Chapter 5 - THE MAN WITH THE SCAR
The cast-iron skillet slipped from my fingers, hitting the floorboards with a dull, heavy thud.
Marco’s gun didn’t waver.
Mia was sobbing quietly now, burying her face into Vanessa’s red silk coat.
“Marco,” I whispered, trying to keep the panic out of my throat. “Luca trusts you. He treats you like a brother.”
“Luca is a boy playing a man’s game,” Marco spat. He had a jagged scar running from his ear to his collarbone, pale in the lantern light. “His father was soft, and Luca is softer. The Bellinis know how to run a city.”
Mr. Bellini set the rusted lockbox on the table. “Don’t waste time talking to the maid, Marco. Get Luca in here. I want him to watch me burn this ledger before I put him in the ground.”
Marco backed toward the door, keeping his weapon trained on me.
But as he reached the threshold, a massive shadow stepped out of the darkness.
Luca didn’t use a gun. He moved with a terrifying, silent speed. He wrapped one arm around Marco’s throat, yanking him backward off balance, while his other hand slammed the butt of his Glock into Marco’s temple.
Marco crumpled to the floor without a sound.
Vanessa screamed, dropping Mia’s hand.
“Mia, run!” I yelled.
The little girl didn’t hesitate. She bolted across the room and slammed into my legs. I scooped her up, shielding her with my body.
Luca stepped into the cabin. The bleeding on his knuckles had seeped through the white handkerchief. The rage in his eyes was absolute.
Mr. Bellini reached for a gun inside his jacket, but Luca fired a warning shot that shattered the lantern on the table.
Kerosene spilled out, catching fire immediately. A wall of flames erupted between us and the Bellinis.
“The box!” Bellini screamed, trying to reach through the flames for the rusted metal case.
Luca lunged, kicking the table over. The lockbox slid across the floor, stopping right at my feet.
“Take the box and the girl!” Luca yelled over the roar of the fire. “Get to the car!”
“I’m not leaving you!” I cried.
“Emily, go!”
I grabbed the heavy handle of the lockbox with one hand, holding Mia tightly to my chest with the other. I ran out the back door as the cabin’s curtains caught fire.
The cold night air hit my lungs like glass. I sprinted through the brush toward the SUV. Frank was already out of the car, tears streaming down his face as he took Mia from my arms.
“Papa!” Mia cried, burying her face in his neck.
I threw the lockbox into the trunk.
A moment later, Luca emerged from the tree line. He was alone. He wasn’t running; he walked with a grim, deliberate stride.
Behind him, the cabin burned bright orange against the night sky.
“Where are they?” I asked, breathless.
“They got out the front. They’re gone,” Luca said. He looked at Mia, making sure she was unharmed, before turning his attention to the rusted box in the trunk.
He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the tire iron from the emergency kit and smashed the rusty padlock. It broke off with a harsh snap.
Luca opened the lid.
We both leaned in, expecting to see a leather-bound ledger detailing decades of mafia extortion and theft.
The box was empty.
Wait. Not completely empty.
Lying at the bottom of the rusted metal was a single, folded piece of thick white paper.
Luca picked it up. His hands were shaking again. He unfolded it under the SUV’s trunk light.
It wasn’t a ledger. It was a child’s drawing done in bright crayon.
It showed a stick figure of a man with a badge. A police officer. Standing next to a little girl with blonde hair. My hair.
Written in my father’s unmistakable handwriting across the top were three words:
I kept her.
May you like
Luca looked at me, all the color draining from his face.
“Emily,” he whispered. “You’re not Thomas Hayes’s daughter.”
