Chapter 4 - The Broken Crown
Luca pulled me behind the desk before the second shot struck the wall.
Wood splintered above us.
I covered my head.
The gunfire stopped almost as suddenly as it had begun.
Then came silence.
Luca crouched beside me, one hand pressed to his wound.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
He checked anyway.
His hand moved over my shoulder, then stopped as if he had suddenly remembered who I was.
“Stay here.”
“Absolutely not.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You are arguing with me during a shooting?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting timing.”
He reached for his phone.
No signal.
Someone had jammed communications.
That frightened him more than the bullets.
He moved toward a panel hidden beside the fireplace and pressed the lion’s crown.
A section of wall opened.
I stared.
“You have a secret passage?”
“It’s an old house.”
“That is not a normal old-house feature.”
“Rosalie.”
“Right.”
We entered.
The passage was narrow and smelled of dust.
Luca closed the panel behind us.
We moved in darkness until a dim emergency light appeared.
His breathing worsened.
“You’re bleeding again.”
“I’ll survive.”
“You say that with suspicious confidence.”
“I’ve had practice.”
He almost stumbled.
I caught him.
For one second, his weight leaned heavily against me.
“Luca.”
It was the first time I had used his name.
He looked down.
Something passed between us that neither acknowledged.
Then we kept moving.
The passage ended beneath the main staircase.
Don Salvatore was waiting.
He held a pistol.
Marisol stood behind him with a kitchen knife.
I stared at her.
“A knife?”
She looked offended.
“I work in a kitchen.”
Salvatore saw Luca’s wound.
“Again?”
“Again,” Luca said.
Apparently this was not his first bad evening.
Salvatore’s gaze moved to me.
“You opened the folder.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Luca stiffened.
“You planned this.”
“I suspected the ledger would provoke whoever has been watching the Bellucci girl.”
“You used her as bait?”
Luca’s voice became dangerously soft.
Salvatore did not flinch.
“I used the ledger.”
“She was carrying it.”
“She was never supposed to encounter you.”
“But she did.”
Their argument revealed something strange.
Luca was furious on my behalf.
I stepped between them before that realization became distracting.
“What does the broken crown mean?”
Salvatore’s expression changed.
“Matteo found something before he died.”
“What?”
“A second set of accounts.”
“Where?”
“We never found them.”
I remembered my father’s note.
The lion with the broken crown hides what they are all afraid to remember.
My eyes traveled around the corridor.
Family crests appeared throughout the mansion.
Hundreds.
But one place mattered more than others.
“The entrance.”
Everyone looked at me.
“The inscription above the main entrance. Il sangue ricorda. The largest crest in the house is there.”
Marisol blinked.
“I have cleaned that thing for 4 years.”
“Did you ever touch the crown?”
“No. House rule.”
Never touch anything bearing the family crest.
Suddenly the rule made sense.
We moved toward the entrance hall.
Salvatore ordered guards to secure the corridors.
The mansion was awake now.
Men moved through rooms.
Doors slammed.
Somewhere Bianca demanded to know what was happening.
We ignored her.
The bronze crest above the entrance stood nearly 3 feet wide.
Luca climbed onto the lower staircase ledge despite my protest.
He pressed the broken crown.
Nothing.
He twisted it.
A click sounded.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a metal box.
Nobody breathed.
Salvatore removed it.
The lock had rusted.
Marisol returned with a hammer.
Luca looked at her.
“Why do you have that?”
“I contain multitudes.”
She broke the lock.
Inside were notebooks, photographs, bank statements, and a small cassette recorder.
At the bottom lay a photograph.
My father stood beside Antonio Lazzeri.
Bianca’s late husband.
Both men were younger.
Both were smiling.
On the back, my father had written:
Antonio knows. If something happens to me, ask his wife where he kept the Palermo account.
Everyone turned toward the staircase.
Bianca stood there.
Her face had gone white.
“You,” I whispered.
She descended slowly.
“You should have stayed invisible, Rosalie.”
Luca stepped forward.
“Careful.”
Bianca laughed bitterly.
“Oh, Luca. Still protecting wounded birds.”
“What did Antonio know?”
She looked at the box.
Then at me.
“My husband discovered your father was collecting evidence.”
“Against whom?”
“Your father.”
Salvatore frowned.
“That is a lie.”
“Is it?”
Bianca pulled something from her sleeve.
Not a gun.
A key.
She threw it onto the marble.
It skidded to my feet.
“Ask Salvatore why Matteo Bellucci had a private safe in this mansion.”
I looked at the old consigliere.
His expression told me she had finally landed a blow.
“What safe?”
Salvatore lowered his weapon.
“Your father asked me to hide it.”
“Where?”
“Not here.”
“Then where?”
Before he answered, one of the guards rushed into the hall.
“Boss.”
Luca turned.
The guard was pale.
“We found the shooter.”
“Alive?”
“No.”
“Who was he?”
The guard hesitated.
“One of ours.”
Luca’s jaw tightened.
“Name.”
“Carlo Vane.”
Salvatore whispered a curse.
I knew that name.
Not from the mansion.
From home.
Carlo Vane had visited my mother 3 days earlier.
He had introduced himself as an insurance representative.
I had left him alone with her for nearly 20 minutes.
“My mother.”
Luca looked at me.
“What?”
I could barely speak.
“He knows where my mother lives.”
Luca did not ask another question.
May you like
He turned toward his men.
“Cars. Now.”
