Chapter 6
The Flame
Luca: What are you doing, little ember?
Isabelle: Don’t you ever sleep?
It was plainly obvious what I was doing.
I was breaking and entering my father’s office.
After we finished watching Game of Thrones last night, I still couldn’t sleep. I spent hours tossing and turning, until eventually I gave up and decided to sneak down here at two AM to investigate for myself.
I’d already heard my dad come back from wherever he disappeared to with Mr I-Need-A-Wife Vescari, and I’d waited a further hour to ensure he was asleep before sneaking down here.
Even Frank was asleep, and that man ran off nothing but coffee fumes and spite.
This was the perfect opportunity, and I wasn’t going to pass it up.
Luca: You’re awake, so I’m awake. You know how this works. I’ll ask one last time—what are you doing?
Isabelle: You didn’t use my nickname that time.
Luca: You haven’t earned it. You’re also avoiding the question.
Isabelle: You have cameras everywhere, Luca. Take some of your own advice: stop making me spell it out for you and figure it out on your own.
I waited a beat for him to reply and then rushed to add.
Isabelle: And when you do figure it out, don’t even think about trying to talk some sense into me. My mind is made up.
Luca: Far be it for me to be the voice of reason. Do you know the code?
Isabelle: Of course I know the code. It’s been the same since I was a child.
I rolled my eyes and scoffed at him, keying in my date of birth and waited with a smug grin for the light to turn green.
Access denied.
“I beg your finest pardon,” I scoffed, as though the stupid lock was going to answer me. I keyed in my date of birth again, only for the same thing to happen.
Isabelle: He changed the code! When did he change the fucking code?
Luca: Maybe when he had a suspicion that his daughter would go snooping? He’s forcing you into a marriage you don’t want. Snooping was inevitable.
I looked at the door in frustration, hating that he was right.
But if my dad felt the need to hide things from me, that meant I was right, too. There was something behind that door. Something he didn’t want me seeing.
And then I remembered who I was talking to.
Isabelle: Luca…
Luca: Yes, Belle…?
I could practically see his shit-eating grin through the phone.
Isabelle: You wouldn’t happen to know the code, would you, dearest?
Luca: I do not…
Damn. I really thought he might have—
The light flashed green, and then the door clicked open.
“What…” I breathed.
Luca: I do, however, know how to bypass these ridiculous systems. Never felt the need to learn his code when I could just override it whenever I felt like it.
Isabelle: I think I may love you.
Luca: I’d have preferred more than “think” but I’ll accept.
Isabelle: Shut up and keep watch.
He replied with a zipped-up mouth emoji.
I hurried inside, softly closing the door behind me, and rushed over to my dad’s desk.
Isabelle: This thing isn’t booby trapped, is it?
Luca: Yes, Belle. Yes, it is. Open the top drawer, and it will release the trapdoor beneath the desk, feeding you to the ogre that lives in your basement.
Isabelle: Oh, so that’s where you’ve been hiding when you spy on me. Good to know.
Luca: You’re not opposed to me eating you?
Isabelle: Stop distracting me and keep a lookout!
Luca: You didn’t say no to eating you. Oh, you best believe we’re putting a pin in this conversation!
I laughed despite myself.
This fucking man!
Shaking my head, I reached for the top drawer, cautiously opening it, and then feeling ridiculous when it turned out to be a regular, run-of-the-mill desk drawer.
“Don’t you dare laugh,” I said out loud, not wanting to waste precious time with texts.
I propped my phone up on the desk, our message thread open, and glanced up just as he sent an angel emoji.
“Yeah, there’s not a chance in hell you’re an angel,” I muttered, picking up a stack of papers and carefully rifling through them.
Luca: What is it you’re hoping to find?
“I’m not sure. But there has to be something. He’s clearly got something more going on than real estate.”
Luca: I wouldn’t be hiding my secret life in the top drawer, that’s for sure.
That made me pause.
“Where would you put it?”
Luca: Where would you hide it?
“Come on… I’m all about personal growth and learning things for ourselves, but just for once, can’t you just give me the answer?”
The typing bubble didn’t even appear this time.
I guess there’s my answer.
Come on, Isabelle, think.
I leant back in my dad’s chair, rocking slightly back and forth as I thought over my options.
The desk was probably a no-go. He had endless meetings in here, and the desk was the most visited area. Two chairs sat in front, and some of the businessmen brought their associates who gathered around the desk. It would be too easy for someone to help themselves to secrets to use as leverage.
My eyes glanced around the office.
The filing cabinet was a possibility, but I’d looked in there recently when helping Marco find some information about a past property. I’d helped my dad organise those files more times than I could count. They were full of legitimate house sales.
So where else would something be hiding?
The office was large and spacious, but it was sparely furnished with anything that could contain storage. Save for the filing cabinets and the desk, most everything else was for comfort.
I huffed out a breath, leaning forward and resting my elbows on the desk.
Did he keep things in here at all? Was it entirely possible that he had another room that… Wait—
“That trapdoor comment wasn’t an entirely throwaway thing, was it?”
Luca: You’re getting warmer.
My eyes went to the bookcase.
No…
That was just too much of a movie villain cliché. A secret room behind the bookcase?
And yet I got to my feet anyway, scanning the books as I approached. Just as I came to stand in front of it, one of the books caught my eye.
It was slightly out of place compared to the rest. Nothing overly noticeable, but definitely something that stuck out if you were looking hard enough.
The book seemed more box-like than the rest, the pages almost glued together.
Trusting my instinct, I pulled on the book, gasping and stepping back when the mechanism clicked behind the bookcase and the door popped open.
“What the fuck,” I whispered, hardly daring to believe I’d got so lucky. Or that my dad was so stupid. Both worked.
I poked my head inside, seeing row upon row of filing cabinets, boxes of paperwork, briefcases containing God knows what, and two huge safes I had never seen before.
Grabbing the first suitcase—mainly because my heart was beating too hard, and I was too scared to go any further into the secret room—I rushed back over to the desk, plopping back down in the seat.
Luca: Congratulations. You learned your father is a moron. Can you leave now, please?
“Keep a lookout,” I replied in a sing-song voice, hauling the suitcase onto the desk and clicking it open.
Only for my heart to immediately sink when I found nothing but a stack of papers waiting for me.
“For some reason I was hoping to find a gun and a note saying, ‘I’m secretly in the mob’. It would have made my night much easier.”
I glanced at the phone, but Luca hadn’t replied.
Fair enough. I don’t think I’m that funny, either. I thought to myself.
Until: Luca: Most criminals don’t label their evidence. No matter how organised they are.
“Well, they should. It makes life easier all round. I bet Silas labels all his evidence. ‘Oh look, remember when I murdered Cadaver #467?’”
I laughed and then froze.
Why the fuck had I been thinking about Silas? I glanced at the phone, but Luca hadn’t replied to that comment. I grabbed a bunch of papers in the hopes that we could slip right by and not make a big deal out of it.
“Nothing,” I muttered to myself, seeing nothing overly incriminating, but also nothing I understood either.
It was a lot of shipping receipts spanning over the years. There were always a bunch of additional weight charges applied to the shipments and customs taxes. But nothing that screamed mafia at me.
“They had to pay for extra weight. What could that mean?”
Luca replied with a shrugging emoji.
He knew. I knew he knew. He was just being stubborn about it.
I placed them on the desk and grabbed the next handful.
“Property transfer papers,” I said quietly. “But none of these are on his roster.”
To reassure myself I wasn’t going mad, I fired up his computer—thankful the password to that was still the same at least—and loaded up his website.
“Yep, none of these properties are listed as for sale, nor are they on his list of previously sold houses.”
I went through his spreadsheets, trying to line up the property codes, but drew a blank every time.
“Am I thinking too literally here? Property transfer doesn’t necessarily have to mean brick and mortar property, does it? This could be literally anything.”
Once again, no typing bubble.
“Great time to go silent, friend. I hope you’re still keeping an eye on things out there.”
Luca: I am. Hurry up.
“I am, I am. Sheez.”
I went to shut everything down on the computer when a folder caught my eye.
IB
I clicked on it before I could second-guess myself, only to find it was password protected, and it wasn’t the same one used to unlock the computer.
Why would my father have a password-protected folder named after me? I was fairly certain that IB was for my initials. What else could it be?
“I’m locked out here, Luca. And I’m pretty sure this is a folder with my initials on it. Any chance you can wave that magic wand of yours and get me in?”
Whilst I waited for him to reply, I pulled more papers from the briefcase and glanced through them.
“It looks as though there are some contracts here, but none of it is making sense. I don’t think the briefcases have been filed.
I think these are just things that were thrown in here for safekeeping, to be organised at a later date,” I said, throwing them back into the briefcase but making a mental note of some of the names I had seen.
It made sense. I did so much of my dad’s organising for him.
But he was hardly going to let me have access to his secret room documents, was he?
“Any luck getting me in?” I asked, clicking back on the IB folder.
It was still locked.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been bested by a simple folder lock, wizard. And here I thought you could do anything,” I smiled, thinking that would get him to reply.
Still no typing bubble.
“Take your time, I’m not in a rush…” I muttered, leaning back in the chair and fiddling around with the ends of my hair, looking for split ends as I waited.
It was when I was glancing up at my phone to see if Luca had replied that I noticed the envelope.
“Hey,” I said, sitting up, my heart beginning to race. “There’s an envelope hidden under the monitor here.” I grabbed it and pulled out the contents, my heart hammering at a dangerous level.
“What the fuck…” I breathed, seeing a picture of my dad shaking hands with none other than Rafael Falcone.
I pulled out the piece of paper, reading the title, “Isabelle Carbone Marriage Agreement”.
“No way. No fucking way,” I said, ripping it out with shaking hands.
Luca: Isabelle. Hide.
“What?”
Luca: No time to put things back. Grab everything you can and fucking hide. Now. Your dad’s not alone.
Feeling sick to my stomach, I grabbed everything I could, snatching up my phone and running towards the secret room.
Luca: Not there, Isabelle. Trust me.
“I don’t have many other options, Luca!” I snapped, feeling the panic rise up my body until it was choking me.
The only other place was…
“Is a meeting at this time of night really necessary?” My dad’s voice came from down the hallway.
My wild eyes glanced at the door, just in time to see the code turn red, indicating it had been locked for me, and the next thing I knew I was on my stomach and sliding under one of the leather couches.
Ridiculous fucking hiding place, but it’s all I had.
God help me.