CHAPTER SIX
Anna's PoV
The sound of gunfire erupted like thunder all around us. The peaceful villa transformed into a war zone in seconds as bullets shattered windows and splintered the wooden doorframes. I clutched Sofia tighter to my chest, her terrified screams mixing with the chaos of automatic weapons and shouted orders from outside.
Don Vincenzo moved like a man trained for battle. His hand wrapped around my arm with firm but gentle pressure as he pulled me away from the destroyed windows. Glass crunched under our feet as we ran, and I could hear his men returning fire from strategic positions throughout the house.
"Stay low!" he commanded, his voice cutting through the noise. "Keep Sofia's head down!"
I pressed the little girl's face against my shoulder, trying to shield her from the horror unfolding around us. Her small body trembled against mine, and I could feel my own hands shaking as adrenaline flooded my system. This was nothing like the controlled environment of my psychology practice. This was life and death, and I had no training for it.
Don Vincenzo led us through a maze of hallways I had not seen before. The villa was much larger than I had realized, with hidden passages and rooms that spoke of a family that had lived with danger for generations. We passed portraits of stern-faced men and women, all bearing the distinctive Torrino features, all watching us with painted eyes that seemed to understand the gravity of our situation.
"There!" Don Vincenzo said, pointing to what appeared to be a solid wall. But when he pressed his palm against a specific section, a hidden panel slid open to reveal a narrow staircase leading down into darkness.
Behind us, the gunfire intensified. I could hear Leo shouting orders to other men, coordinating their defense of the villa. The sound of splintering wood told me that Burton's forces were breaking down doors, getting closer to finding us.
"Move!" Don Vincenzo urged, guiding me down the steep stairs.
The basement was pitch black until Don Vincenzo flipped a switch, flooding the space with harsh fluorescent light. What I saw made me gasp in shock and nearly drop Sofia.
The walls were completely covered with photographs, documents, newspaper clippings, and what looked like evidence from dozens of different cases. String connected various pieces of information, creating a complex web of connections that spoke of years of careful investigation. This was not just a safe room - it was a command center for some kind of massive investigation.
But it was one particular section of the wall that made my blood freeze in my veins.
There, among hundreds of other photographs, was a picture of my father.
My legs felt weak as I stared at the image. It was my father as I remembered him - younger, smiling, wearing the brown leather jacket I had loved so much as a child. But he was not alone in the photograph. He was standing next to a man I did not recognize, both of them wearing what appeared to be FBI badges.
"That cannot be right," I whispered, my voice barely audible over Sofia's continued crying.
Don Vincenzo noticed where I was looking. His expression grew grim as he followed my gaze to the photograph. "Anna, there is something you need to know about your father."
I moved closer to the wall, still holding Sofia, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. Surrounding my father's photograph were documents, police reports, and what looked like official government correspondence. My father's name appeared on dozens of papers, along with words like "corruption investigation" and "federal informant."
"This is impossible," I said, my voice stronger now but filled with confusion. "My father was not FBI. He was an insurance salesman. He died in a car accident when I was fifteen."
Don Vincenzo moved to stand beside me, his presence both comforting and overwhelming. "Your father was investigating Burton's corruption when he was murdered. He was not just an insurance salesman, Anna. He was an undercover federal agent, and he was getting close to exposing Burton's entire network."
The room seemed to spin around me as I processed this information. Everything I thought I knew about my father, about my family, about my own life, was crumbling before my eyes. I reached out with my free hand to touch one of the documents on the wall, and I could see my father's signature at the bottom of an official report dated just weeks before his death.
"But why would my mother lie to me?" I asked, tears beginning to blur my vision. "Why would she tell me he sold insurance if he was really FBI?"
"Because Burton has been watching you your entire life," Don Vincenzo replied, his voice gentle but filled with a terrible truth. "Your mother was protecting you by hiding your father's real work. But Burton knew exactly who you were when he arranged for you to evaluate me. This was never about understanding my psychological profile. It was about getting close to you."
I stared at more photographs on the wall - pictures of me as a child, as a teenager, graduation photos from college and graduate school. Someone had been documenting my entire life, and the realization made my skin crawl with disgust and fear.
"He has been watching me since I was a child?" I asked, my voice breaking.
"Burton needed to know if your father had told you anything before he died," Don Vincenzo explained. "And when you became a forensic psychologist, he saw an opportunity to use you. Getting you assigned to my case was not coincidence, Anna. It was a carefully planned trap."
Sofia had finally stopped crying, exhausted by fear and overwhelmed by the adult emotions surrounding her. She clung to me with tiny fists, her dark eyes wide and trusting despite the chaos above us. Looking at her innocent face gave me strength I did not know I possessed.
"So everything has been a lie," I said, more to myself than to Don Vincenzo. "My career, my assignment to your case, even my belief about how my father died."
"Not everything," Don Vincenzo said, his voice soft. "Your skills as a psychologist are real. Your compassion is real. And your father's love for you was real. He died trying to protect you and expose the truth."
Above us, the gunfire was getting closer. I could hear heavy footsteps on the floors overhead, and the sound of doors being kicked open as Burton's men searched the villa room by room. They would find the hidden entrance to the basement eventually - it was only a matter of time.
"We need to get out of here," I said, looking around the basement for another exit.
"There is a tunnel," Don Vincenzo replied, moving toward the far wall. "It leads to the vineyard on the hill behind the property."
But before he could reach the tunnel entrance, the sound that had been my greatest fear echoed through the basement. Heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs, getting closer with each second.
Don Vincenzo immediately moved to position himself between me and the stairs, pulling a gun from his jacket. His face had transformed into something hard and dangerous, the gentle father and protective man replaced by the crime boss he truly was.
"Anna, take Sofia and go to the tunnel," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.
But I found myself frozen in place, staring at the staircase as the footsteps grew louder. Smoke began to filter down from above, and I could smell something burning. They were not just searching the villa - they were destroying it.
The basement door at the top of the stairs exploded inward with a deafening crash that made Sofia scream again. Through the smoke and debris, a figure emerged, moving down the stairs with calm, measured steps despite the chaos above.
Burton Walsh himself stepped through the smoke, gun drawn, smiling coldly at Anna: "Hello, Anna. It's time we had a proper chat."