Chapter 4 - THE FLIGHT INTO DARKNESS
The old utility tunnel beneath the mansion smelled of damp limestone and cold iron.
Isabella walked between us, her small hand clutched tightly in mine. She was wearing her oversized yellow rain boots and a heavy navy parka. She hadn't cried when I woke her. When I signed that we were going on a *secret adventure with Daddy,* she had simply nodded, her eyes wide, sensing the sharp current of danger vibrating through the adults around her.
Luca led the way, a heavy tactical flashlight cutting through the blackness of the underground corridor. Every few steps, he paused, holding his hand up to halt us, his ears straining for any sound above our heads.
Above us, the faint, distant roar of high-powered engines rumbled through the earth—Marco’s decoy convoy leaving the estate.
*Is Daddy hunting?* Isabella signed with one hand, looking up at me.
I swallowed a lump in my throat and signed back:
*Daddy is leading us to a safe place to play.*
She looked at her father’s back. Even in the gloom, she could see the tension in his posture, the gun ready in his right hand. She reached out and lightly tapped his hip.
Luca stopped instantly, turning and dropping to one knee before her. The hard, murderous edge in his face softened the moment he looked at his daughter.
*Yes, Peanut?* he signed with his left hand, keeping the flashlight steady.
Isabella lifted both hands, her fingers moving gracefully in the damp underground air.
*Don't be sad about the red lady. Claire said truth is brave. You are brave.*
A sharp, ragged breath caught in Luca’s chest. For a moment, the fearsome Don of Chicago looked completely undone by nine-year-old innocence. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, lingering against her dark curls.
*I am only brave because of you,* he signed back. *Now, walk like a little mouse. Not a sound, okay?*
She nodded, pressing her index finger to her lips in the universal symbol for silence.
At the end of the two-hundred-yard tunnel, a heavy rusted steel door opened into the back of an abandoned boathouse on the edge of the estate’s private shoreline. Rain lashed against the decaying wooden siding, the wind howling off Lake Michigan like a wounded beast.
Tucked beneath a dusty green tarp sat an old, nondescript black Volvo wagon.
“Get in the back with her,” Luca whispered, sliding behind the wheel after popping the rear doors for us. “Keep her head down below window level until we hit the interstate.”
I climbed in, pulling Isabella onto my lap and wrapping my arms around her. Luca turned the key. The engine turned over with a quiet, smooth purr—custom mechanics beneath a rusted, battered chassis.
We slipped out of the boathouse into the driving rain, taking the gravel utility roads that wound through the forested bluffs, far away from the gated main entrance.
Through the rear window, I looked back toward the Moretti mansion perched atop the cliff.
Suddenly, a bright flash of light illuminated the sky.
A massive explosion ripped through the eastern wing of the estate—the exact wing where Isabella’s bedroom was located.
I gasped, pressing Isabella’s head firmly against my chest so she wouldn't feel the vibration of the blast through the car frame.
In the rearview mirror, Luca’s eyes were pure murder.
“They didn't wait for Pier 42,” Luca muttered, his voice shaking with lethal rage. “They hit the house directly. If we had stayed in the panic room... we would have been buried alive.”
Vanessa hadn't just given her father the security codes. She had given him the demolition blueprint. She wanted Isabella dead to spite Luca for the broken engagement.
“Are we going to be okay?” I asked, my voice barely audible over the roaring storm.
Luca shifted into third gear, the Volvo accelerating smoothly down the dark highway into the blinding rain.
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“They think they just killed my daughter,” Luca said, his tone chillingly flat. “They think I’m a grieving father broken by fire. They have no idea what is coming for them.”
***
