
“I’ll keep him safe, Mr. Moretti,” I promised.
“I know you will,” Luca said softly.
He reached out and gently touched my cheek, his thumb brushing away a streak of dirt. It was a fleeting, intimately tender moment amidst the chaos.
“Go,” Luca ordered.
I grabbed the lockbox by the handle and ran.
I carried Leo down the back servant stairs, my boots echoing in the darkness. Above us, the terrifying sound of automatic gunfire erupted on the third floor.
Leo whimpered against my shoulder.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” I whispered, rushing through the abandoned kitchen. “I’ve got you.”
We burst out of the cellar door and into the freezing rain.
I ran through the overgrown grass, slipping in the mud, my injured hand screaming in pain from the weight of the lockbox. But I didn't stop.
We reached the tree line.
The black SUV was idling, hidden in the shadows. The driver threw the back door open.
I pushed Leo inside, threw the lockbox onto the floorboards, and climbed in after him.
“Drive!” I yelled.
The SUV tore out of the woods, speeding away from the house with the one-armed clock.
I pulled Leo into my lap, wrapping my arms tightly around him as he cried.
We were safe. We had the evidence.
But as the adrenaline began to fade, Leo reached into his pocket.
He pulled out something small and pressed it into my hand.
“My dad told me to give this to the lady with the splintered hand,” Leo whispered through his tears.
I froze.
I looked down at the object in my palm.
It was a small, braided leather bracelet. The leather was tied in a very specific, very complicated knot.
A carpenter’s knot.
The exact knot my father used to tie his toolbelts.
I stared at the bracelet, the air completely leaving my lungs.
May you like
How did Michael know I would have splinters in my hand today?
And how did he know my father's knot?
