Chapter 6 - THE HOSTAGE AND THE HIDDEN FLIGHT
The line went dead.
Luca stared at the phone in his hand, the dial tone buzzing like a dying insect in the heavy silence of the SUV.
“Montreal,” Luca breathed, the word tasting like ash.
“She found Clara,” I whispered, the horror creeping up my throat. “My mother kept tabs on them. She knew where my father and your sister were hiding all these years.”
“And now Richard Bellini knows,” Marco said from the driver's seat, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror. “Boss, if Bellini gets to Clara before we do, he’ll use her as the ultimate leverage. He’ll trade her life for the Moretti empire.”
“He won't get the chance,” Luca said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, absolute calm. “Marco. Call the airfield. Get the jet ready for immediate takeoff. We’re going to Montreal.”
“Wait!” I yelled, grabbing Luca’s arm. “What about my mother?! Vanessa and Richard are still at her house!”
Luca looked at me, the conflict tearing at him. He had just found out his sister—the sister he thought had burned to death nineteen years ago—was alive and in imminent danger. But his aunt, the woman who had protected my life, was currently being held hostage by the same monsters.
“Marco,” Luca ordered, his eyes never leaving mine. “Pull over. Now.”
The heavy SUV screeched to a halt on the shoulder of the highway, gravel kicking up into the dark night.
Luca turned to his head of security.
“Marco, take the trailing vehicle and four men,” Luca commanded, his voice sharp and precise. “Go to Sarah’s house. Breach the doors. If Richard or Vanessa raise a weapon, put them down. Secure my aunt.”
“Yes, Boss,” Marco nodded, unbuckling his seatbelt.
“And Marco,” Luca added, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “I want them alive if possible. They know Clara’s exact location. We need that information.”
Marco stepped out of the SUV and ran to the trailing car. Within seconds, the second vehicle tore away, speeding toward my mother’s neighborhood.
Luca climbed into the driver's seat of our SUV, shifting the car back into gear.
“Where are we going?” I asked, my hands shaking as I buckled my seatbelt in the passenger seat.
“To the airfield,” Luca said, hitting the gas. “We have to be ready to fly the second Marco secures the location.”
The drive to the private airfield was a blur of neon lights and rain-slicked pavement. I stared out the window, praying silently. Praying that my mother was safe. Praying that my father, the man I thought I had buried nineteen years ago, was still alive and strong enough to protect Clara one last time.
We pulled onto the tarmac of the private airfield just as Luca’s phone buzzed in the center console.
He snatched it up, putting it on speaker. “Marco. Status.”
“House is secure, Boss,” Marco’s voice crackled through the speaker, tight with adrenaline. “We breached the front and back doors simultaneously. Sarah is safe. She took a hit to the face, but she’s conscious.”
I let out a sob of pure relief, covering my face with my hands.
“And the Bellinis?” Luca demanded.
There was a heavy pause on the other end of the line.
“They’re gone, Boss,” Marco said, frustration bleeding into his voice. “They slipped out the back window before we breached. But they left a mess behind. They tore the bedroom apart looking for the safety deposit box.”
“Did they get the location?” Luca asked, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.
“I’m looking at the open lockbox now,” Marco replied. “It’s empty. They took the photos and the address.”
Luca cursed violently in Italian, slamming his fist against the dashboard.
“Let me talk to her,” I pleaded, leaning toward the phone. “Let me talk to my mom.”
“Hold on,” Marco said.
A moment later, I heard the sound of heavy breathing and a weak cough.
“Emily?” my mother’s voice whispered through the speaker.
“Mom, I’m here,” I cried. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I brought this to your door.”
“You didn't bring this, sweetheart,” Sarah said, her voice sounding incredibly tired but surprisingly steady. “This was always coming. Antonio knew it. Thomas knew it.”
“Mom, they took the address,” I said, desperation clawing at my throat. “Vanessa and Richard know where Dad and Clara are hiding. We need to know where they are before Bellini gets on a plane.”
Sarah coughed again, a harsh, painful sound.
“They don't have the address, Emily,” Sarah said softly.
Luca and I both froze.
“What do you mean?” Luca asked, leaning closer to the phone.
“Richard Bellini is a greedy, arrogant fool,” Sarah spat, her hatred for the man clear even through the pain. “He found the lockbox under my bed. He saw the plane ticket to Montreal and the photograph of Clara. He thought he had the winning hand, so he grabbed them and ran when he heard your men pulling up outside.”
“But he doesn't know where in Montreal?” Luca pressed.
“No,” Sarah confirmed. “Because Thomas didn't live in Montreal. The plane ticket was a decoy. A backup plan I bought years ago in case we ever needed to run and leave a false trail.”
I let out a breathless gasp of shock. My mother, the quiet seamstress who worried about the electric bill, had outsmarted a mafia boss.
“Where are they, Sarah?” Luca asked, his voice thick with a sudden, overwhelming hope. “Where is my sister?”
“They aren't in Canada, Luca,” Sarah said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “They’ve been hiding in plain sight for nineteen years. They are in a small cabin on the edge of Lake Superior, in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.”
Luca’s eyes widened. “Michigan? They’ve been three hours away this entire time?”
“Thomas knew Bellini would look for them in Europe or Canada,” Sarah explained. “He knew the safest place was the last place anyone would look. In the frozen woods, living off the grid.”
“I’m going to get them,” Luca vowed, his voice fierce and unwavering. “I’m bringing them home, Aunt Sarah.”
“Bring my husband back to me, Luca,” Sarah wept softly. “Please.”
“I swear it on my life.”
Luca hung up the phone. He looked out the windshield at the sleek, white private jet idling on the tarmac, waiting for us.
“Change of plans,” Luca told the pilot standing near the stairs. “We’re not flying to Montreal. Get the helicopter ready. We’re going to Michigan.”
Ten minutes later, I was strapped into the back seat of a massive, black tactical helicopter. Luca sat across from me, securing a heavy Kevlar vest over his dress shirt and checking the magazine of an assault rifle.
The rotors whined to a deafening roar, and the helicopter lifted off the wet tarmac, banking sharply to the north.
I looked down at the dark, sprawling city of Chicago shrinking beneath us. I touched the brass key hanging on a silver chain around my neck—the key Vanessa had tried to use to destroy me.
My father was alive. He was sitting in a cabin in the woods, protecting a nineteen-year-old girl who belonged to the man sitting across from me.
But as the helicopter sped over the dark waters of Lake Michigan, Luca’s phone buzzed again.
He answered it over the headset, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“Marco? I thought you were staying with Sarah.”
Luca listened for a few seconds. The color completely drained from his face, replaced by a mask of pure, unadulterated terror.
“Turn the chopper around!” Luca screamed to the pilot, ripping his headset off.
“Luca, what’s wrong?!” I yelled over the roar of the rotors, panic gripping my heart.
Luca looked at me, his dark eyes wide with fear.
“Richard Bellini didn't go to the airport,” Luca shouted. “He realized the plane ticket was a fake. He didn't run.”
May you like
“Then where is he?” I asked, terrified.
“He went back to the mansion,” Luca said, his voice trembling. “He took Lorenzo hostage in the banquet hall. And he just called Marco to tell him that if I don't sign the Moretti empire over to him in one hour... he’s going to execute fifty of my guests on live television.”
Related Stories
