The Bloodline of Boston and the Secrets Hidden Beneath Sullivan Diner
The rain patted heavily against the pine needles above.
Through the dark, a flashlight beam sliced through the trees, searching the path.
The light was coming from the direction of the estate, moving fast.
“Clara!” a voice called out, carrying over the sound of the wind.
It wasn’t Silvio.
It was Leo.
He had bypassed the tunnel entirely, and he was hunting me down.
I pressed myself against the trunk of the pine, my heart hammering like a trapped bird.
The flashlight beam swept closer, illuminating the wet bark just inches from my face.
The screen of the phone in my pocket suddenly lit up, casting a bright blue glow against the wet fabric of my jacket.
It was an incoming call.
I fumbled in my pocket, my fingers slick with rain and sweat, trying to find the button to silence the screen.
The light was blinding in the pitch-black woods, reflecting off the wet pine needles at my feet.
It was an automated alert from the diner’s security system, a cruel joke from my past life.
“I see you, Clara,” Leo’s voice cut through the dark, closer than before.