Chapter 3 - The Room My Father Locked
The old Castellano warehouse sat beneath a railway bridge in Queens.
It had been abandoned for years.
At least officially.
Marco drove.
I sat in the back.
Lucia stayed beside me.
Emma was still at the hospital.
Protected.
Or so I believed.
“You knew about the room,” I said.
Lucia stared through the window.
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad told me not to.”
My father had been dead for eleven years.
Yet his secrets continued to crawl out of the walls.
“What was inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“Lucia.”
“I swear.”
Marco glanced at us.
“Boss, when we arrive, nobody enters first.”
“I know.”
We parked three streets away.
The warehouse looked empty.
That made it dangerous.
Marco’s men searched the building.
The front doors were locked.
The side entrance had fresh scratches.
Someone had entered recently.
We followed the trail downstairs.
At the end of the basement was a steel door.
No handle.
Only a brass keyhole.
I took the key Lucia had carried.
It fit.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Inside was a small room.
No furniture.
No windows.
Just a metal table.
On it sat a single black ledger.
I stared at it.
My father’s handwriting was visible on the first page.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
Locations.
One name appeared on almost every page.
K.
Kolov.
Marco swore under his breath.
“This is old.”
“Not all of it.”
I pointed.
Several entries were dated within the last three years.
Marco flipped through the pages.
“Someone continued writing.”
“Who?”
He turned the final page.
The handwriting changed.
Cleaner.
Younger.
And beneath the last entry was a sentence.
THE CREST BELONGS TO THE ONE WHO SURVIVES.
Lucia stepped closer.
“What does that mean?”
I didn’t answer.
A noise came from behind the wall.
Three sharp knocks.
Everyone froze.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Marco raised his weapon.
“Back away.”
The wall moved.
Not the wall.
A hidden panel.
It opened inward.
Behind it was another corridor.
Cold air rushed through.
We found a second room.
A chair sat in the center.
Someone was tied to it.
I stepped forward.
Then stopped.
It wasn’t Daniel.
It was a man in his sixties.
His face was bruised.
His mouth taped.
Marco ripped the tape away.
The man coughed.
“Castellano…”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Peter Vale.”
The name meant nothing.
“Why are you here?”
He looked at the ledger.
“Because your father ordered me to keep it safe.”
“My father has been dead for eleven years.”
Peter nodded.
“He expected that.”
I moved closer.
“What did he expect?”
“That one day you would open the room.”
“Why?”
Peter looked directly at me.
“Because the war with Kolov never ended.”
Marco stepped toward him.
“Where is Daniel Carter?”
Peter’s face went pale.
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.”
Peter shook his head.
“I truly don’t.”
“What do you know?”
He looked at me.
“Emma Carter.”
Silence.
“What about her?”
“She is not who you think she is.”
My hand froze.
Peter continued.
“Your father knew her mother.”
I felt something tighten in my chest.
“My father died before Emma was born.”
“Yes.”
Peter swallowed.
“That’s why her existence mattered.”
“What are you talking about?”
Before he could answer, every light in the warehouse went out.
Gunfire erupted above us.
Marco shouted.
“DOWN!”
Bullets tore through the ceiling.
We dragged Peter behind the steel table.
Men entered from the upper floor.
Six.
Maybe eight.
Dark clothes.
Silenced weapons.
Professional.
I fired twice.
One man fell.
Marco moved toward the stairs.
Then Peter grabbed my sleeve.
“Don’t fight them.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“They aren’t here for you.”
Another burst of gunfire.
Peter looked terrified.
“They’re here for the ledger.”
I looked down at the book.
The one my father had locked away.
The one containing the history of the Castellano and Kolov families.
Then I saw something I had missed.
Tucked inside the back cover was an old photograph.
A woman stood beside my father.
She held a baby.
I recognized the woman.
Emma had shown me an old photograph of her mother once.
The same face.
The same scar above her eyebrow.
I turned the photograph over.
Three words were written on the back.
PROTECT HER, DOMINIC.
The basement door exploded inward.
Marco shouted my name.
And I finally understood.
May you like
This attack had never been about the crest.
It had been about Emma.
