Chapter 2 - The Secret Buried Under Moretti House
The next thirty seconds happened too quickly for fear to keep up.
Alessandro shoved me behind a stone pillar and moved toward the corridor.
I caught his sleeve.
“Don’t go.”
His gaze dropped to my hand.
“You're worried about me?”
“I’m worried about being shot.”
“That sounded almost convincing.”
A third shot rang out.
Then a crash.
Alessandro’s humor disappeared.
He touched the earpiece in his left ear.
“Dominic.”
Static.
“Dominic.”
Nothing.
He looked at me.
“That’s bad.”
I swallowed.
“How bad?”
“Very.”
He grabbed the box.
“Stay behind me.”
We moved through the underground corridor.
Every step echoed.
I expected men with guns.
Instead, we found Dominic standing at the end of the hall with blood spreading across his shirt.
“Boss,” he gasped.
Alessandro caught him.
“Who?”
Dominic forced the words out.
“Inside job.”
His knees buckled.
Alessandro lowered him carefully.
“Who did this?”
Dominic looked at me.
“Her.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
Dominic's eyes rolled back.
Alessandro looked at me.
For one terrible moment, I wondered whether he believed him.
Then he pulled me against the wall and covered me with his body as bullets ripped through the corridor entrance.
“Stay down!”
Stone exploded around us.
I covered my head.
Alessandro fired three times.
Silence.
He moved.
I heard someone groan.
Then nothing.
He checked his weapon and looked at me.
“You still breathing?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He stood.
Dominic was unconscious but alive.
Alessandro pulled his phone out.
“Emergency team. Basement corridor. Three attackers. One alive.”
Then he looked at me.
“Why did Dominic say you?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't?”
“I don't.”
He believed me.
Or at least he wanted to.
Minutes later, security teams flooded the estate.
The attackers had entered through the service tunnels.
Someone had disabled the cameras.
Someone had known exactly where the box would be.
That someone had access to Moretti security.
And perhaps worse, they knew about me.
I was locked in a guest bedroom under guard.
I hated it.
My grandmother's face flashed through my mind.
I demanded to call her.
Alessandro entered carrying two cups of coffee.
“No.”
“No what?”
“You're not calling the hospital.”
I stood.
“You cannot keep me here.”
“I can.”
“You don't own me.”
His eyes darkened.
“No. I don't.”
He placed the coffee down.
“But someone is using you as a target.”
“My grandmother is alone.”
“I sent two men to the hospital.”
I froze.
“You did what?”
“She'll have protection.”
“From whom?”
“Anyone who gets too curious.”
I stared at him.
“You're terrifying.”
“I've been told.”
“And you're arrogant.”
“Frequently.”
“And completely insane.”
“That is probably accurate.”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Then I remembered my mother.
“Tell me about her.”
He went still.
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Who told you to ask?”
“Nobody.”
I stepped closer.
“I saw the photograph.”
Silence.
“My mother was Sarah Hayes. She died when I was eight. My grandmother said she worked in New York restaurants. She told me my mother met the wrong people.”
Alessandro sat down.
“She lied.”
I felt like the floor disappeared.
“My mother worked for my father.”
“Doing what?”
“Accounting.”
My throat tightened.
“She was an accountant?”
“A very good one.”
“What happened?”
“She discovered something she wasn't supposed to discover.”
“What?”
“Your father.”
I stared.
Alessandro slowly opened a drawer and removed a file.
He placed it on the table.
My hands trembled before I touched it.
Inside were photographs of a man I recognized immediately.
My father.
Ethan Hayes.
A man I had been told died in a car accident before I was born.
But the photographs showed him standing beside Don Moretti.
Alive.
Smiling.
Rich.
Powerful.
And holding the silver key from the box.
I looked at Alessandro.
“My father knew your father.”
“Yes.”
“They worked together.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did my grandmother tell me he was dead?”
“Because he disappeared.”
“Why?”
Alessandro said nothing.
I opened the next folder.
Inside was a handwritten ledger.
Names.
Payments.
Shipping routes.
Judges.
Police officers.
Politicians.
I turned another page.
Then I saw one line.
Ethan Hayes — $8,000,000.
My pulse stopped.
“What is this?”
“He was moving money.”
“Illegal money?”
“Yes.”
My anger rose.
“You knew who my father was all this time.”
“I knew his name.”
“And me?”
“I didn't know who you were until today.”
I shook my head.
“That’s not true.”
“What?”
“You knew something.”
He looked away.
“You've been watching me.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Three weeks.”
“Why?”
“Because the week before you were hired, someone broke into this house looking for an employee record.”
My heart pounded.
“What employee?”
“You.”
I could barely breathe.
“Why me?”
Alessandro leaned back.
“That is what I intend to find out.”
Before I could reply, there was a knock.
A young security officer entered.
“Boss, we found something.”
He placed an envelope on the table.
Inside was a photograph.
Me.
Leaving the hospital last month.
My grandmother walking beside me.
On the back was a handwritten sentence.
SHE HAS HIS BLOOD.
Alessandro's expression turned deadly.
“Who found this?”
“Inside the west gate.”
“Who delivered it?”
“We don't know.”
Alessandro stood.
The room seemed colder.
I whispered, “His blood?”
He stared at me.
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
He said nothing.
I stepped backward.
“Tell me.”
His jaw tightened.
“Your father wasn't just an accountant.”
“What was he?”
“He was the man who created the Moretti family's offshore network.”
I felt sick.
“And my mother?”
“She tried to destroy it.”
“Did you kill her?”
His eyes widened.
“No.”
“Did your father?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Alessandro looked at the photograph again.
“That is the question nobody has survived answering.”
A quiet sound came from the hallway.
Three knocks.
Alessandro froze.
“Did you hear that?”
“Yes.”
He drew his gun.
The door opened slowly.
A little old woman stood there.
My grandmother.
I ran to her.
“Grandma?”
She grabbed my face.
“Oh, Clara.”
I hugged her.
Then she looked over my shoulder.
Her eyes landed on Alessandro.
All the color disappeared from her face.
“You.”
Alessandro stared.
“You know me.”
My grandmother started shaking.
“I know your family.”
She turned to me.
“We have to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother was not the only person who was supposed to die that night.”
May you like
She looked at Alessandro.
“You were supposed to die too.”
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