Chapter 2 - I recognized Lorenzo’s voice somewhere in the darkness.
I kicked wildly.
My heel struck a shin.
The grip released.
Emergency lights flickered red along the walls.
I crawled behind a sofa.
Men shouted.
Furniture overturned.
Another gunshot cracked through the ballroom.
Then silence.
Slowly, the emergency generator engaged.
Dim lights returned.
The room looked as though a storm had passed through it.
A security guard lay bleeding near the doors.
Staff huddled against the walls.
Lorenzo stood with a pistol in his hand.
Giovanni was still in his wheelchair.
But Mrs. Gable was gone.
One of Lorenzo’s men cursed.
“She used the service corridor.”
Lorenzo looked around.
“Seal the estate.”
“The gates are already locked.”
“Then she’s inside.”
My stomach cramped.
I doubled over.
Lorenzo saw me.
He crossed the room immediately.
“What happened?”
“I fell.”
“Are you bleeding?”
“I don’t think so.”
Another cramp tightened through my abdomen.
His face hardened.
“Doctor.”
Dr. Russo hurried over.
He checked my pulse, asked several questions, then placed a hand gently against my stomach.
“You need to lie down.”
“I’m okay.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“I need to work.”
Lorenzo stared at me as though I had said something insane.
“You think you’re going back to work?”
“I need the money.”
The words sounded pathetic in that ballroom filled with armed men and old Mafia secrets.
But they were true.
My rent was overdue.
Brody’s gambling collectors had already called twice that week.
I had sixty-three dollars in my checking account.
Pride did not buy diapers.
Lorenzo crouched in front of me.
“You cared for my father when everyone else ignored him.”
I looked down.
“That doesn’t make you responsible for me.”
“No.”
His eyes held mine.
“It makes me responsible for what happened under my roof.”
Before I could answer, Giovanni made a sound.
We turned.
He was pointing toward the ballroom doors.
Four taps.
Lorenzo followed his gaze.
“What is it?”
Giovanni pointed again.
Then toward me.
Then toward the doors.
Lorenzo frowned.
“You want Emily taken somewhere?”
Four taps.
“Your room?”
Three.
“The doctor?”
Three.
Giovanni became frustrated.
His fist struck the chair.
Then he pointed downward.
At the floor.
Lorenzo went still.
“The basement?”
Four taps.
One of the guards spoke.
“Boss, there’s nothing in the basement except storage and the old wine cellar.”
Giovanni tapped three times.
Lorenzo looked at him.
“There’s something else?”
Four.
Twenty minutes later, I should have been resting.
Instead, I was following Lorenzo Moretti into a part of the estate I had never known existed.
He had insisted I stay upstairs.
Giovanni had refused.
Every time Lorenzo attempted to send me away, his father tapped three times.
Finally, Dr. Russo agreed I could walk slowly as long as I avoided stairs.
So one of Lorenzo’s men carried Giovanni while another carried his wheelchair.
We descended through a service elevator hidden behind the old pantry.
The basement smelled of stone, dust, and wine.
Lorenzo led us past shelves containing bottles older than I was.
At the far wall, Giovanni pointed toward a wooden cabinet.
We moved it aside.
Behind it was a steel door.
Lorenzo stared.
“I never knew this existed.”
Giovanni looked almost amused.
A keypad was mounted beside the frame.
“Code?” Lorenzo asked.
Giovanni tapped four times.
Then began indicating numbers using his fingers.
Lorenzo entered them.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Beyond it lay a narrow concrete corridor.
My skin prickled.
At the end was a small room containing filing cabinets, old monitors, weapons lockers, and a large metal desk.
It looked untouched for years.
Lorenzo ran his hand across the dust.
“My father’s emergency archive.”
Giovanni pointed toward the desk.
Lorenzo opened the first drawer.
Empty.
Second.
Empty.
Third.
Locked.
One of his men forced it open.
Inside was a leather folder.
And a photograph.
Lorenzo picked it up.
His entire body stiffened.
I could see the picture from where I stood.
A younger Giovanni.
Beside him was a beautiful dark-haired woman I assumed was Lorenzo’s mother.
And beside her…
Mrs. Gable.
Except she looked twenty years younger.
Lorenzo flipped the photograph over.
There was handwriting on the back.
He read it aloud.
“Palermo. August 17.”
Giovanni closed his eyes.
Beneath the photo were documents.
Bank transfers.
Passenger manifests.
Copies of passports.
And one envelope bearing Lorenzo’s name.
His hands shook slightly as he opened it.
Inside was a letter.
The first sentence changed everything.
Lorenzo read silently at first.
Then stopped.
“What?”
One of his men stepped forward.
Lorenzo lifted his eyes toward Giovanni.
“What does this mean?”
Giovanni stared at the floor.
Lorenzo unfolded the letter fully.
I saw the signature at the bottom.
Elena Moretti.
His mother.
Lorenzo began reading aloud.
“If you are reading this, then Giovanni has either failed to protect the truth…”
He stopped.
His voice had changed.
“…or chosen to bury it.”
Giovanni’s breathing became uneven.
Lorenzo continued.
“Lorenzo must never learn who his biological father is until he is strong enough to survive what that knowledge will bring.”
Nobody spoke.
I felt as though the floor had shifted.
Lorenzo stared at the page.
Then at Giovanni.
“You’re not my father?”
Giovanni’s eyes flooded with tears.
Lorenzo stepped backward.
“No.”
He shook his head.
“No, no, no.”
He looked at the letter again.
“Who?”
Giovanni would not answer.
Lorenzo’s voice rose.
“Who is my father?”
Before Giovanni could move, something buzzed on the metal desk.
Everyone turned.
An old telephone.
Impossible.
The room supposedly had not been used in years.
Yet the phone rang again.
Lorenzo motioned for everyone to stay quiet.
Then he answered.
“Who is this?”
A faint voice came through the receiver.
I could not hear the words.
But I saw Lorenzo’s face.
Whatever the caller said drained all emotion from him.
Then his eyes moved slowly toward me.
Not Giovanni.
Me.
My stomach tightened.
“What?” I whispered.
Lorenzo listened for several seconds.
Then he said, “That’s impossible.”
The voice continued.
His gaze dropped toward my pregnant stomach.
Cold fear crawled up my spine.
Lorenzo lowered the receiver.
“Emily.”
I stood very still.
“What?”
“Your boyfriend.”
“Brody?”
Lorenzo looked toward his men.
Then back at me.
“You said he disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Did you ever see a body?”
My throat tightened.
“No.”
The telephone remained pressed against his ear.
Lorenzo’s eyes darkened.
“He’s alive.”
For a second, relief hit me so hard I nearly collapsed.
Then Lorenzo said the rest.
“He’s inside the estate.”
A gunshot echoed somewhere above us.
Giovanni’s eyes widened.
Lorenzo immediately drew his weapon.
The old telephone clicked.
The caller disconnected.
Then the emergency monitor on the wall suddenly flickered to life.
Static rolled across the screen.
An image appeared.
The mansion’s front foyer.
A man stood beneath the chandelier.
Snow covered his coat.
Blood streaked one side of his face.
My heart stopped.
Brody.
He looked directly into the security camera.
Then he smiled.
Not the frightened, charming smile I remembered.
Something colder.
Something I had never seen before.
In one hand, he held Mrs. Gable by the hair.
In the other, a pistol.
He dragged her toward the camera.
Mrs. Gable was crying.
Brody leaned close to the lens.
Although there was no sound, his lips moved clearly enough for Lorenzo to understand.
Lorenzo’s face turned pale.
“What did he say?” I whispered.
He did not answer.
I grabbed his sleeve.
“What did he say?”
Lorenzo stared at me.
Then at my stomach.
Finally, he spoke.
“He said Mrs. Gable isn’t the traitor.”
My blood went cold.
“Then who is?”
On the monitor, Brody raised the gun.
He pointed it directly at the camera.
His smile widened.
And behind him, the front doors opened.
A dozen armed men entered the Moretti estate.
Men Lorenzo clearly recognized.
His guards began shouting.
Giovanni slammed his hand against the wheelchair.
Four times.
Four times again.
Again.
Warning us.
Lorenzo whispered a single name.
“Salvatore.”
Giovanni shut his eyes.
I remembered the letter.
Lorenzo must never learn who his biological father is until he is strong enough to survive what that knowledge will bring.
Lorenzo stared at the invading men.
Then at Giovanni.
“Salvatore is my father?”
Giovanni tapped four times.
Above us, gunfire erupted through the mansion.
Brody leaned toward the camera one final time.
This time I could read his lips myself.
Hello, Emily.
Then he pointed directly at my stomach.
May you like
And mouthed four words that turned my blood to ice.
The baby belongs to us.
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