Chapter 3 - THE FIANCÉE AND THE FIREPLACE
The heavy click of the gun’s hammer echoing in the dining room shattered the illusion of the wealthy, untouchable Moretti family.
“Lock the doors!” Vanessa shouted, completely dropping her terrified-fiancée act.
Two men in black suits—men I recognized as Luca’s own private security—immediately pulled the heavy oak dining room doors shut and stood in front of them with weapons drawn.
My breath caught in my throat. Vanessa wasn’t horrified by Michael’s betrayal. She was part of it.
Luca didn’t flinch, even with the barrel of his brother’s gun pressed against his sternum. He just looked at Vanessa, his eyes dark and hollow.
“You too?” Luca asked softly.
Vanessa sighed, smoothing down the front of her deep-red gown. “Don’t look at me like that, Luca. You were never going to marry me. You were just keeping me around because my father controls the shipping ports. Michael actually respects me.”
“He respects your bank accounts,” Luca said coldly.
“Shut up,” Michael snapped, shoving the gun harder into Luca’s chest. “Disarm him, Vanessa.”
Vanessa stepped forward and expertly slipped Luca’s handgun from his shoulder holster. She tossed it onto the long dining table, right into the center of the roasted chicken.
Teresa let out a quiet sob beside me. I pulled the elderly woman behind me, trying to shield her with my own body. I was just a maid. I didn’t know how to fight men with guns. But I knew the layout of this house better than anyone.
“What’s the plan, Michael?” Luca asked, perfectly calm. “You can’t shoot me in front of thirty witnesses and expect to take over the family.”
“I don’t have to shoot you,” Michael smiled. “You’re going to have a tragic accident. Just like Dad.”
Michael nodded to Vanessa. She walked over to the massive stone fireplace at the end of the dining room. Sitting on the mantle was a heavy crystal decanter of Luca’s favorite bourbon.
Vanessa picked it up. “We’ve been lacing your evening drinks for a month, darling. Slow-acting. Untraceable. Just enough to weaken your heart. Tonight, we give you the final dose.”
My mind raced. Luca had been complaining of migraines and chest pains for weeks. I thought it was wedding stress. They had been slowly killing him right in front of us.
“And the guests?” Luca asked, glancing at his terrified relatives huddled against the far wall.
“They’ll keep quiet,” Michael said, his eyes scanning the room. “Or they’ll join you. Now, sit at the table, brother. Drink your bourbon.”
“No,” Teresa whispered fiercely. She stepped out from behind me. “I won’t let you.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Mom, sit down before I have Vanessa sedate you.”
“You’ve taken my husband,” Teresa said, her voice rising in the silent room. “You’re not taking my son.”
Before I could stop her, Teresa grabbed her heavy crystal water goblet from the table and hurled it directly at the fireplace.
It shattered against the stone mantle with a deafening crash, sending shards of glass flying into Vanessa’s face.
Vanessa screamed, dropping the poisoned bourbon decanter. It smashed on the floor, the liquid catching a stray ember from the fire and instantly erupting into a wall of blue flame.
The distraction was barely a second long. But for Luca, a second was a lifetime.
Luca twisted his torso violently, knocking Michael’s gun arm away. The suppressed weapon fired, the bullet tearing into the ceiling chandelier. Crystal rained down on the screaming guests.
Luca drove his forehead into Michael’s nose with a sickening crunch. Michael dropped the gun, staggering backward.
“Hannah! The kitchen!” Luca roared.
I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed Teresa by the waist and shoved her toward the swinging doors that led to the servants’ kitchen.
We burst through the doors. The kitchen staff had already fled at the sound of the gunshot.
“Keep moving!” I yelled, half-carrying Teresa toward the back exit.
Luca backed through the swinging doors behind us, kicking them shut. He had blood on his collar and his brother’s gun in his hand.
“They locked the perimeter,” Luca panted, checking the magazine. “We have to use the old prohibition tunnels under the wine cellar.”
Teresa leaned heavily against the stainless steel prep counter, gasping for breath. “I can’t… I can’t run, Luca.”
“You have to, Mom,” Luca said, wrapping his free arm around her waist. “Emily, grab the master keys from the pantry hook.”
I lunged for the pantry. I snatched the heavy ring of brass keys just as the kitchen doors burst open.
One of the corrupt guards raised his weapon.
Luca fired twice. The guard dropped to the linoleum floor.
“Go!” Luca yelled.
We scrambled down the dark, narrow stone steps leading to the wine cellar. The air grew freezing cold. I fumbled with the keys in the dark, my hands shaking so violently I dropped them twice.
Above us, heavy footsteps pounded against the kitchen floor.
“They’re in the cellar!” Vanessa’s voice echoed down the stairwell.
I finally found the rusted iron key. I shoved it into the heavy metal door at the back of the wine racks and turned. The lock clicked.
We threw ourselves into the dark dirt tunnel just as bullets began shattering the expensive wine bottles behind us.
Luca slammed the iron door shut and threw the heavy deadbolt.
We stood in pitch blackness, breathing heavily. The smell of damp earth and old brick filled my lungs.
Teresa slumped against the dirt wall. “Where does this tunnel go?”
“To the old carriage house,” Luca said, pulling a small flashlight from his pocket. He clicked it on, casting a pale beam down the endless, terrifying corridor. “From there, we take a car and disappear.”
He looked down at his mother. Then he looked at me.
“Thank you, Hannah,” he said quietly.
I nodded, gripping the key ring.
But as the flashlight beam swept across the dirt floor, my stomach completely dropped.
Lying in the center of the tunnel, covered in a thin layer of dust, was a child’s red velvet shoe.
Teresa saw it too. She let out a horrifying, choked gasp.
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“Luca,” Teresa whispered, pointing a trembling finger at the tiny shoe. “She told me she buried her.”
TITLE: THE VELVET SHOE IN THE TUNNEL
