The Bloodline of Boston and the Secrets Hidden Beneath Sullivan Diner
The air inside the bank lobby was warm and smelled of old paper and floor wax.
The silence was absolute.
My wet boots squeaked on the marble floor as I carried the twins toward the basement stairs.
The stairs were narrow and steep, winding down into the dark underbelly of the building.
I found the light switch at the bottom of the steps.
A single fluorescent bulb flickered to life, humming softly.
The private vault room was lined with hundreds of small, dull steel boxes.
I set the twin carriers down on a wooden table in the center of the room.
My hands were shaking.
I pulled the silver key from my pocket.
It was engraved with the number 304.
I walked down the rows of steel boxes until I found the brass plate marked 304.
I inserted the key.
It turned smoothly, the lock releasing with a heavy metallic clank.
I pulled the long metal box out of its sleeve and carried it to the table.
Luca stirred in his seat, letting out a soft sigh.
“Shh,” I whispered, touching his warm forehead. “Just a little longer.”