The Forged Signature On The Boarding School Deposit

“Stay here,” Luca ordered, his voice brooking no argument. “Lock the door.”

He sprinted out of the room, his footsteps thundering down the hallway.

I immediately closed the heavy oak door, throwing the deadbolt. I turned to Matteo. The boy was trembling, clutching the pile of torn paper to his chest.

“Matteo, sit in the closet,” I said gently but firmly. “Do not come out until your father or I open the door. Do you understand?”

He nodded, his eyes wide with fear, and scrambled into the large walk-in closet.

I stood in the center of the ruined room, my heart pounding in my ears.

Downstairs, the mansion was dead silent. The guests were gone. The catering staff had fled.

Then, a sudden, echoing CRACK shattered the silence.

Gunfire.

It came from the basement.

I didn’t think. Instinct took over. I couldn’t stay hidden while the man who had just saved my mother’s life was fighting a war downstairs.

I grabbed a heavy, solid bronze bookend from the overturned desk. It weighed at least five pounds.

I unlocked the bedroom door and ran.

I slipped down the servant’s staircase, my soft-soled shoes making no noise on the wooden steps.

I reached the ground floor kitchen. The door to the basement stood wide open, plunging into the dark, cavernous depths of the mansion’s foundation.

I crept down the concrete stairs, gripping the bronze bookend so tightly my knuckles ached.

The basement was a labyrinth of wine cellars, utility rooms, and the secure holding area Luca used for syndicate business.

At the end of the hallway, the heavy steel door to the family vault was wide open.

Fluorescent light spilled out onto the concrete floor.

I peered around the corner.

My breath caught in my throat.

Marcus, the head of security, was lying unconscious against the wall, a deep gash on his forehead.

Inside the vault, Luca was on one knee, blood dripping from a cut above his eye. His pistol had been kicked away, sliding out of reach under a metal shelving unit.

Standing over him was a massive, scarred man in a chauffeur’s uniform. Vanessa’s driver. He had an iron crowbar raised high above his head, ready to bring it down on Luca’s skull.

And behind the driver stood Vanessa.

She was frantically shoving stacks of bearer bonds and velvet jewelry boxes into a canvas duffel bag.

“Kill him!” Vanessa screamed at the driver. “Finish it so we can leave!”

The driver swung the crowbar down.

Luca managed to roll to the side, the iron bar sparking violently against the concrete floor. But Luca was dizzy, struggling to get his footing. The driver raised the bar again.

I didn’t yell. I didn’t hesitate.

I stepped up behind the massive driver, raised the bronze bookend, and swung it with every ounce of strength I had in my body.

The heavy bronze struck the base of the driver’s skull with a sickening crunch.

The giant man’s eyes rolled back. He dropped the crowbar and collapsed to the floor like a felled tree, narrowly missing Luca.

Vanessa spun around, dropping the duffel bag.

She stared at me, then at the unconscious giant at my feet.

“You,” she hissed, her face contorted with absolute hatred.

She lunged at me, her hands reaching for my throat.

But before she could take two steps, Luca was on his feet.

He grabbed Vanessa by the shoulders, spun her around, and slammed her face-first into the cold steel wall of the vault. He pinned her arms behind her back with one hand, his chest heaving as he glared down at her.

“It’s over,” Luca breathed, his voice ragged but victorious.

Vanessa thrashed, crying in frustration, but she couldn’t break his grip.

Luca looked up at me. Blood was running down his cheek, staining the collar of his white tuxedo shirt.

He looked at the bronze bookend in my trembling hands.

Then, the terrifying Mafia boss gave me a slow, exhausted, genuinely awed smile.