Chapter 7 - The Trap Under Vale TowerThe pit was not old.
Dante saw that immediately.
The edges had been cut clean through the tunnel floor. Fresh dust clung to the concrete. New steel teeth lined the bottom twenty feet below, not sharp enough to kill quickly, just enough to make escape impossible.
Malcolm had not merely predicted their route.
He had prepared it.
Bird stared at the painted words on the wall.
WELCOME HOME, LITTLE BIRD.
Her face emptied.
Dante knew that look now.
She was disappearing inward.
He stepped in front of the words.
“Look at me.”
She did not.
“Arabella.”
That name pulled her back like a slap.
Her eyes snapped to his.
“Don’t let him use that name better than you do,” Dante said.
Her breathing shook.
Then steadied.
Behind them, one of Dante’s men, Carlo, swept the tunnel with a thermal scanner.
“Movement ahead. Two bodies. Maybe three.”
“Armed?”
“Likely.”
A small speaker crackled from somewhere above.
Malcolm’s voice filled the tunnel.
“You always were clever, Dante. Your father too. Clever enough to find doors. Not clever enough to understand who built the house.”
Dante looked up.
“You talk too much for a man who thinks he’s winning.”
“I am not speaking to you.”
A pause.
Then softer.
“Arabella, darling, I know you can hear me.”
Bird’s jaw tightened.
“Do not answer,” Dante said.
Malcolm continued anyway.
“I know you are frightened. I know Mr. Serrano has filled your head with heroic nonsense. But you and I know the truth. You cannot live outside my care. You tried. Look what happened to you.”
Bird flinched.
Dante’s eyes darkened.
“You were hungry. Filthy. Sleeping with pigeons. Men chasing you through tunnels. Is that freedom, darling?”
Bird whispered, “Stop.”
“Come back, and I will make the world gentle again.”
Dante raised his gun and shot the speaker.
Silence crashed down.
Bird closed her eyes.
“He knows where to press.”
“Then we cut off his hand.”
Dante turned to the pit.
No way across.
At least, none Malcolm wanted them to see.
Dante scanned the ceiling.
Old freight tunnels often had side maintenance ledges for workers. Narrow. Rusted. Dangerous.
There.
A pipe bridge crossed above the pit, half-hidden in shadow.
Dante looked at Carlo.
“Can it hold?”
“For one person at a time, maybe.”
Bird stepped forward.
“I’ll go.”
“No.”
“I’m lighter.”
“Not happening.”
“Mouse is ahead.”
“Exactly.”
Bird faced him.
“I spent twelve years being told my body belonged to someone else. Don’t start.”
The words struck hard enough that Dante looked away first.
He nodded once.
Carlo secured a rope around Bird’s waist.
Dante checked the knot himself.
“Slow,” he said.
Bird climbed onto the side ledge.
The drop waited below.
She moved along the wall, one hand gripping the pipe, boots scraping rust. Every few feet, old metal groaned.
Halfway across, the tunnel lights flickered.
Not electric lights.
Motion lights.
Bright white.
They flooded the pit.
Bird froze.
A hidden camera turned toward her.
Malcolm’s voice returned through another speaker.
“There she is.”
Dante aimed, but Bird shouted, “No!”
He stopped.
She stared into the camera.
For the first time, she did not look away.
“My name is Arabella Vale.”
The tunnel went silent.
Dante’s heart slammed once.
On the camera lens, a red recording light blinked.
Bird’s voice trembled, but she kept speaking.
“My uncle Malcolm Vale abducted me after staging the yacht explosion that killed my father. He held me prisoner beneath Vale Tower. He used drugs, threats, and violence to erase my memory. He is holding a child named Mouse right now.”
Dante understood.
Malcolm had turned on the cameras to torment her.
She had turned them into witnesses.
“Arabella,” Malcolm said, his voice suddenly sharp.
Bird lifted her chin.
“The crown breaks,” she said, “but the blood remembers.”
Every speaker in the tunnel shrieked with feedback.
Then the camera feed cut.
Bird reached the far side.
Dante crossed next.
By the time they regrouped, Malcolm’s calm had cracked. They heard shouting through the pipes above them. Footsteps. Doors opening. Men being ordered into place.
Bird’s public statement had not reached the world yet.
But it had reached Malcolm’s security system.
Someone inside that building had heard.
Someone might have recorded.
Someone might start asking questions.
And powerful men feared questions more than bullets.
They moved faster.
The old freight line ended at a sealed metal hatch beneath Vale Tower.
Carlo used a cutting tool to break the lock.
The hatch opened into a service shaft.
Cold white light poured down.
Bird’s breath caught.
Dante looked up.
“You know this place.”
She nodded.
They climbed.
At the top was a corridor so clean it looked surgical.
White walls.
White floor.
Glass panels.
No windows.
Bird stepped out and nearly collapsed.
Dante caught her.
Far down the corridor, a small voice hummed.
Mouse.
Bird ran.
This time Dante let her.
They reached the glass room.
Mouse sat tied to a chair inside, exactly as in the video call.
His eyes widened when he saw Bird.
“Ugly Blanket?”
Bird made a broken laugh and sob at the same time.
“I’m here.”
Mouse started crying then.
Dante shot the electronic lock panel.
The glass door clicked open.
Bird rushed inside and dropped to her knees in front of him, tearing at the ropes.
“I knew you’d come,” Mouse whispered.
“I should’ve come sooner.”
“I wasn’t scared.”
“You were very scared.”
“Only medium.”
Dante almost smiled.
Then he saw the second chair.
Adult-sized.
With straps.
Facing a wall of cameras.
Bird followed his gaze.
Her face changed.
On the chair sat a folded blue dress.
Clean.
Pressed.
Waiting.
A note lay on top.
Dante picked it up.
One sentence.
Put it on, Arabella, or the boy watches Nora die.
Bird turned toward the glass.
On a monitor outside the room, live footage appeared.
Nora sat tied to a chair in Dante’s bunker.
Blood trickled from her temple.
Beside her stood Rocco Bellini.
Dante’s missing underboss.
May you like
Rocco looked into the camera and said, “Sorry, boss.”
Then he raised his gun to Nora’s head.
