Chapter 6 - THE TICKET
Wood splintered. Glass shattered. The grand piano above me shuddered as bullets chewed through its polished mahogany body.
I hit the floor hard, my injured right hand screaming in pain as I scrambled beneath the heavy brass pedals. The smell of gunpowder and pulverized drywall choked the air.
Luca was moving like a ghost. He fired twice from behind a marble pillar, the sharp crack-crack of his pistol dropping one of Marcus’s men instantly.
“Flank him!” Marcus roared over the deafening noise.
I huddled tighter into a ball, clutching the silver bracelet and my father’s pocket watch against my chest. My heart was beating so fast my vision blurred. I had to protect the hard drive in my pocket. It was the only thing that could save Luca, Mia, and my mother.
My mother.
The revelation that she had been trapped by this family for twenty years burned through my terror, replacing it with a white-hot fury.
Mrs. Carter was crawling frantically toward the heavy velvet curtains, weeping hysterically. One of Marcus’s men spotted her. He raised his weapon.
Without thinking, I grabbed a heavy bronze metronome from the floor—knocked off the piano during the gunfire—and hurled it with my left hand. It struck the gunman squarely in the temple. He stumbled backward, his shot going wide and shattering a window.
Luca used the distraction. He lunged from cover, tackling the gunman to the floor, disarming him with a brutal strike to the jaw.
But Marcus was ready. He swung his rifle, the heavy wooden stock catching Luca hard in the ribs. Luca grunted, dropping to one knee. Marcus pressed the barrel of the rifle to the back of Luca’s head.
“Game over, Boss,” Marcus sneered.
I stopped breathing.
But as Marcus stepped forward to execute him, his heavy black overcoat caught on the splintered edge of the piano bench. He yanked it free, and a small piece of thick, yellowed paper fluttered from his pocket, landing directly in front of my face under the piano.
I stared at it. It was a vintage train ticket. Chicago to Montreal. Date: November 12th.
That was tonight.
Marcus wasn't planning on ruling beside Vanessa. He was planning on running with the embezzled money. He was playing her, just as she was playing him.
“Wait!” I screamed, scrambling out from under the piano, my hands raised. “Marcus, wait!”
Marcus paused, glancing down at me with a cruel smile. “Ah. The maid. Vanessa wants to deal with you herself, sweetheart.”
“She doesn't know you’re leaving, does she?” I said, my voice trembling but loud enough for the room to hear.
Marcus froze.
“What are you talking about?” he demanded, his finger tightening on the trigger.
I pointed a shaking finger at the yellow ticket on the floor. “A one-way ticket to Montreal for tonight. You’re not taking over the syndicate. You’re taking the offshore accounts and running.”
For a split second, Marcus looked down at the ticket on the floor.
It was the only mistake he ever made.
Luca spun on his knee, sweeping Marcus’s legs out from under him. The underboss hit the floor with a heavy thud, his rifle clattering away. Before Marcus could recover, Luca drove a brutal punch into his jaw, knocking him out cold.
The music room plunged into a ringing silence, broken only by the sound of rain lashing against the broken window.
Luca stood up, breathing heavily, clutching his bruised ribs. He looked down at Marcus, then at me. His eyes were wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief.
“You just bluffed down an armed mobster with a train ticket,” he panted.
“It wasn't a bluff,” I said, picking up the yellow stub with trembling fingers. I handed it to him.
Luca looked at the date. A grim smile touched his bloody lips. “There is no honor among thieves.”
“We have to go,” I said, grabbing his arm. “The gunshots... Donatello’s men will be up here in seconds.”
“Right.” Luca grabbed Marcus’s radio from his belt. It was crackling with panicked voices. He looked at Mrs. Carter, who was shaking by the curtains. “Martha. Get out through the gardens. Hide.”
The old woman nodded, scrambling out the broken window onto the terrace.
“Come on,” Luca grabbed my good hand, pulling me toward the hidden servant’s corridor behind the bookshelves.
We burst out into the back alley, the freezing rain soaking us instantly. Sirens were beginning to wail in the distance. The front of the estate was in chaos.
“We have the tapes. We have the bracelet,” I yelled over the storm as we ran down the dark alley toward where he had parked his car. “We can go to the police now!”
“No,” Luca said, unlocking the sleek black sedan. “The police are bought. Half the precinct is on Donatello’s payroll. We have to take this directly to the syndicate council. We have to play the tapes for them.”
I slid into the passenger seat, shivering violently. Luca climbed in, starting the engine with a roar.
As he threw the car into drive, my phone buzzed in my coat pocket.
I froze. No one called me at 2:00 AM except...
“My mother,” I breathed, pulling the phone out. But the caller ID didn't say Mom.
It was an unknown number.
My hands shook as I answered it and put it on speaker.
“Grace?”
The voice was sweet. Too sweet. It was Vanessa.
Luca slammed on the brakes, throwing the car into park in the middle of a deserted intersection.
“Vanessa,” I choked out.
“I’m so disappointed, Grace,” Vanessa purred through the speaker. “Marcus just woke up and told me you two made quite a mess of my music room. And you took my hard drive.”
“It’s over, Vanessa,” Luca snarled, leaning close to the phone. “We have the proof. I’m taking it to Donatello right now. You’re a dead woman.”
Vanessa laughed. A cold, hollow sound that made my blood run cold.
“I don't think you’ll do that, darling,” Vanessa said smoothly. “Because if you step foot inside that meeting, I’ll have to make a very tragic phone call. You see, I decided to take a little drive tonight.”
A child’s whimper came through the phone.
My heart stopped.
“Say hello to your uncle, Mia,” Vanessa commanded softly.
“Uncle Luca?” Mia’s terrified, tiny voice echoed through the car. “I’m scared.”
Luca let out a sound like a dying animal. He gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned.
“You really shouldn't have left her alone in the penthouse, Grace,” Vanessa chided. “Did you really think I didn't have eyes on that apartment?”
“Don't touch her!” I screamed, tears blinding me. “You psycho, she’s just a little girl!”
May you like
“Bring the hard drive to the old Orpheum Theater downtown,” Vanessa said, her voice dropping all pretense of sweetness, becoming cold and lethal. “You have twenty minutes. Come alone. If you call Donatello, or if you’re one minute late, I will throw her off the roof.”
The line went dead.
