Chapter 5 - THE ROSARY
The world tilted. The air in the small office evaporated.
“Leo,” Emily choked out, panic wrapping around her throat like a physical hand. “No, no, no…”
She shoved past Victoria, sprinting out of the office and down the mahogany corridor. Her heels slammed against the hardwood floors. She didn't care who saw her. She didn't care about the rules of the house.
She burst into the main foyer just as Santino rolled out of the West Parlor.
“Emily?” he called out, alarmed by her pale face and frantic breathing.
“I need a car!” she screamed at Enzo, who was standing near the door. “Now!”
“Miss Taylor, calm yourself—” Enzo began.
“Give her a damn car, Enzo!” Santino roared, his voice shaking the crystal chandelier above them.
Emily didn't wait. She ran out the front doors and threw herself into the back of the closest black SUV idling in the driveway. A driver scrambled into the front seat.
“Atwells Avenue. Drive like you want to live,” Emily ordered.
Before the driver could hit the gas, the back door opened, and Santino hurled himself into the seat beside her. He had abandoned his chair on the steps, pulling himself into the vehicle with sheer upper-body strength.
“Drive!” Santino barked at the driver.
The SUV tires squealed as it tore down the driveway.
Santino turned to Emily, his chest heaving. “What happened? Tell me right now.”
Emily was hyperventilating, tears streaming down her face. She couldn't keep the secret anymore. If Rafe got to Leo, nothing else mattered.
“My name is Emily Taylor,” she sobbed. “But Maya was my half-sister. I’ve been raising her son for three years.”
Santino went perfectly still. The blood drained from his face. “Her son?”
“Leo,” Emily cried. “He’s five. He’s yours, Santino. She was pregnant when she left. She found out Victoria was smuggling, and she tried to run. But it wasn't Victoria who hit her car. It was Rafe. And Rafe is going to my apartment right now.”
Santino’s eyes widened in raw, unadulterated shock. He hadn't known. The grief and revelation crashed over him in a visible wave. But it lasted only a second. The mob boss returned, his eyes turning to black ice.
He pulled a heavy, black handgun from his ankle holster.
“Call your neighbor,” he ordered.
Emily fumbled for her phone. Her hands shook so violently she dropped it twice. She finally dialed Mrs. Higgins.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
“Hello?” Mrs. Higgins’s voice was a terrified whisper.
“Mrs. Higgins! Is Leo okay? Are you safe?”
“Emily, thank god,” the old woman cried softly. “Someone just tried to kick the door in. I locked the deadbolts, but the wood is splintering. I hid Leo in the laundry chute in the hallway. I’m in the bathroom.”
“We are two minutes away,” Santino shouted toward the phone. “Do not open that door!”
The SUV skidded around the corner onto Atwells Avenue, hopping the curb in front of Emily’s dilapidated apartment building.
Santino didn't wait for his chair. He kicked the door open. To Emily’s absolute shock, he didn't fall.
He grabbed the doorframe, pulled himself up, and stood. His legs were shaking, braced heavily against the car, but he was standing.
“You can walk?” Emily gasped.
“Partial recovery. I kept it a secret to see who would betray me,” he said grimly. “Looks like I found out.”
He leaned heavily on the driver, hobbling rapidly toward the building entrance. Emily sprinted ahead of them, taking the stairs two at a time.
She reached the third floor.
Her apartment door was hanging open, the wood around the deadbolt completely shattered.
“Leo!” Emily screamed, running inside.
The living room was trashed. The sofa overturned.
But it was empty.
Emily rushed to the hallway and tore open the small wooden door of the laundry chute.
It was empty.
“Leo!” she shrieked, falling to her knees.
Santino appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily, his gun raised. He surveyed the wreckage.
“He took him,” Emily sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “He’s gone.”
Santino moved painfully into the room. He stopped near the overturned sofa. He reached down and picked something up from the floor.
He held it out.
It was a heavy, wool coat.
“Rafe didn't take him,” Santino said, his voice breaking.
May you like
Emily looked up. She recognized the coat.
It belonged to Enzo Baron.
