Chapter 10 - THE DEBT WE OWE
I screamed, falling backward off the bed as the massive man lunged at me.
The silver blade of the hunting knife flashed in the dim light of the bedroom. I threw my arms up to protect my face, squeezing my eyes shut.
A deafening BANG echoed in the small room.
The man didn't hit me. His body jerked violently sideways in mid-air, crashing heavily into my mother’s dresser. He collapsed onto the floor, clutching a bleeding wound in his thigh, groaning in agony.
Luca stood in the doorway, his gun smoking.
He walked over, kicked the knife away from the man’s hand, and pressed the hot barrel of the gun directly against the mercenary’s forehead.
“Where is she?” Luca asked. His voice wasn't a shout. It was a cold, empty promise of death.
The man spit blood onto the carpet, glaring up at Luca.
“You’re dead, Moretti,” the man sneered. “Vanessa’s boys in the police department are already on their way. They’re going to find you standing over a dead body in your maid’s house. You’re going away for life.”
Answer one: The cleanup crew didn't just come to kidnap my mother. They came to frame Luca for her murder.
Open two: If they were setting a trap for Luca, where was my mother right now?
“I asked you a question,” Luca repeated, digging the barrel harder into the man’s skull. “Where is Margaret Collins?”
“She’s gone,” the man laughed, though it sounded wet and painful. “We handed her off to the cleaners ten minutes ago. They’re taking her to the old rail yards. She’s going to have a tragic accident.”
I grabbed Luca’s arm, sheer panic flooding my veins. “We have to go. Luca, please.”
Luca didn't move his gun. He stared down at the bleeding man.
Reversal: Luca wasn't going to leave the man alive.
I saw the darkness in Luca’s eyes. This was the mafia boss. The man who ordered executions without blinking. If he pulled the trigger now, he would cross a line in front of me that he could never uncross.
“Luca, no!” I yelled, pulling hard on his jacket. “He’s not worth it! My mother is going to die!”
Luca blinked. The coldness in his eyes flickered, replaced by the desperate reality of the ticking clock.
He lowered the gun, delivering a swift, brutal kick to the side of the man’s head. The mercenary went limp, unconscious on the floor.
“Let’s go,” Luca said.
We sprinted back to the SUV. Luca threw it in reverse, tearing up the ruined lawn as we sped back onto the road.
The old Chicago rail yards were ten miles away—a sprawling, abandoned industrial wasteland on the edge of the city limits. It was the perfect place to make a body disappear.
The drive was agonizing. The silence in the car was suffocating, broken only by the wail of distant police sirens heading toward my house. The trap had been sprung, and we had barely escaped.
We broke through the rusted chain-link gates of the rail yard, the headlights illuminating endless rows of decaying train cars and rusted shipping containers.
“Look for tire tracks,” Luca ordered, driving slowly with the lights off to avoid being spotted.
I pressed my face against the freezing glass.
“There!” I pointed.
Deep, fresh grooves in the snow led toward a massive, crumbling warehouse at the far end of the yard. A black van was parked outside, its engine still running.
Luca stopped the SUV behind a rusted train car.
We crept out into the freezing wind.
Through the broken windows of the warehouse, I saw them.
Two men were standing near the edge of a deep, open maintenance pit.
And kneeling on the concrete floor, her hands bound behind her back, coughing violently without her oxygen tank, was my mother.
Answer one: We had found her before they killed her.
Open two: How were we going to get past two heavily armed killers in an open room?
Luca checked his magazine. He had three bullets left.
“Stay here,” Luca whispered to me. “When I start firing, they’re going to take cover. You run in, grab her, and pull her behind the steel pillars.”
“What about you?” I asked, terrified.
Luca gave me a small, sad smile. “I’m going to make sure they never hurt my family again.”
Before I could argue, Luca stepped out from behind the train car and walked directly toward the open warehouse doors.
He didn't sneak. He didn't hide.
He walked into the light, raised his gun, and fired perfectly at the ceiling, shattering a massive glass skylight.
Glass rained down on the two men. They shouted, instinctively dropping to the floor and raising their weapons.
“Hannah, go!” Luca yelled, diving behind a rusted forklift as the men returned fire.
I ran.
I sprinted across the open concrete floor, the sound of bullets echoing like thunder in the massive space. I threw myself onto the ground next to my mother, wrapping my arms around her frail body.
“Mom!” I cried.
“Hannah?” she gasped, her face pale and drawn. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m taking you home,” I sobbed, pulling a shard of broken glass from the floor to saw at the zip-ties on her wrists.
But as the zip-ties snapped, the gunfire suddenly stopped.
I looked up.
Luca was standing up from behind the forklift, his hands raised in the air. His gun was lying on the floor ten feet away.
One of the killers had circled around the back of the warehouse. He was standing directly behind Luca, pressing the barrel of an assault rifle into the back of Luca’s head.
Reversal: The distraction had failed. They had us all.
The second killer walked over to me and my mother, aiming his pistol right at my face.
“Well,” the man smiled cruelly. “Looks like the maid decided to join the party.”
He pulled the hammer back on the gun.
May you like
But before he could pull the trigger, a voice echoed from the dark shadows of the warehouse catwalk above us.
“Drop the weapons, boys.”
