Chapter 6 - THE HOLLOWED ENGINE BLOCK
I didn't ask how he found me. I just threw open the passenger door and dove into the heated leather interior of Marco’s SUV.
“Lock the door,” Marco ordered, slamming his foot on the gas before I even had my seatbelt secured. The heavy vehicle surged forward, its tires biting into the icy asphalt.
I was shivering uncontrollably, my hands entirely coated in my father’s blood.
Marco glanced over at me, his dark eyes instantly locking onto the crimson stains. His jaw tightened so hard I thought his teeth would crack.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his voice dangerously low.
“It’s my dad,” I sobbed, the adrenaline finally crashing, leaving me weak and terrified. “Celeste’s men shot him. He ran to draw them away from me.”
Marco slammed his hand against the steering wheel, a violent curse escaping his lips.
“I checked your personnel file for your address when Celeste slipped past my guards,” Marco said rapidly, his eyes scanning the dark streets. “I knew she would try to silence anyone connected to the night my father died. Your father was the lead mechanic at the shop that serviced my father’s car.”
“He didn't do it, Mr. Bellini!” I cried, holding up the silver rosary. “He found the cut brake line! Celeste’s father did it, and she’s been blackmailing my dad to keep him quiet!”
Marco stared at the road ahead, the devastating truth finally setting in.
The woman he was supposed to marry today was the daughter of his father’s murderer. And she had spent the last two years systematically destroying anyone who could expose her.
“I know he didn't do it, Olivia,” Marco said quietly.
I looked at him, surprised by the absolute certainty in his voice.
“How do you know?”
“Because Daniel called me twenty minutes ago,” Marco said.
My breath hitched. “Your brother?”
Marco nodded, his grip on the wheel relentless. “He broke protocol and used a smuggled phone from inside the prison. He told me everything, Olivia. He told me Celeste found out he was shifting funds to cover a bad investment. She used that to force him to take the fall for her father’s sabotage.”
“Why would Daniel agree to go to prison for her?” I asked, confused.
Marco’s expression darkened with profound grief. “Because she threatened to frame me for a retaliatory hit if he didn't. Daniel took the embezzlement charge to keep the police away from me. He sacrificed his freedom to protect my life.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks. The loyalty between the brothers was absolute, despite years of orchestrated misunderstandings.
“Where are we going?” I asked, noticing we were heading away from the penitentiary.
“To your father’s repair shop,” Marco said, checking his rearview mirror.
“Why? Celeste’s men are looking for him in the streets!”
“Because your father isn't running aimlessly, Olivia,” Marco explained, his tactical mind taking over. “A wounded man on foot doesn't survive long in this cold. He’s going to ground. He’s heading to the only place he knows he can barricade himself and wait for help.”
Ten minutes later, Marco killed the headlights as we pulled into the alley behind Carter’s Auto Repair.
The shop looked abandoned, the heavy corrugated metal doors pulled shut. But Marco’s eyes caught something I missed.
A fresh trail of blood drops dotted the snow leading directly to the rusted side door.
Marco pulled a heavy, black handgun from the holster beneath his jacket. He turned to me.
“Stay in the car. Keep the doors locked. If you see anyone other than me or your father come out of that door, you drive away and call the police.”
“I’m not leaving you or my dad,” I said stubbornly.
Marco paused, looking deep into my eyes. The mafia boss armor cracked just a fraction, revealing the protective man underneath.
“Just stay behind me,” he ordered softly.
He kicked the side door open.
The garage was pitch black and smelled heavily of motor oil and old tires. We moved silently through the maze of hydraulic lifts and tool chests.
“Dad?” I whispered into the darkness.
A metallic clatter echoed from the back office.
Marco raised his weapon, sweeping the beam of a small tactical flashlight across the room.
My father was slumped against a massive, hollowed-out engine block sitting on a workbench. He was pale, sweating profusely, pressing a grease rag against the gunshot wound in his side.
“Dad!” I ran to him, ignoring Marco’s warning gesture.
My father looked up, offering a weak, relieved smile when he saw me safe. Then his eyes shifted to the armed man stepping out of the shadows.
“Marco,” my father breathed, leaning heavily against the metal block. “I’m sorry I couldn't save your father.”
Marco lowered his weapon. He walked over, stripping off his expensive suit jacket and pressing it firmly against my father’s bleeding wound to staunch the flow.
“You saved my life tonight by protecting Olivia,” Marco said firmly. “The debt is paid, Thomas.”
My father coughed, wincing in pain. “The debt isn't paid yet. Celeste is just a pawn, Marco. Her father didn't act alone.”
Marco froze, his hands still pressing the jacket against the wound. “What do you mean?”
My father reached his bloody hand into the hollowed-out cavity of the engine block behind him. He pulled out a thick, dust-covered leather ledger.
He handed it to Marco.
“Celeste’s father was a drunk,” my father explained, his breathing shallow. “He didn't have the brains to orchestrate a hit on a mafia boss. He was hired. Paid in cash, every month for a year before the crash.”
Marco opened the heavy leather cover. He aimed his flashlight at the pages.
The ledger documented hundreds of illicit payments, money laundering accounts, and bribes.
But it was the signature authorizing the payments to Celeste’s father that made Marco stop breathing entirely.
I looked over his shoulder, reading the elegant, sweeping cursive ink at the bottom of the page.
It was a signature I had seen a dozen times on legal documents at the estate.
“No,” Marco whispered, genuine horror washing over his face.
The signature belonged to Carlo Gambino.
The Bellini family’s trusted Consigliere. The man who had been a second father to Marco for his entire life. The man who was currently sitting in Marco’s study, managing the crisis of the canceled engagement.
“Carlo ordered the hit on your father, Marco,” my father rasped. “Celeste works for him.”
Before Marco could process the catastrophic betrayal, the heavy corrugated metal doors at the front of the garage suddenly groaned loudly.
A blinding spotlight clicked on, flooding the dark garage with harsh, artificial daylight.
Standing in the center of the glare, flanked by six heavily armed men, was Carlo Gambino.
And standing right beside him, holding a silenced pistol, was Celeste.
May you like
Carlo adjusted his expensive tie, offering Marco a sad, patronizing smile.
“It’s a shame, Marco,” Carlo said, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. “You were always so much easier to control than your father.”
