Chapter 4 - The Secrets of the Architect
Downstairs, in the grand study, the heavy mahogany doors were bolted shut. Raffaele stood by the fireplace, staring into the cold ashes. Behind the executive desk sat Marcus Vance, the family’s longtime legal counsel and private investigator, whom Raffaele had summoned immediately after speaking with Evelyn.
"A sub-basement bunker," Marcus muttered, flipping through a set of architectural blueprints dated twenty years back. "Raffaele, your grandfather commissioned this house. There were rumors of a Prohibition-era bootlegger’s vault, but it was supposed to be sealed off and filled with concrete during the 1998 renovations."
"It wasn't filled with concrete," Raffaele said coldly. "Someone remodeled it. Someone installed ventilation pipes leading up through the chimneys, a heavy steel door with an exterior deadbolt, and soundproofing insulation."
"And according to Evelyn’s preliminary statement," Marcus added, sliding a document across the desk, "it wasn't done overnight. It required master carpentry, specialized masonry, and thousands of dollars in off-the-books labor."
"Bianca doesn't have that kind of specialized construction knowledge," Raffaele pointed out, narrowing his eyes. "She must have hired someone. Find out who. I want every contractor, every laborer, and every financial transaction tied to this estate over the last decade scrutinized down to the last cent."
Marcus nodded grimly. "I’ll deploy my team tonight. But Raffaele... what about your sister? She’s currently locked in the west wing guest room with two private security guards outside the door. She’s demanding a lawyer, claiming you’re holding her against her will."
"Let her scream," Raffaele said, his voice devoid of any familial warmth. "She kept an innocent woman buried alive for seven years. She treated a human being like a discarded toy. Let her see what a real cage feels like."
Before Marcus could reply, a sharp knock echoed at the study door. Anna slipped into the room, looking pale and clutching a worn leather ledger.
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"Mr. Castellano," Anna said breathlessly. "When I was cleaning out the side table in the bridal suite storage closet just now... I found this tucked behind the drawer lining. It’s a private logbook. It has Bianca’s handwriting on it."
Raffaele took the ledger from Anna’s hands. He flipped open the cover. The first page was dated precisely seven years ago—the exact date of his wedding.
