Chapter 5 - The Hidden Tape
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The "compound" was a sprawling, modern fortress on the edge of the harbor. High walls, electrified fencing, and armed men patrolling the grounds. It was beautiful, but it was undoubtedly a cage.
Christopher was waiting on the front steps when the SUV pulled up. He ripped the door open before the vehicle even fully stopped.
He reached in, grabbing my waist, and pulled me out of the car. He didn't ask if I was okay. He just wrapped his arms around me, crushing me against his chest. I buried my face in his expensive wool coat, shaking violently.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered into my hair, his voice vibrating with a terrifying, protective fury. “They are never getting near you again.”
He carried me inside, bypassing the grand living areas, and took me straight to his private study. The three archival boxes were already sitting on a massive oak desk.
“I can't go back to the cafe, can I?” I asked, sitting on the leather sofa, wrapping my arms around my knees.
“No,” Christopher said, pouring a glass of amber liquid and handing it to me. “Drink this. The man in the gray suit was Lorenzo Mancuso. He’s the nephew of the Calabrian boss. If he’s in Boston, the war has officially started.”
I took a burning sip of the whiskey. “Why target me? I’m just reading letters.”
“Because you are my weak point,” Christopher said bluntly. He didn't elaborate, but the implication hung heavy in the air.
He walked over to the desk. “We need to finish translating the second box. There has to be a reason my mother kept all of this hidden from my father.”
I nodded, setting the glass down. I walked over to the desk and pulled the second box toward me. I sifted through the remaining letters until I hit the bottom.
“It’s empty,” I said.
But as I moved the box, it felt unusually heavy for cardboard. I traced my fingers along the inside edge. There was a small gap.
“Christopher, do you have a pocket knife?”
He handed me a sleek, silver blade. I wedged it into the gap and pried upward. The cardboard popped, revealing a false bottom.
Inside the hidden compartment was a small, velvet jewelry box.
My heart raced as I opened it. There were no diamonds or pearls inside.
Resting on the velvet was a single, old micro-cassette tape.
Christopher stared at it, all the color draining from his face. “My father destroyed all the tapes. He crushed them with a hammer in front of me.”
“He missed one,” I whispered.
May you like
“I have an old dictaphone in the storage room,” Christopher said, his voice completely hollow. “Don't move.”
He returned five minutes later with a dusty cassette player. He inserted the tape with trembling hands and pressed play.
