Chapter 4 - THE PHOTOGRAPH HIDDEN IN THE LINING
I stopped breathing.
The voice was terrifyingly calm, slipping out from between the hanging furs like a snake.
Grace gasped, burying her face into Anna’s shoulder.
A man stepped out from the deep shadows at the back of the coatroom.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing a tactical vest. In the dim red emergency light, I recognized his face from the family portraits hanging in the hallway.
Marcus Moretti.
He held a suppressed pistol in his right hand.
“Marcus,” Anna breathed, pulling Grace behind her. “You’re alive.”
“Surprise,” Marcus sneered. He looked terrible. His face was gaunt, his eyes wild and desperate.
He didn't look like a wealthy mafia heir. He looked like a hunted animal.
“Stay away from them,” I said, stepping between Marcus and the two women.
My voice shook, but I forced my feet to stay planted.
Marcus laughed softly, aiming the gun at my chest.
“The brave little maid. Celia always said you had too much attitude for a servant. Move aside, Emma. I’m just here for my daughter.”
“I’m not your daughter!” Grace cried out from behind Anna.
Marcus’s face hardened. “I raised you. I bought you your first bicycle. I am the only father you’ve ever known.”
“You let her think I was dead!” Anna shouted. “You stole her from me!”
“I saved her from living in a trailer park with a mechanic’s whore!” Marcus spat.
He took a step closer, raising the gun higher.
“Now move. Both of you. The Colombian cartel doesn't like to be kept waiting.”
The words hit the small room like a bomb.
“The cartel?” I whispered, my mind racing.
Answer one: Marcus didn't come back to save his mother or reclaim his family. He came to pay off a debt.
Open two: If Marcus owed the cartel, why did he need a thirteen-year-old girl to pay them?
“You faked your death two years ago because you owed them money,” I realized aloud, staring at him. “And now they found you.”
Marcus’s jaw clenched. “I lost a shipment. It wasn't my fault. But they don't care about excuses. They want five million dollars, or they want blood.”
He looked at Grace with terrifying, absolute indifference.
“A Moretti princess is worth double that on the black market. Luca will pay them whatever they want to get her back. I just have to deliver her.”
He was going to sell his own adopted daughter to save his life.
“You’re a monster,” Anna sobbed, shielding Grace completely.
“I’m a survivor,” Marcus corrected.
He reached out and grabbed my shoulder, shoving me violently against the wall. My head cracked against the wood paneling, making my vision swim.
“No!” Grace screamed.
Marcus grabbed Anna by the hair, throwing her to the floor. He seized Grace by the arm, dragging the terrified girl toward the coatroom door.
“Let me go!” Grace shrieked, kicking at his legs.
I scrambled up, my head throbbing.
I grabbed the first thing my hand touched—the heavy, blood-soaked blue coat hanging near me.
I threw it directly over Marcus’s head, blinding him for a split second.
Marcus cursed, releasing Grace to pull the heavy fabric off his face.
“Run, Grace! Hide behind the racks!” I yelled.
Grace bolted into the back of the coatroom, disappearing into the dark rows of winter coats.
Marcus ripped the coat off, his eyes burning with fury. He raised his gun, aiming it squarely at my forehead.
“You stupid bitch,” Marcus hissed.
Before he could pull the trigger, something fell out of the pocket of the heavy blue coat I had thrown.
It fluttered to the floor, landing right between us.
It was a glossy 8x10 photograph.
Marcus froze. He stared at the picture on the floor, the color completely draining from his face.
I looked down.
The photograph showed Marcus sitting at a table in a dark restaurant.
But he wasn't meeting with a Colombian cartel member.
He was sitting across the table from a woman.
A woman wearing a bright green dress and a diamond bracelet.
Celia.
“What is this?” I breathed, my heart hammering.
If Marcus had faked his death two years ago, why was there a recent photograph of him secretly meeting with his mother?
Marcus panicked. He knelt to grab the photo, taking his gun off me for a fraction of a second.
It was all I needed.
I kicked his hand with everything I had.
The suppressed pistol clattered across the hardwood floor, sliding under a heavy mahogany bench.
Marcus roared in anger, lunging for me.
But suddenly, the heavy steel door of the coatroom was kicked open so hard it tore the hinges from the frame.
Standing in the red emergency light of the hallway, holding a massive shotgun, was Luca.
He didn't hesitate. He racked the shotgun with a deafening CLACK.
“Step away from her, Marcus,” Luca said.
His voice wasn't loud. It was the sound of a graveyard.
Marcus froze, his hands raised, staring down the barrel of Luca’s weapon.
Luca stepped into the room. He looked at me, then at Anna on the floor, and finally at Grace hiding in the back.
When he saw that we were safe, his terrifying focus locked entirely on his cousin.
“You brought cartel mercenaries into my home,” Luca said softly.
“They made me do it, Luca!” Marcus begged, backing away. “They were going to skin me alive!”
Luca didn't look at the begging man.
He looked down at the floor. He saw the photograph lying near my feet.
Luca picked it up.
He stared at the image of Marcus meeting secretly with Celia.
“Answer one,” Luca whispered, the betrayal burning in his dark eyes. “You didn't break in tonight. Your mother let you in.”
He looked at Marcus.
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“But open two. Why is there a child’s drawing sticking out of your tactical vest?”
TITLE: THE CHILD'S DRAWING OF A MONSTER
