Chapter 7 — The Man Who Should Have Been Dead
The darkness swallowed the mansion.
For one terrible second, nobody moved.
Then the emergency lights flickered on.
Red.
Dim.
Unforgiving.
Alessandro's hand tightened around mine.
“Stay with me.”
I could barely hear him over the alarm.
Somewhere upstairs, a door slammed.
Then another.
Footsteps.
Multiple sets.
Moving quickly through the house.
Marco looked toward the corridor.
“They're inside.”
Alessandro's expression hardened.
“How many?”
“Six that I can hear.”
His grandmother stepped forward.
“There are more.”
Alessandro turned.
“How do you know?”
“Because Stefano never sends six men.”
Her voice was calm.
“He sends six to make you think there are six.”
A gunshot cracked from the eastern wing.
Everyone flinched.
Alessandro pulled me behind him.
“Liam.”
“I'm here.”
“Get my grandmother downstairs.”
Liam nodded.
His eyes met mine.
“Stay close to him.”
I almost laughed.
As if I had a choice.
Alessandro moved toward the hallway.
I grabbed his sleeve.
“Wait.”
He looked at me.
“You can't go alone.”
“I won't.”
“You were going to.”
“Yes.”
“Then I'm coming.”
“No.”
His voice was firm.
“Elizabeth, this isn't negotiable.”
I stared at him.
“You said I shouldn't make decisions alone.”
“I did.”
“Then don't make this one for me.”
His jaw tightened.
For a moment, we simply stared at each other.
Then he nodded.
“Fine.”
He reached beneath his jacket and handed me a small pistol.
I stared at it.
“I've never used one.”
“You won't unless you have to.”
“How comforting.”
His eyes softened for half a second.
“Stay behind me.”
We moved down the corridor.
The mansion that had looked cold and beautiful only minutes earlier now felt like a trap.
Paintings hung crooked.
Glass doors stood open.
One security guard lay unconscious near the staircase.
I stopped.
“Is he—”
“Alive.”
Alessandro checked his pulse.
“Barely.”
We kept moving.
Then a shadow crossed the doorway.
Alessandro raised his weapon.
A man stepped into view.
He wore a black tactical vest.
Alessandro fired once.
The man dropped.
I froze.
I had never seen anyone shot before.
Alessandro immediately turned toward me.
“Look at me.”
I couldn't.
My eyes were fixed on the body.
“Elizabeth.”
I forced myself to look at him.
“You okay?”
I nodded.
He lowered his weapon.
“You don't have to become like us.”
“What does that mean?”
“You don't have to stop being who you are just because someone wants to hurt you.”
I swallowed.
Then another gunshot echoed.
Alessandro grabbed my hand.
“Move.”
We reached the study.
The door was open.
The safe behind the painting had been forced.
Marco entered behind us.
“It's gone.”
“What?”
“The original trust documents.”
My stomach dropped.
“Stefano took them?”
Marco nodded.
“He knew exactly where they were.”
Alessandro's face darkened.
“Then someone told him.”
His grandmother appeared in the doorway.
“I did.”
Everyone turned.
I stared at her.
“What?”
She looked at Alessandro.
“I told him where the documents were.”
Alessandro's face went cold.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted him to take them.”
Silence.
Marco stared at her.
“Mother.”
She looked at me.
“The documents are worthless without the key.”
I frowned.
“What key?”
She pointed toward the old photograph in my hand.
“That.”
I looked down.
The photograph of my mother and Marco.
“There's something hidden inside it.”
Alessandro took it carefully.
He examined the edges.
Then peeled back the paper backing.
A tiny brass key fell into his palm.
I stared.
“What does it open?”
His grandmother answered.
“The vault beneath the chapel.”
I felt a chill.
“What vault?”
“My father built it.”
Alessandro looked at her.
“And what's inside?”
“Everything.”
Before anyone could speak, a voice echoed from the hallway.
Stefano.
“You always were too clever, Mother.”
Alessandro raised his weapon.
Stefano stepped into view.
He wasn't alone.
Two men stood behind him.
But Stefano wasn't holding a gun.
He was holding a photograph.
My parents.
Alive.
Standing together.
And behind them stood a young boy.
I stared.
“Who is that?”
Stefano smiled.
“Your brother.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“I don't have a brother.”
“You do.”
Marco stepped forward.
“That isn't possible.”
Stefano looked at him.
“Isn't it?”
He held up the photograph.
“The child your mother believed died.”
Marco's expression changed.
“No.”
Stefano smiled.
“You've spent twenty-seven years believing you were the only survivor.”
He looked at me.
“But you weren't.”
Alessandro stepped between us.
“What are you talking about?”
Stefano's smile disappeared.
“Ask your father.”
“My father is dead.”
“Exactly.”
Then Stefano pulled out another photograph.
This one showed a hospital.
A newborn baby.
A bracelet around the infant's wrist.
I could barely breathe.
The bracelet had a name.
ELIZABETH.
My eyes widened.
Stefano looked at me.
“You've spent your entire life believing your parents hid you.”
He paused.
“They didn't.”
“They hid someone else.”
Then he dropped the photograph.
A bullet shattered the window.
Everyone ducked.
When I looked up again, Stefano was gone.
But the photograph remained.
I picked it up.
May you like
On the back was a handwritten sentence.
THE SECOND CHILD IS STILL ALIVE.
