Chapter 8 - The Dark Cellar
The panic room beneath the Marchetti brownstone was a reinforced concrete bunker built into the original foundation of the 19th-century house.
The heavy steel door swung shut with a thick, pneumatic hiss as I threw the heavy iron locking bar into place. Instantly, the terrifying sounds of gunfire, shouting, and breaking glass were reduced to dull, muted thuds echoing through six feet of solid reinforced stone.
The room was lit by faint green emergency LEDs running along the baseboards. It was cold, smelling of concrete, iron, and old air.
I slid down the wall to the floor, pulling Sophia into my lap. She was weeping hysterically, her small body trembling so violently that her teeth chattered.
"Mia... Mia, where is Papa? Is Papa hurt?" she sobbed into my collar, her small fingers clutching my shirt.
"He's fighting, sweetie," I murmured, wrapping my arms tightly around her, resting my chin on top of her head, tears streaming down my own cheeks. "Your dad is the strongest man in this city. He promised he'd come down here. And he doesn't break his promises."
"I hear guns," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I hear men screaming upstairs."
"Don't listen to them," I begged, rocking her back and forth in the green-lit darkness. "Listen to me, Sophia. Think about the pie. Think about the apples. What did we put in the bowl?"
"C-Cinnamon," she choked out, trying to catch her breath.
"What else?"
"Brown sugar... lemon juice... butter..."
"And what does the butter smell like when it browns?" I asked, my voice trembling as I tried to keep her focused on anything other than the muted explosions reverberating through the ceiling above us.
"It smells like... like nuts. Like hazelnut," she whispered, her breathing gradually slowing down as my voice anchored her in the terrifying dark.
We sat there for what felt like an eternity. Ten minutes. Thirty minutes. An hour.
The dull thuds above us gradually slowed down, becoming sporadic, until finally, complete, suffocating silence descended upon the house.
I held my breath, staring at the heavy steel door.
My heart felt as if it were going to explode through my ribs. Was it over? Who had won? Was Alaric lying dead on his kitchen floor while Santino and the Morettis searched the house for the subterranean key?
Suddenly, a heavy, metallic knocking sounded against the outside of the steel door.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
I froze, pulling Sophia tighter against my chest. I reached out with my left hand, gripping a heavy brass fire extinguisher sitting near the wall.
"Mia?" A rough, raspy voice called through the brass intercom speaker beside the door. "Mia, open the door."
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It was Franco.
I scrambled to my feet, setting Sophia gently behind me, and threw the heavy iron bar upward. The pneumatic seals released, and the steel door swung open.
