Chapter 7 - THE TORN PHOTOGRAPH AND THE GREENHOUSE TUNNEL
The blinding spotlight washed out the colors of the room, turning everything stark and terrifying. Through the thick glass, I could see Lily perfectly. Her hair was messy, her clothes dirty, but she stood planted in the garden with the kind of fierce, unshakeable stance that only a mother protecting her child could muster.
Beside her, little Leo clutched her leg, his small face buried in her pants.
“Lily!” I screamed, hitting the reinforced glass with my palm. She couldn't hear me over the blaring perimeter alarms, but she saw me. Her eyes locked onto mine, wide with terror and determination.
“She got away from them,” Leo breathed, his scarred face pressing close to the glass beside me. The father who had never been allowed to be a father was staring at the daughter he had thought was lost forever. “She killed the guards in the car and ran back to the house.”
“They’re trapped in the garden,” Vincent said, panic finally breaking through his paralysis. He grabbed my arm. “The cartel soldiers are sweeping the perimeter. They’ll be in the garden in less than two minutes. We have to open the terrace doors.”
“No!” Brooke choked out. Leo still had her pinned in a chokehold. “If you open the doors, the house lockdown fails. The cartel will flood in.”
“Let them,” I said fiercely.
I ran to the heavy brass handles of the terrace doors and yanked them down. The heavy locks disengaged with a clunk, and I pushed the doors open.
The cold night air rushed into the sweltering music room, bringing with it the distant sound of automatic gunfire.
“Lily! Run!” I screamed into the darkness.
Lily didn't hesitate. She scooped up little Leo with her free arm and sprinted across the lawn toward the terrace. As she crossed the threshold, she collapsed onto the hardwood floor, gasping for air.
I dropped to my knees beside her, wrapping my arms around her and my grandson. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” I sobbed, pressing my face into little Leo’s hair.
Lily looked up, her eyes wild. She saw Vincent standing there, looking like a broken shell, and then her gaze shifted to the scarred man holding the bloody woman.
“Who is that?” Lily asked, her voice shaking. She pointed her gun unsteadily at Leo.
“Lily, put the gun down,” Vincent said softly, stepping forward with his hands raised. “He’s not going to hurt you.”
“Don't you come near me!” Lily shrieked, scrambling backward and pulling little Leo behind her. “You sent them! You sent those men to take us!”
“I didn't, sweetie, I swear,” Vincent pleaded, tears streaming down his face.
“It was her,” Leo said, his raspy voice cutting through the noise. He shoved Brooke forward, causing her to stumble to her knees. “This rat sold you to the cartel.”
Lily stared at Leo. She lowered the gun slightly, her brow furrowing. “I... I know you.”
Leo froze. “You do?”
Lily reached into her pocket with trembling fingers and pulled out a small, crumpled object. She smoothed it out on her knee.
It was a torn photograph. Faded and creased, it showed a younger Vincent standing next to a smiling, unscarred man.
“Mom gave this to me when I was a little girl,” Lily said, looking at me. “She said it was Uncle Leo. The man who died a hero.”
I closed my eyes. I had given her that picture because I couldn't bear the thought of Vincent erasing his brother’s memory entirely. I had told her a bedtime story about a brave uncle to soften the nightmares of the mafia life.
Leo looked at me, a profound, shattering gratitude in his dark eyes.
“He’s not your uncle, Lily,” Vincent whispered, the confession tearing out of him. “He’s your father.”
Lily stopped breathing. She looked from Vincent to Leo, then to me. “What?”
“There’s no time for a family reunion!” Brooke screamed, clutching her broken wrist. “Look outside!”
We spun toward the terrace doors.
Dozens of dark figures were swarming over the garden walls. Red laser sights cut through the darkness, sweeping across the lawn toward the music room.
“To the greenhouse!” I shouted, grabbing Lily’s hand.
Leo hauled Brooke to her feet by her hair. “You’re walking point, sweetheart. If they shoot, they shoot you first.”
We ran out of the music room and down the long, shadowed hallway toward the back of the estate. The sounds of doors kicking in and glass shattering echoed behind us. The cartel was inside the house.
We reached the heavy iron door of the greenhouse. Vincent punched in the code, his hands shaking so badly he missed the keys twice.
“Hurry!” Lily cried, holding little Leo tight against her chest.
The door clicked open, and the humid, earthy smell of the greenhouse washed over us. Vincent led us through rows of overgrown orchids and ferns to a heavy stone planter in the center. He pushed a hidden lever, and the entire planter slid sideways, revealing a dark, narrow stone staircase leading underground.
“Go, go!” Vincent urged, pushing me and Lily down the stairs.
Leo followed, dragging a crying Brooke behind him. Vincent was the last to enter. He grabbed the handle to pull the stone planter shut above us.
Before the stone closed, a voice rang out from the greenhouse entrance.
“Vincent!”
Vincent stopped. He peered through the narrowing gap.
Standing in the greenhouse was a man in a sharp white suit. Hector Vargas, the cartel boss. And in his hand, he held the silver rosary we had left on the piano.
“You left something behind, Vince!” Vargas yelled, smiling cruelly.
Vincent looked at the rosary, then at his brother standing in the darkness below.
Without a word, Vincent let go of the handle. He stepped back out of the tunnel and into the greenhouse.
“Vincent, no!” I screamed, reaching up for him.
Vincent looked down at me, a sad, final smile on his face. “I owe him, Helen. I owe him his life.”
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He slammed his foot on the external release pedal.
The heavy stone planter slammed shut above us, sealing us in total darkness. The last thing I heard was the sound of my husband locking the tunnel from the outside, trapping himself with the cartel to buy us time.
