Chapter 6 - Smoke Beneath the MarbleFor several seconds, the mansion had no shape.
There was only smoke, shattered glass, screaming, and the violent ringing in Alessandro’s ears.
He opened his eyes on the marble floor.
A crystal shard lay inches from his face. Sunlight flashed through smoke like broken knives. Somewhere nearby, Maria was crying Lily’s name.
That brought Alessandro fully awake.
He pushed himself up, ignoring the blood running from his temple.
“Lily!”
“I’m here!”
Her voice came from beneath the table.
Small.
Alive.
Alessandro crawled toward it.
Maria had wrapped herself around her daughter, shielding Lily with her own body. Blood streaked Maria’s arm, but her grip on the child had not loosened.
Alessandro lifted the fallen tablecloth and saw Lily clutching the silver pendant against her chest.
For one second, the most feared man in Baltimore looked relieved.
Then the moment was gone.
“Nico!”
His bodyguard emerged from the smoke near the archway, coughing hard, a cut across his cheek.
“Alive.”
“Carlo?”
Nico looked toward the wheelchair.
It was empty.
So was Isabella’s chair.
So was the floor where Grant Bellamy had been pinned.
The nurse was gone too.
Alessandro stood slowly.
The explosion had not been meant to destroy the house.
It had been meant to create confusion.
A magician’s flash.
A traitor’s exit.
“Basement level,” Nico said. “Maybe the east service tunnel.”
Alessandro looked at Maria.
“Can you walk?”
She nodded, though pain bent her mouth.
He looked at Lily.
The child’s eyes were huge, wet, and furious.
“She took him,” Lily whispered.
“Who?”
“Isabella. She took the old man.”
Alessandro glanced at Nico.
“How do you know?”
Lily pointed toward the smoke-darkened floor.
A smear of blood led away from the wheelchair tracks.
“His foot was cut. She dragged him a little before the guard helped.”
Nico stared at the floor.
The child was right.
Alessandro crouched before Lily.
“Did you see where?”
“The kitchen hall.”
Maria tightened her hold.
“No. She has done enough.”
Lily looked at her mother.
“If I don’t help, they’ll kill him like they killed Papa.”
The words split the room open.
Maria closed her eyes.
Alessandro’s voice softened.
“No one is asking you to be brave.”
Lily looked at him.
“I’m not brave. I’m scared and doing it anyway.”
For the first time that morning, Alessandro had no answer.
Father Brennan coughed near the table.
He was alive, one hand pressed against his shoulder. The envelope was gone from the table, but Alessandro still had the photograph and handwritten note tucked inside his jacket. The key had fallen somewhere in the blast.
“The envelope,” the priest said.
“I have part of it.”
“The key?”
Alessandro looked down.
Smoke curled over the marble.
Lily was already searching.
“Lily, don’t touch anything,” Maria said.
But the child had spotted it beneath a broken chair.
She reached carefully, picked it up by the ribbon, and handed it to Alessandro.
The key was old, brass, and engraved with two letters.
P9.
Pier 9.
Daniel Carrow had been found dead beneath Pier 9.
Mateo Reyes had died after investigating Pier 9.
And now the key to Pier 9 had survived an explosion in Alessandro’s dining room.
Nico looked at it.
“Boss, the tunnels under the east kitchen connect to the old wine cellar. From there, they can reach the garden road.”
“Seal every exit.”
“I already sent men.”
“Send different men.”
Nico understood the insult and the order.
If half the family had been turned, no familiar face could be trusted.
He left immediately.
Alessandro turned to Maria.
“I’m moving you and Lily to the safe room.”
“No,” Lily said.
Maria looked down in horror.
“Lily.”
The girl stood straighter, still in pajamas, still barefoot, still trembling.
“If you lock us away, she wins.”
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed.
“She?”
“Isabella.”
“No,” Father Brennan said quietly.
Everyone turned.
The priest leaned heavily against a chair.
“Mateo’s note said not Isabella.”
Alessandro removed the paper from his jacket again.
Not Isabella. Her.
Maria stared at the words.
“What does that mean?”
Father Brennan’s face looked older than it had moments before.
“Daniel Carrow had a wife.”
Isabella’s mother, Alessandro thought.
“No,” Father Brennan said, reading his expression. “Not Isabella’s mother.”
He swallowed.
“Carlo’s wife.”
Alessandro’s blood went cold.
“Aunt Vittoria has been dead for fifteen years.”
Father Brennan looked toward the smoky hallway.
“That is what Carlo wanted everyone to believe.”
Outside, sirens began wailing in the distance.
Police.
Fire.
Maybe honest.
Maybe bought.
Alessandro looked at the broken windows, the blood on the floor, the old key in his hand, and the little girl who had saved him from butter that was never really the beginning.
Then his phone buzzed.
A message from Isabella.
No words.
Just a photo.
It showed Carlo Romano seated in a car, alive and bleeding.
Beside him was Isabella.
Behind them stood a woman with silver hair, black gloves, and the same eyes Alessandro remembered from childhood portraits.
Under the photo was one sentence.
Bring Lily to Pier 9, or Maria dies next.
Alessandro looked at Maria.
May you like
Then at Lily.
And for the first time in years, the boss of Baltimore understood exactly how it felt to be hunted.
