Chapter 4 - THE PRICE OF LOYALTY
Glass rained down on us like sharp diamonds.
The concussive wave of the explosion knocked the breath from my lungs. I hit the hardwood floor hard, my ears ringing with a high-pitched whine.
Strong arms grabbed me instantly, pulling me under the heavy oak desk in the corner of the room.
It was Luca.
His dark suit was dusted with plaster and shattered glass. He hovered over me, shielding my body with his own as debris continued to fall from the ceiling.
“Are you hurt?” he shouted over the blaring security alarms.
I shook my head frantically, my heart hammering against my ribs. “My mother! Luca, he has my mother!”
“I know,” Luca said fiercely, his eyes locking onto mine. “I won't let him hurt her. I swear it on my life.”
Across the room, Vanessa was screaming hysterically, curled into a ball near the ruined window.
Daniel burst through the doorway, a heavy pistol gripped in his weathered hands. Blood was trickling down the side of his forehead, but his eyes were sharp and focused.
“Car bomb at the front gates!” Daniel shouted. “It was a diversion. Carlo’s men are trying to breach the south wall!”
Luca helped me to my feet, his face a mask of cold fury.
“Lock down the perimeter,” Luca ordered. “Get the guests into the basement panic room. Nobody leaves.”
“What about Carlo?” Daniel asked.
“He doesn't want to breach the house,” Luca said, pulling a sleek black handgun from a hidden holster at his waist. “He just wanted to show us he could. He wants the key. And he wants me to come to the rail yard alone.”
“You can't go,” Daniel said, grabbing Luca’s arm. “It’s a suicide mission.”
“He has Emily’s mother, Daniel,” Luca snapped. “Her family saved my father’s life. Do you really think I’m going to let her mother die over a ledger?”
I stared at Luca. My chest tightened painfully. He was the head of a massive empire, a man who commanded fear and respect across the city. Yet here he was, risking everything for a housemaid’s mother.
Answer One. Luca’s loyalty wasn't just a word; it was his religion.
Open Two. But why was Carlo so desperate for the ledger now, after twenty-five years?
Luca turned to Vanessa, who was sobbing uncontrollably on the floor.
“Get up,” Luca commanded, his voice devoid of any warmth.
Vanessa looked up at him, her mascara running down her pale cheeks. “Luca, please… I didn't know he was going to bomb the house. I swear!”
“You’re coming with us,” Luca said, hauling her to her feet by her arm.
“Where?” she cried.
“To trade,” Luca said coldly. “A daughter for a mother.”
Ten minutes later, we were in the back of an armored black SUV, tearing through the rain-slicked streets of Chicago.
I sat in the middle row, my hands shaking so violently I couldn't keep them still. I was clutching my uniform, the fabric still stiff with dried red wine.
Luca sat beside me. He didn't say a word, but he reached out and placed his large, warm hand over my trembling ones. The simple gesture grounded me, stopping the violent shaking.
Daniel was in the front passenger seat, barking orders into a radio, coordinating Luca’s strike teams to silently surround the rail yard.
Vanessa sat in the far back, weeping quietly.
I looked down at the floorboard. My foot brushed against something hidden under the seat.
It was a small, crumpled piece of paper.
I leaned down and picked it up. As I unfolded it, my breath hitched.
It was a child’s drawing, rendered in faded crayon. It showed a house with a red roof, a large oak tree, and three stick figures holding hands.
“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
Luca looked over. His eyes widened when he saw the paper.
“Where did you find that?” he demanded, snatching it from my hands.
“Under the seat. It must have fallen out of Daniel’s coat when he got in,” I said.
Luca stared at the drawing. His face went completely pale.
“I drew this,” Luca whispered. “When I was six years old.”
I looked closer at the drawing. Above the three stick figures, someone had written names in a child’s sloppy handwriting.
Luca. Michael.
And a third name.
Leo.
Reversal.
“Who is Leo?” I asked softly. “I thought it was just you and your brother, Michael.”
Luca slowly raised his eyes. He looked at the back of Daniel’s head in the front seat.
“Daniel,” Luca said, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. “Why do you have a drawing I made thirty years ago? And who the hell is Leo?”
Daniel froze. He slowly lowered the radio.
He didn't turn around.
“Daniel,” Luca repeated, louder this time. “Answer me.”
The older man took a deep, ragged breath. When he finally turned to look at us, his eyes were shining with tears.
“Leo didn't die in the fire, Luca,” Daniel whispered, his voice cracking. “Your father helped me hide him.”
I gasped. Daniel had a son?
“You told me your wife and son died in a house fire before I was born,” Luca said, betrayal lacing his tone.
“My wife did,” Daniel wept. “But Leo survived. Carlo Bellini set that fire, Luca. He wanted to punish me for protecting your father. If Carlo knew Leo survived, he would have hunted him down.”
“Where is he?” Luca demanded. “Where is your son?”
Before Daniel could answer, my phone vibrated in my pocket.
I pulled it out. It was a text message from an unknown number.
It contained a single photo.
It was my mother, tied to a chair in a dark, rusted warehouse. Standing behind her, holding a gun to her head, was a young man in a dark jacket.
My blood ran cold.
“Luca,” I choked out, turning the phone toward him.
Luca looked at the screen. His eyes widened in shock.
He recognized the young man holding the gun to my mother’s head.
“That’s Marcus,” Luca whispered in disbelief. “My newest security guard.”
May you like
Daniel closed his eyes, a tear tracking down his weathered cheek.
“That’s not Marcus, Luca,” Daniel wept. “That’s Leo.”
