Chapter 7 - THE DRAWING
The air in the old winery turned to ice.
Rafe Lombardi stepped fully into the dim light, the assault rifle resting comfortably against his shoulder. Behind him, three more heavily armed men stepped from the shadows, fanning out to cover the exits.
Emily’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She looked up at the catwalk. Enzo was holding Leo tightly, shielding the boy with his own body.
“Rafe,” Santino said, his voice deadly calm. He didn't lower his handgun, though it was useless against four rifles. “You’ve made your point. Let the woman and the boy go. This is between you and me.”
“You still don't get it, Santino,” Rafe sighed, shaking his head. “You think this is about revenge? This is business. The Cartel wants the ports wide open. You wanted to go legitimate. You were bad for the bottom line.”
Rafe paced slowly, his boots crunching on the stone floor.
“I had it all worked out,” Rafe continued. “Maya found out about the shipments. I ran her off the road. I rigged your brakes the next day so you’d go over the cliff, too. But you survived. You ended up in a chair, playing the crippled martyr, while I ran the streets.”
Emily felt sick. Three years of grief, of struggling, of lying awake at night wondering why her sister had to die—all because of this man’s greed.
“You killed the woman I loved,” Santino growled, his knuckles white around the grip of his gun.
“And today, I’ll kill her bastard son,” Rafe sneered. He pointed his rifle toward the catwalk. “Bring the boy down, Enzo! Or I’ll shoot him through the railing!”
“No!” Emily screamed, stepping between Rafe’s line of sight and the catwalk.
“Move, Miss Taylor,” Rafe warned.
“Enzo, don't move!” Santino shouted.
Rafe smiled a cold, dead smile. He raised the rifle to his shoulder and aimed squarely at Emily’s chest. “Suit yourself.”
BANG.
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space.
Emily flinched, bracing for the impact.
But it didn't come.
Instead, one of Rafe’s men toppled forward, a red stain blooming on his shoulder.
Rafe spun around.
More gunshots erupted from the main entrance. Victoria Ferrara stood in the doorway, a sleek silver pistol in her hand. Behind her poured a dozen of Santino’s most loyal enforcers, weapons drawn.
“Get away from my brother!” Victoria screamed.
Chaos erupted.
Gunfire flashed in the dim light. The deafening roar of bullets hitting stone and wood filled the air.
Santino grabbed Emily by the waist and threw her behind a massive oak barrel just as a spray of bullets tore through the space where they had been standing.
“Stay down!” Santino yelled over the gunfire.
He leaned around the barrel, firing precisely at Rafe’s men.
Emily covered her ears, her eyes squeezed shut, praying for Leo. The smell of sulfur and splintered wood was suffocating.
Suddenly, a heavy thud sounded beside her.
She opened her eyes. Enzo had scrambled down a secondary wooden ladder in the back, clutching Leo. The old man was bleeding from a graze on his arm, but he thrust Leo into Emily’s arms.
“Take him!” Enzo gasped. “The back exit through the cellar. Go!”
Emily grabbed Leo, burying his face in her shoulder. “Come on, Leo, close your eyes!”
She crawled behind the barrels, following the wall toward the heavy iron door Enzo had pointed to.
She pushed the door open. It led to a dark, damp tunnel.
She ran. Her breath burned in her throat. She didn't stop until they reached a heavy metal grate leading out into the vineyard.
She pushed the grate open and climbed out into the cool night air, dragging Leo with her.
They collapsed into the tall grass.
“Aunt Emily, I’m scared,” Leo whimpered, clinging to her neck.
“I know, baby, I know,” she cried, kissing his forehead. “We’re safe now.”
As she held him, she felt something crinkle in his pocket. She pulled it out.
It was a piece of folded paper. A drawing.
It was the same drawing she had seen on his nightstand that morning. The woman with yellow hair holding the boy. But now, he had added something.
A tall man in a dark suit was standing next to them.
“Who is this, Leo?” she asked softly.
“That’s my dad,” Leo said innocently. “Enzo told me my dad is a king.”
Before Emily could smile, a heavy boot stepped into the grass beside her.
She looked up.
May you like
Rafe Lombardi stood over them, his face smeared with blood and soot. He grabbed Emily by the hair, dragging her violently to her feet, and pressed the hot barrel of his rifle against her temple.
“Scream,” Rafe whispered into her ear. “Call the king out of his castle.”
