Chapter 7 - Ash and Evidence
The smell of burning timber and copper hung heavy in the damp air of the underground cellar.
Nico kicked open the rotted wooden door leading beneath the foundation, sweeping the dark corridor with the tactical light mounted beneath his rifle barrel. The beam illuminated rows of dusty vintage wine bottles and crumbling mortar.
"Over here," I whispered, coughing against the creeping smoke.
I rushed toward the far brick wall, feeling along the damp mortar until my fingers caught the iron latch hidden behind an empty wine rack. I pulled with all my strength. With a groaning screech of rusted hinges, a section of the brick veneer swung outward, revealing a narrow vertical shaft with iron rungs bolted into the concrete.
"The dumbwaiter rope snapped years ago," I said, pointing up into the darkness. "The rungs lead directly into the floor panel of the closet inside the study. It’s barely fifteen feet."
Nico inspected the narrow opening, his face dark with frustration. His broad shoulders would have wedged tight before he cleared the third rung.
"I go first, I secure the Persephone statue, and I open the main vault door from the interior control panel," I said, checking the ceramic 9mm Nico had given me. "The moment the vault door opens, your men can swarm the room."
Nico reached out, grabbing my collar and pulling me to his chest. His lips crashed against mine in a kiss that was desperate, fierce, and searing with possessive fire. It tasted of smoke and promises.
"If you get trapped," Nico whispered against my lips, his voice trembling with an emotion he could no longer hide, "I will tear this entire mansion down with my bare hands to get you out. Five minutes, Nora. Not a second more."
"Five minutes," I promised.
I turned and squeezed myself into the shaft. The cold iron rungs bit into my palms as I climbed through the pitch-black vertical tunnel. Above me, the faint sound of furniture being overturned and papers tearing grew louder.
Edmund was in the study.
I reached the top. My head pressed against the wooden access panel. Carefully, holding my breath, I pushed upward. The panel slid aside silently.
I crawled out into the dark coat closet, peeking through the louvered wooden slats of the door.
The study was in absolute chaos.
A massive metal trash can stood in the center of the Persian rug, flames leaping from its rim as Edmund frantically hurled stacks of financial documents and hard drives into the fire. His broken right wrist was crudely wrapped in a bloody compression bandage; his left hand frantically operated a paper shredder on his mahogany desk.
He looked completely deranged. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his eyes bulging, mumbling incoherently to himself.
"Lies... all lies... the little whore ruined everything... Moretti won't answer... Vance won't answer..."
Across the room, sitting atop a marble pedestal near the bay window, was the twelve-inch bronze statue of Persephone.
I gripped the ceramic pistol tightly in my right hand, nudged the closet door open, and stepped out onto the plush carpet.
The floorboards creaked.
Edmund spun around. In his left hand, he held a heavy silver revolver.
When he saw me, a twisted, maniacal grin spread across his soot-stained face.
"Nora," he breathed, raising the revolver. "The prodigal daughter returns to burn with her father."
"Drop the gun, Edmund," I said, raising my 9mm with both hands, aiming directly at the center of his chest, just as Nico had taught me. "It’s over. The Ferrara men have surrounded the estate. Federal agents are already en route with warrants for your arrest."
"You think I care about prison?!" Edmund screamed, taking a staggering step toward me. "I built this empire! I sacrificed your pathetic, whiny mother, and I sacrificed you to keep it! Marco Ferrara was a street thug who thought he could lecture me on morality! I watched the life drain from his eyes, Nora! Just like I should have watched the life drain from yours ten years ago!"
"You're a coward," I said, my finger tightening on the trigger. "You killed a boy from behind with poison, and you beat a child in a locked basement because you were terrified of the world finding out you were nothing more than an errand boy for the mob."
"Shut up!" Edmund shrieked, cocking the hammer of his revolver. "SHUT UP!"
He aimed at my forehead.
Before he could pull the trigger, a thunderous explosion rocked the room.
The heavy reinforced vault door didn't open—it buckled inward, blown off its hinges by a high-grade breaching charge. The shockwave knocked Edmund off his feet, sending his silver revolver skittering across the burning rug.
Through the cloud of smoke and splintered mahogany, Nico Ferrara strode into the room like the angel of death.
He didn't fire his rifle. He closed the distance in two strides, his heavy combat boot crushing down onto Edmund’s broken wrist.
Edmund’s agonizing scream rattled the windows.
Nico kicked the silver revolver across the room, then reached down, grabbed Edmund by his throat with a single hand, and lifted the two-hundred-pound man off the floor, slamming him against the wall beneath the portrait of our ancestors.
"You speak to my wife again," Nico growled, his voice vibrating with absolute lethality, "and I’ll feed you your own teeth."
I didn't waste a second. I ran to the marble pedestal, grabbed the bronze statue of Persephone, and smashed it against the edge of the stone fireplace.
The hollow bronze base cracked open.
Inside lay a heavy brass safety deposit key stamped with the emblem of Manhattan Trust, and a micro-SD card encased in clear resin.
I held it up. Nico looked over his shoulder, his eyes locking onto the evidence that would avenge his brother and permanently dismantle the Ashford laundering syndicate.
"I have it," I whispered.
Nico turned back to my father. Edmund was turning purple, his feet dangling six inches off the ground, clawing desperately at Nico’s iron grip.
"Please..." Edmund wheezed, tears of terror streaming down his face. "Nico... mercy... family..."
Nico leaned in close, his dark eyes colder than the winter Atlantic.
"Marco begged for mercy, too," Nico whispered. "You gave him potassium chloride. You’re lucky my wife has a soul, Edmund. Because she wants you to spend the next forty years in a concrete cage remembering every single scar you put on her body."
May you like
Nico dropped him like a sack of trash onto the burning floor.
Outside, the wailing sirens of dozens of federal law enforcement vehicles cut through the night, their red and blue lights painting the smoke-filled study in vivid shades of retribution.
