Chapter 8 - The Edge of the Roof
The shotgun was steady.
Luca didn’t hesitate. He dropped his pistol. It clattered against the linoleum.
“Kick it away,” the fake guard ordered.
Luca kicked it under the overturned wheelchair.
Sophie held Leo tightly against her chest, shielding the boy’s head with her uninjured arm. She was shaking violently, but she didn’t make a sound.
“Romanov sends his regards,” the guard smirked. “He said to tell you he appreciates you gathering everyone in one place. Makes the cleanup easier.”
“He’s going to kill a seven-year-old boy?” Luca asked, keeping his voice level. “His own son?”
The guard laughed. “Dmitri doesn’t care about the kid. He cares that Vanessa stole from him before she ran. Five million in bearer bonds. The kid was just her insurance policy.”
Luca’s eyes darted around the room.
The unconscious man on the floor. The heavy oxygen tank Leo had used to hit him.
“Where are the bonds?” Luca asked, buying time.
“Sewn into the lining of the kid’s winter coat,” the guard said, nodding toward a dirty blue puffer jacket discarded on the bed. “Clever bitch. Now, on your knees, Moretti.”
Luca slowly lowered himself to one knee.
As he did, his hand brushed against the cuff of his tuxedo jacket.
The heavy, braided silver bracelet he had taken from Arthur Bellini was still in his pocket.
“Sophie,” Luca said quietly, not taking his eyes off the guard. “Close your eyes.”
“What?” the guard snapped. “Shut up!”
With lightning speed, Luca pulled the silver bracelet from his pocket and threw it as hard as he could, right at the guard's face.
The heavy metal caught the man squarely in the bridge of the nose with a sickening crunch.
The guard stumbled backward, crying out in pain, his finger jerking the trigger.
The shotgun blasted, blowing a massive hole in the ceiling above Luca’s head, raining plaster down on the room.
Before the guard could pump the action, Luca launched himself forward.
He tackled the man into the hallway, slamming him against the concrete wall. Luca delivered a brutal right hook, knocking the guard out cold.
Luca grabbed the shotgun, his breathing ragged.
He turned back to Sophie and Leo. They were covered in white dust, but unhurt.
“Stay here,” Luca commanded. “Lock the door.”
“My mother—” Sophie cried.
“I’m getting her.”
Luca sprinted for the stairwell, taking the steps three at a time toward the roof access door.
He kicked the heavy metal door open.
The Chicago wind hit him instantly, cold and biting. The rain was coming down harder now.
Near the ledge of the four-story drop stood the second hitman.
He was holding a frail woman in a hospital gown—Sophie’s mother, Martha. She was dangling halfway over the edge, terrified and weeping.
“Stop right there!” the hitman yelled, seeing Luca emerge. “Or I drop her!”
Luca froze, leveling the shotgun. “You drop her, I cut you in half before you can blink.”
“You think I care?” the man sneered. “I’m dead anyway if I go back to Romanov without the kid!”
Luca’s mind raced. He couldn’t risk a shot; if the man fell, he’d take Martha with him.
“Romanov doesn’t want the kid,” Luca yelled over the wind. “He wants the bonds! Five million dollars!”
The hitman hesitated. “What?”
“Vanessa sewed them into the kid’s coat,” Luca lied seamlessly. “I have the coat. I left it in the stairwell. Let her go, take the coat, and walk away. You’re rich, and Romanov never has to know.”
Greed flickered in the hitman’s eyes.
It was the universal weakness of mercenaries.
“Bring it out here,” the man demanded.
“I can’t,” Luca said, taking a slow step forward. “I dropped it on the third-floor landing when I heard the gunshot.”
The man looked at the stairwell door. Then at Martha.
He shoved Martha roughly onto the wet gravel of the roof and drew his pistol, aiming at Luca. “If you’re lying, I’ll come back up here and finish both of you.”
The man stepped away from the ledge, walking toward Luca.
He made it two steps before a deafening CRACK echoed across the roof.
The hitman’s eyes went wide. He collapsed forward, dropping his gun.
Standing in the doorway behind Luca, holding Luca’s discarded pistol in her trembling hands, was Sophie.
She had followed him.
She dropped the gun and fell to her knees, sobbing as she crawled across the wet gravel to her mother.
Luca stood frozen, staring at the small, terrified maid who had just saved his life.
He walked over, kneeling beside them on the cold roof. He wrapped his tuxedo jacket around Martha’s shivering shoulders.
Then, he reached out and pulled Sophie against his chest.
She didn’t resist. She buried her face in his shoulder, crying uncontrollably.
“It’s over,” Luca whispered into her hair. “You’re safe. Both of you.”
But as he held her, Luca noticed something clenched in Martha’s frail hand.
A crumpled, torn photograph.
“Mrs. Bennett,” Luca said gently. “What is that?”
Martha looked up, her face pale.
“The man,” she wheezed. “He dropped it when he grabbed me.”
Luca took the photograph.
It was an old surveillance photo. It showed a black car running a silver sedan off a rainy road.
The silver sedan was Michael’s car, the day he died.
But the black car didn’t have Romanov plates.
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It had the license plate of Gino, Luca’s head of security.
TITLE: The Traitor in the Ranks
