Chapter 6 - THE TICKET
The heat was instantaneous and suffocating.
Flames licked at the ceiling beams, the dry wood of the carriage house catching fire like kindling. Thick, black smoke began to fill the room, stinging my eyes and choking my lungs.
"Get back!" Luca yelled, grabbing my good arm and pulling me away from the blazing front doors.
He shoved the leather ledger and the blood-stained ferry ticket deep into his jacket pocket.
"Is there another way out?" I coughed, dropping low to the ground where the air was slightly cleaner.
"The back window," Luca said, his eyes scanning the smoke-filled room. "But it's barred."
He ran to the far wall. High above the vintage cars, a small arched window was secured with heavy iron grates. Luca grabbed a crowbar from a nearby workbench and began smashing it against the iron bolts.
The metal shrieked, but it didn't give.
The fire was spreading to the canvas tarps covering the furniture. In less than three minutes, the roof was going to collapse.
"Luca!" I screamed as a burning beam fell, crashing onto the hood of a vintage Mustang just feet away from us.
He dropped the crowbar. He looked around wildly, his eyes landing on the massive wooden crate that held his parents' wedding portrait.
"Help me push this!" he ordered.
Despite my searing shoulder pain, I threw my weight against the heavy crate. Together, we rolled it across the floor until it was positioned directly under the barred window.
Luca climbed onto the crate. He didn't use the crowbar this time. He used the hydraulic car jack from the workbench, wedging it between the iron bars and pumping the handle frantically.
With a deafening CRACK, the rusted iron bolts snapped. The grate fell outward into the alley behind the estate.
"Climb!" Luca commanded, pulling me up onto the crate.
I scrambled through the narrow window, tumbling out onto the cold, wet grass of the alley. I landed hard on my injured shoulder, crying out in pain, but the sweet, freezing air filling my lungs was worth it.
A second later, Luca dove through the window, rolling onto the grass just as a massive explosion rocked the carriage house. The gas tank of the vintage Mustang had ignited.
We lay there in the mud, panting, watching the roof of the building cave in on itself in a spectacular shower of sparks.
Sirens began to wail in the distance.
"She thinks we're dead," Luca said, his voice raspy from the smoke. He wiped soot from his face, his eyes gleaming with a lethal clarity. "Let her."
"What?" I coughed.
"If Vanessa thinks I'm dead, she'll call an emergency meeting of the Commission to seize my assets. She'll bring the forged marriage contract she forced my lawyer to draft. It’s the only way she can take over."
He stood up, pulling me to my feet.
"Daniel is waiting two blocks away. We're going underground."
For the next forty-eight hours, the city of Chicago mourned the tragic passing of billionaire Luca Moretti in an estate fire. The news played on every channel in the penthouse.
Toby sat on my lap, safe and oblivious to the true danger, watching cartoons while Luca and Daniel planned our counter-attack in the next room.
I was sorting through the few belongings I had brought from my apartment. My mother's old purse was among them.
I opened a small zippered pocket, looking for some aspirin for my shoulder.
My fingers brushed against a cold, heavy object.
I pulled it out.
It was an ornate, heavy silver necklace with a large, intricately carved key functioning as the pendant.
My mother had always worn it hidden beneath her shirt. She told me it was the key to my father's heart.
I walked into the war room.
"Luca," I said softly.
He looked up from the blueprints of the Commission's meeting hall.
I held up the necklace.
"My mother didn't just save you," I said, my voice trembling. "She kept the key to the main Moretti vault. Didn't she?"
May you like
Luca stood up, staring at the key.
"The vault at the First Chicago Bank," he whispered. "The one Vanessa has been trying to access for six months."
