Chapter 9 - Secrets, Lies, and a Dangerous Alliance
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed midnight, its heavy hollow echo reverberating through the silent halls of the Moretti mansion. Luca had been gone for four hours—an eternity in the volatile world of the Chicago syndicate.
Teresa and Michael had finally retired upstairs under the care of security guards, exhausted by the emotional toll of the past week. I, however, remained wide awake in the main kitchen, brewing a fresh pot of coffee to combat the exhaustion.
Suddenly, the kitchen's security monitor flickered.
I paused, setting my mug down. On the small screen mounted by the pantry door, the exterior camera facing the western service entrance showed a flickering light. Someone was trying to bypass the electronic gate lock using a master administrative override code.
A code that only senior household staff or high-ranking security members possessed.
My heart skipped a beat. I remembered Luca’s warning: “Not every rat was caught.”
Quietly, I crept away from the kitchen counter, grabbing a heavy brass candlestick holder from the hallway table as an improvised weapon. I crept down the dimly lit corridor toward the service entrance, my breathing shallow and controlled.
As I peered around the corner of the hallway, I saw a dark figure slipping through the heavy service door. It was Detective Vance—not Julian, but his cousin Marcus, a corrupt cop on Colombo’s payroll who had acted as an informant inside the local police precinct.
He was holding a portable radio transmitter, whispering into it quietly. “...perimeter is clear on the west wing. The house is vulnerable. Move in now before Moretti returns from the shipyard.”
My blood ran cold.
Before I could retreat to press my encrypted panic button, a heavy hand clamped over my mouth from behind, cutting off my gasp. Another arm wrapped around my waist like a steel band, lifting me off my feet and dragging me backward into the dark utility closet.
“Quiet, little translator,” a harsh voice hissed in my ear—an unknown Colombo operative who had slipped in behind me. “Make a single sound, and this knife goes straight through your spine.”
Panic surged through my veins, but survival instinct took over. Remembering the self-defense lessons Luca’s chief of security had taught me, I stomped my heel down with all my might onto the attacker’s bare foot.
The man grunted in agony, loosening his grip for a fraction of a second.
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That was all the opening I needed. I slammed my elbow backward into his ribs, spun around, and cracked the heavy brass candlestick holder across his temple. He dropped to the floor like a stone, unconscious.
Without wasting a second, I whipped out Luca’s encrypted panic device from my pocket and smashed the red button three times.
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