Chapter 4 - The Cellar Door
The air in the basement was thick with the smell of damp concrete, old dust, and the sour sweetness of fermenting grapes. The temperature dropped significantly with every step I took down the stone stairs, until my breath became visible in the dim light of my flashlight.
I moved like a ghost, keeping my weight on the outer edges of the steps to avoid making any sound. My hand was steady on the grip of the Beretta in my pocket.
The wine cellar was a maze of wooden racks holding thousands of dusty bottles, some dating back to my grandfather's time in Sicily. At the very back of the basement, past the modern storage area, was the old vault. It was a room reinforced with thick concrete walls and a heavy, industrial-grade steel door that had been installed during the Prohibition era to hide the family's bootlegged alcohol.
I approached the door.
I turned off my flashlight, letting the absolute darkness wrap around me. I stood perfectly still, closing my eyes, letting my senses adapt to the quiet.
For a long time, there was nothing but the distant hum of the estate's ventilation system.
Then, I heard it.
Tap.
A long pause.
Tap.
Another pause.
Tap.
It was exactly as Harper had described. It was weak, hollow, and agonizingly slow. It was the sound of a woman tapping a stone or a metal pipe against the inside of the thick steel door.
I stepped forward and placed my palm against the cold metal of the door. "Mia," I whispered, my voice barely louder than the draft. "It's Alessandro. I'm here."
The tapping stopped instantly.
"Al... Alessandro?" her voice came through the thick steel, so faint and raspy it sounded like dry leaves scraping against concrete. "Please... Harper... is she..."
"Harper is safe. She is upstairs, dry and fed," I said, my voice hardening. "Hold on, Mia. I'm going to open the door."
I reached for the heavy brass latch, but before I could touch it, the bright, harsh beam of a high-powered flashlight cut through the darkness, blinding me.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, brother," a familiar voice said from the shadows behind me.
I didn't move. I didn't reach for my gun. I slowly raised my hands to my shoulders, my eyes adjusting to the glare.
Victor Romano stepped into the light. He held a customized Colt .45 pointed directly at my chest. Beside him stood Victoria, her face pale, her eyes wide with a mixture of terror and desperation.
"You always were too smart for your own good, Alessandro," Victor said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "I told Victoria you'd figure it out eventually, but she insisted we had more time."
"Why, Victor?" I asked, keeping my voice calm, my eyes tracking his finger on the trigger. "Twenty years. We built this empire together."
"We built it, but you rule it," Victor spat, his face twisting with a sudden, ugly rage. "You took the Moretti name and treated me like an employee. I did the dirty work. I killed the people who needed to die while you sat in your study playing the legitimate businessman. And then you brought this girl into the house, planning to give her half the assets through the marriage trust."
"This was about the money?" I asked, looking at Victoria.
Victoria swallowed, her voice trembling. "My father was ruined, Alessandro. Victor offered me a way out. All I had to do was get close to you, find the bank codes in your private safe, and plant the federal conspiracy files in your study. Once you were arrested, Victor would take over the family, and I would get my share."
"And Mia?"
"She caught her," Victor said, gesturing toward Victoria. "Three nights ago, Victoria was in the vault trying to access your backup drive. Mia walked in to get clean towels for the guest room. She saw the documents. She saw the safe open. We couldn't let her leave."
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"So you locked her in a vault to starve," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerously quiet register.
"It was temporary," Victor said, his smile returning, cold and devoid of humanity. "Just until we finished the transfer of the funds tomorrow. But now that you're down here... I think the story changes. A tragic accident. The Don and his housekeeper, trapped in the old cellar during a storm. A gas leak, perhaps. Such a tragedy."
