Chapter 7 - Into the Lion's Den
The next evening, the mansion was buzzing with tense energy.
Dozens of dark vehicles pulled up to the main entrance, bringing the heavyweights of Chicago’s underworld—the Capos who held the real power in the city. They gathered in the main ballroom downstairs, their voices a low, rumbling hum through the heavy floorboards.
I stood in front of the mirror in my suite, wearing a simple black maid's uniform Teresa had provided.
“Keep your head down,” Teresa instructed, handing me a small feather duster and a stack of clean linens. “The guard at the east wing corridor is named Vinnie. He’s lazy and spends half his shift on his phone. When he turns his back to take a call from his wife at 8:15, you step through the fire door.”
I swallowed hard, my knuckles white against the wooden handle of the duster. “How long do I have?”
“Four minutes,” Teresa said grimly. “The safe is behind the oil painting of the harbor in Silvio’s study. Use the key, take the red ledger, and get out. If you take longer than four minutes, the secondary guard comes on duty, and you won't walk out of that hallway alive.”
I nodded, my stomach churning with pure terror.
At 8:12, I walked down the service staircase leading to the east wing.
The air in this part of the house felt colder, abandoned. I squeezed my feather duster, my heart hammering against my ribs like a jackhammer.
I stood around the corner from the east wing entrance, watching the large guard standing outside Silvio’s suite. Right on time, at 8:15, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He looked at the screen, cursed under his breath, and stepped around the far corner to take the call.
Now.
I moved like a ghost, slipping through the heavy mahogany door into Silvio’s private study.
The room smelled of stale cigars and cheap cologne. I ran straight to the wall behind the desk, searching frantically for the oil painting Teresa had described. There it was—a dark, moody canvas depicting a stormy harbor.
I pushed the side of the frame. It swung open on hidden hinges, revealing a small steel safe embedded in the brick wall.
My hands shook so violently I could barely fit the silver key into the keyhole.
Click.
The safe door popped open.
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Inside lay stacks of hundred-dollar bills, a silver revolver, and a thick, leather-bound red ledger. I reached in, grabbed the ledger, and slammed the safe door shut.
Suddenly, the heavy brass door handle of the study began to turn.
