Code of Silence (12 page)

Luke nodded. “I did, too.” His chin tilted to the ceiling. “Hopefully the rain is clearing the air.” He reached around her and flicked off the light.

She flinched as the room plunged in darkness.

“Sorry. I didn't want to bring any attention to us when I open the door. I should've warned you.”

“I understand.” She hated the way her voice sounded weak and wimpy. Her great-aunt was counting on her acting brave, not cowering because of the darkness.

His arm brushed past hers. The squeak of metal meant he was opening the door. She stepped closer to the sink as the door swung inward. “If you lived upstairs, any chance your mom left you anything there?”

Gabriella couldn't imagine that would be the case. Although she still wasn't sure if going to the barn was a wild-goose chase. Would her mom really have tried to indicate a clue by describing the barn as historic?

Her gut twisted with threatening despair. It wasn't as if she had anything else to go on. “Your guess is as good as mine,” she answered.

The sound of their footsteps in the cavernous room echoed like a poorly synchronized rhythm section, accompanying the rain's melody. Her eyes adjusted, but she could still only make out the outline of the stairway in front of them. “Stay to the right, otherwise you might fall downstairs.”

Luke turned. “Downstairs?”

“There's a cellar down there. Pure dirt floor. Mom used it for storing things.”

“Sounds like the place to start.”

“It's been empty for years.” A chill ran up her spine as she thought about the tens...maybe hundreds of spiders and who knew what else that had time to move into the dank room. “Besides, we don't have a flashlight.”

“There's no light down there?”

“I don't think so. There's a lightbulb at the bottom of the steps but nothing to keep Rodrigo from seeing it outside if he's nearby.”

Luke reached for her wrist. “I think we at least have to rule out the possibility, Gabriella. You want to wait here while I check it out?”

She hated both options, but the thought of being alone if Rodrigo stormed through the door caused her to tremble more than the image of spiders and mice. “No, I'm coming, but I won't object to you leading the way.”

The dark outline of his profile turned and as his head dipped, she knew he was descending the steps. She shoved her foot in front of her to feel for the frame of the step before going down. With one hand out, she stopped at the touch of Luke's back.

“I found the light switch,” he said. “I'm going to flip it on and take a quick look. You ready?”

She nodded but realized he couldn't see her. “Yes.”

The light blinded her momentarily as the cellar door swung open. The beam reflected off many shiny surfaces. Gabriella squinted, trying to process what she saw. The room also seemed longer than she remembered...and less dirt packed.

“Uh...Gabriella. I don't think this is a cellar anymore.” Luke felt around the corner and beautiful, bright light from actual fixtures filled the long room.

Her mouth dropped. “No. It's a shooting range.”

THIRTEEN

L
uke flipped off the stairway light and stepped fully inside the room.

He'd seen underground shooting ranges before but never underneath a barn. A floor epoxy made the walls gleam. The horizontal lines spread out in intervals labeled the yards.

Her mom must have really wanted to make sure she was a great shot no matter how close or far she stood from the target. The walls looked to be covered in sound-absorbent panels. Judging by the rectangular lines that didn't match the rest of the panels, they covered up the egress windows. And, if she knew what she was doing, and Luke had no reason to believe she didn't, the walls underneath the paneling would've been made with twelve-inch, sand-filled blocks.

His gaze moved to the ceiling: pre-stressed planking topped with four inches of steel-reinforced concrete. Fully enclosed bullet traps were placed just beyond the paper targets.

Directly to the right sat a leather recliner, a side table, and a mini fridge. He grunted. Add a television and this would be the ultimate man cave.

He walked to the boxes of ammunition carefully stacked on a gray waist-high countertop. Jacketed and plated bullets were the only selection. Why? The answer hit him immediately. Lead bullets would lead to gun smoke and airborne residue. “Your mom was one smart lady.”

He turned to find Gabriella's face white and chalky, her eyes filled with horror. “What did you say?”

Luke instantly regretted his comment. He tried to pull her into a hug, but she pushed him away, her face flushing.

“Her whole life was a lie. I've been trying to avoid thinking about it, avoid being furious at her, but this...this was the last straw. She put me in this situation, where I have nothing to go on to try to save my aunt. Our own lives are in danger. You've been shot.”

She spun away, and her shoulders rose and fell. “I loved my mom dearly and I will miss her every single day, but this...this secret life she had...” Gabriella shook her head. “No. ‘Smart lady' wasn't the first thing that came to mind.”

Her whole body trembled as she flung her hand out, gesturing at the room. “Why'd she keep this secret anyway? What harm would it have done if she'd told me? Showed me?”

Luke hung his head. He imagined he'd be offended, too, if in her situation. “You're right,” he said. “I was speaking as someone who appreciates good construction and design.”

Her rigid stance and clenched jaw softened. “No, you were referring to the recliner and the mini fridge.” She smirked, and he knew that if she was attempting a joke, she'd forgiven him.

“It doesn't hurt.” His dry mouth and burning throat begged to be relieved. He could still taste the dust particles that refused to leave on their own. “Let's pray there is something drinkable in there and start looking for that evidence.”

He crossed to the fridge and fought against the temptation to sit in the soft leather. It looked so relaxing. If he succumbed, he knew it would make it almost impossible to get back up. His leg throbbed at the thought of relief.

He gaped at the contents of the fridge and almost verbally complimented her mom's taste again. “Look, Gabriella. Your favorite.” He held up a cold can of Pibb Xtra.

Her forehead crinkled, but she approached and accepted. The rest of the options were diet, so Luke pulled out a Pibb for himself, as well. “Must have been your mom's favorite, too, huh?”

She shook her head, popped the can and the beautiful hissing of air and popping fizz filled the space between them. Luke opened his and downed half the can in one smooth gulp. He hit his fist against his chest in hopes of helping the swallowed air escape in a gentlemanlike fashion.

Gabriella gulped down her share and exhaled. “That's just it.” She shook her head. “Mom only drank diet. This was my favorite drink.” She raised an eyebrow. “I can't believe you remembered, though.”

He shrugged. “I was an impressionable young man. I remember a lot of things.” His mind filled with all the moments and conversations they'd shared in college. Their eyes met, and the air between them seemed charged with electricity.

He looked down the range so as to keep his mind focused. “So there's only one explanation for your favorite drink being stocked down here. Your mom must've been preparing to share this with you.”

She nodded. “Maybe.”

Luke set his can down on the cabinet. “If she had shown you this shooting range before, you would've picked up on the historic reference in the will right away, right?”

Her eyes widened.

He brushed away an obvious clump of dust he hadn't seen before on his shirt. “Right. So, humor me and let's assume she had hoped to show you this place. And in that case, the historic reference to the barn would be an obvious clue, so we're on the right track.”

Gabriella drew in her eyebrows. “Huh. You might be right.”

Luke put a finger on his lip while his thumb held up his chin, a habitual gesture when he needed to process. So he likely hadn't been dreaming when Gabriella's mother mentioned she'd done something with the barn in the diary. And if that was the case, what better place to hide the evidence? He looked around the room. “If it were me, and I needed to keep something safe...” He dropped his hands at the last word. “I'd put it in the gun safe.”

Gabriella curled her lip. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yep.”

They approached the six-foot, hunter-green gun safe. The gold accents lined the edges of the matte finish. In the center a long gold handle resided just underneath a black combination dial. Gabriella's fingers reached for the dial and stopped.

“What should I try?” she whispered.

“Stick with five- or six-digit combinations that you think would be important to your mom.”

Gabriella bit her lip and spun the dial to the right, then left, then back right.

Her hand drifted to the handle. But it wouldn't budge. She tried again with the same result.

“Talk me through it,” Luke said.

“I've tried her birthday, Aunt Freddie's birthday...” She growled. “If those were even their real birthdays.” Gabriella pulled her long hair off her back, twirled it around her hand and tucked it back through the space she'd created. Her graceful movements and the resulting ponytail transfixed him, like origami with hair.

“Try your birthday,” he suggested. “She'd have picked a combination you'd know.”

She stared at him for a moment before she shook her head in disbelief. “Okay.”

Her wrist whipped through the combination. She slipped her hand to the handle and exhaled.
Click.
A radiant smile crossed her face before it morphed into sober concern. “If it's not here, I won't know where else to look.”

“You're not alone,” he said.

She pulled the seal. Inside were a few guns, but most of the twenty-four slots were empty. Instead, a thick beige canvas bag sat propped up on its side...except the zipper had a key sticking out of it.

“It's a deposit bag,” Luke said.

Gabriella's shaking hand reached and turned it and began to unzip.

Her entire arm trembled when she opened it.

Stacks of documents and small cassette tapes filled the bag. On top, though, sat a single white envelope with Gabriella's name in black marker. She placed a hand on her chest. Her face paled, but she didn't make a move to pick the bag up.

If reading her mother's diary proved to be almost impossible, Luke imagined a direct letter to her would prove that much more difficult. “Shall I?” he asked.

She nodded.

He pulled out the stationery lined in flowers from the envelope and began to read aloud:

“Dear Gabriella,

“If you are reading this I'm truly sorry, honey. It most likely means I've failed, left you in a horrible mess and owe you an explanation. I can only hope it will lead to your forgiveness.”

“Yeah, she did,” Gabriella muttered. She wrapped her arms around herself, said nothing, but nodded for him to continue.

“I've been Samantha Radcliffe for so long it's as if Renata Mirabella doesn't exist anymore. At least I wished she didn't. Enough regrets.

“Here's what you need to know:

“I was born into the Mirabella crime family. My mother never married my father—in fact she refused him, not wanting to be a part of that life. Shortly after I was born, they put a hit on her. My father claimed ownership over me, but your great-aunt raised me. I have no memories of my mother or my grandmother on her side, but your aunt Freddie told me she came from a good family. I wish I—we—had a chance to get to know them, but I'm so thankful that they willed this property to me and that no one knew about it...except your aunt.”

Luke processed the words. So her mother likely owned the property legally. What a relief. Gabriella peered over his shoulder, reading along. “She never met her mother? My grandfather killed her? What kind of person does such a thing?” Gabriella leaned back, shaking her head, but gestured at the letter. Luke kept reading.

“I grew up having to work for my father and uncle. I hope you never meet Uncle Claudio. He's a cruel man, as most all the men in the Mirabella family. My own father did something the family didn't like, and they killed him for it, without hesitation.

“A year before you were born, I was assigned to a man—an honest man from the Treasury Department. My job was to get information from him to help the family get a score of coins from the nineteen hundreds at the US Mint. Only, I fell in love. When I found out about you, it became clear that no one would benefit from the situation.”

Gabriella placed a hand on her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Had you known about your father?”

“She—Mom said he didn't know about me and said it'd be better if it stayed that way. She always prefaced it by telling me to be careful about the company I kept. I assumed she meant my father lived as a druggie or something, not an honest man. I mean, obviously he wasn't perfect, but I always wondered about him... It's part of the reason I kept sneaking into her diary when I was little to look for clues.” She eyed the letter. “Is there more?”

He nodded.

“Aunt Freddie was my only confidante. She told me about a mob girlfriend from history—Virginia Hill. She kept a little black diary, where she recorded the money laundering flow. She put it in a safe-deposit box and told the family that upon her death it would be sent to the FBI. In response, they sent her money and left her alone.

“Inspired, I took evidence I'd gathered about who killed my father and copies of all the bookkeeping I'd done for the family. I left a note similar to what I imagine Virginia had left. Your aunt gladly came with me.

“Only, I studied my history after we got here, Gabriella. Virginia's little black book never helped her. Instead it made her a target to the FBI herself. And she ended up dead from an overdose of sleeping pills after the FBI refused to make a deal for the book...a suicide that reeks of a mafia hit to me.

“So instead, the evidence rests here, while we stay hidden underneath our secret identities, waiting until the right time when I'm sure we can be safe. I didn't want to raise you in witness protection—I had a cousin die on her way to WITSEC—I couldn't be sure they wouldn't get us.”

Gabriella set the bag on the countertop and began pulling out the documents and tapes as if they were priceless artifacts. “That's why she didn't use a safe-deposit box. My mom has always done the unexpected, thought outside the box.” She cringed. “Pun unintended. Go on.”

“My hope is they'll never find you. As far as I know, they don't even have word of your existence. I pray it stays that way.

“Please forgive me. This heavy burden on my heart grows daily. I am desperate to tell you but want it to be for the right reasons, not to just ease my own burden. I hope you understand now why I discouraged you from starting the nonprofit. I didn't want to put you in an even worse position someday, tarnishing your reputation. But I soon realized that I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't stop your servant heart. It's a blessing to me, and tangible proof that you were brought up outside of the Mirabella family, away from the suppressing darkness.”

Luke could barely read the words. His throat burned, thankful and heartbroken for Gabriella at the same time.

“I am so thankful for you, Gabriella.

“Do what you will with the items in this safe. Choose wisely. Find someone trustworthy. Stay safe. I love you.

“Yours Forever,

“Mom

“PS: I also took the score from the Treasury Department as added insurance. Only you know where it is. When the time is right, please return it with my apologies.”

Gabriella looked up, raw with emotion. Luke still held the letter but opened his arms ever so slightly. She clung to him and buried her face against his chest, desperate to disappear, to lose herself, until the sand particles on his shirt scratched her cheek. The prickly sensation snapped her back to reality. Yes, her mother had to grow up in a life no one should be forced to endure. And, mercifully, Gabriella had been wrong about her mom's view of her. She hadn't disapproved of her servant heart, but quite the opposite. What must it have been like for Mom to watch her growing up? Did Mom wonder how she would've turned out growing up away from the mafia?

Luke's uninjured arm wrapped around her back. His hand awkwardly patted the back of her head. Her cheek bounced off his chest, and she reached her hands up and pushed herself back. “Thank you.”

There was no time to grieve. She had to shut off her mind and act. Her mom had said to do what she would with the evidence, so she'd feel no guilt handing it over in exchange for her aunt.

“Your mom risked everything to get this evidence. We can't just hand it all over,” Luke said.

“She never would've wanted my aunt's life to be in danger, either,” she spat out. He didn't respond.