Chapter 6 - THE RED BALLOON
The deafening roar of automatic gunfire in an enclosed steel vault was agonizing.
Sparks rained down over us as bullets ricocheted off the impenetrable safety deposit boxes. I covered my ears, pressing my face into the cold marble floor, clutching my father’s ledger and the child’s drawing against my chest.
Luca fired back with lethal precision. His suppressed handgun coughed three times, and two of Vanessa’s tactical mercenaries dropped to the floor, their weapons clattering across the tiles.
“Covering fire!” Vanessa shrieked, backing out of the vault entrance into the lobby.
The remaining two gunmen unleashed a continuous spray of bullets down our aisle, pinning us behind the overturned viewing table.
“Emma, stay low!” Luca yelled over the gunfire. He ejected his empty magazine and slammed a fresh one in with a sharp clack.
“We’re trapped!” I cried, looking at the single exit at the end of the aisle. The heavy circular vault door was the only way out.
“Not yet,” Luca said, his eyes scanning the ceiling.
He pointed to a large, square ventilation grate directly above us.
“I’m going to lay down suppressive fire,” Luca ordered, his voice steady despite the chaos. “When I move, you climb onto the table, pop that grate, and pull yourself up into the duct. Do not wait for me.”
“I can’t leave you!” I protested, my arms trembling. The medication Dr. Evans had given me was wearing off, and the poison in my system was making my muscles burn with exhaustion.
“You hold the evidence that frees your father,” Luca said fiercely, grabbing my shoulders. “You are the priority. Go!”
Luca stood up, exposing himself to the aisle, and fired rapidly toward the doorway.
The mercenaries ducked for cover.
It was my only chance. I scrambled onto the overturned metal table. The grate was just within reach. I shoved it with both hands. It was heavy, bolted with old screws, but the adrenaline surging through me gave me strength I didn't know I had.
The grate popped loose and crashed to the floor.
I grabbed the edge of the duct and pulled myself up. My arms screamed in pain, my ribs bruising against the metal lip, but I managed to drag myself inside the dark, dusty shaft.
“I’m in!” I yelled down.
Luca didn't answer.
Instead, I heard a sickening thud.
I looked down through the open grate.
One of the mercenaries had managed to flank Luca. The man swung the butt of his rifle like a baseball bat, striking Luca squarely in the temple.
Luca collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
“No!” I screamed, reaching my hand down.
Vanessa walked into view, stepping over the bodies of her fallen men. She looked down at Luca, a disgusted sneer on her face.
Then she looked up at the open grate.
Our eyes met.
“Run, little mouse,” Vanessa mocked, pointing her pistol up into the vent. “There’s nowhere to hide.”
She fired.
The bullet tore through the thin sheet metal inches from my face. I scrambled backward into the darkness of the shaft, my heart hammering wildly as two more shots pierced the metal below me.
“Leave her,” I heard Vanessa command from below. “The duct leads to the roof exhaust. Send a team outside. Grab Luca and the box. We’re taking him to my father.”
I crawled blindly through the narrow, suffocating air duct. The smell of dust and old grease choked me. Every movement sent a spike of agony through my poisoned body. But I couldn't stop.
They took Luca.
After what felt like an eternity of crawling, I saw a faint sliver of moonlight ahead. I kicked the exhaust grate loose and tumbled out onto the flat, tar-paper roof of the bank.
The freezing rain soaked me instantly.
I dragged myself behind a large AC unit, gasping for air. I clutched the ledger and my drawing.
Below, in the alleyway, I heard the screech of tires. I peered over the edge of the roof.
Vanessa’s men were dragging Luca’s unconscious body into the back of a black van. Vanessa climbed into the passenger seat, holding the brass key.
The van sped off into the night.
I was completely alone on the roof of a bank, freezing, poisoned, and holding the only thing that could save my family.
I pulled out my cheap flip-phone. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely press the buttons.
I dialed Mrs. Carter’s emergency number at the estate bunker.
She answered on the first ring. “Emma? Thank God! Where is Mr. Moretti?”
“They took him,” I sobbed, the cold biting into my bones. “Vanessa took him. I’m on the roof of the central bank. Please, you have to send someone.”
“Stay exactly where you are, sweetheart,” Mrs. Carter said, her voice dropping into a tone of absolute authority I had never heard from a housekeeper. “Help is coming.”
Ten minutes later, the heavy metal door to the roof stairwell burst open.
I braced myself, expecting Vanessa’s men.
But it was Marco. Luca’s massive, heavily tattooed captain. He was accompanied by four heavily armed Moretti soldiers.
Marco ran to me and wrapped a thick, warm coat around my shivering shoulders.
“Are you hurt?” he asked gruffly.
“No,” I chattered. “But they have Luca. They’re taking him to Marcus Bellini.”
Marco’s jaw clenched. He looked at the ledger clutched to my chest.
“You got the book.”
“Yes. We can trade it for him.”
Marco shook his head. “Marcus won’t trade. He’ll take the book and kill Luca anyway to eliminate the threat. We don't negotiate with Bellinis. We destroy them.”
Marco helped me to my feet. “We’re taking you to the safehouse. You need medical attention.”
“No,” I refused, pulling away slightly. “I’m not hiding while Luca dies for me.”
I looked down at the child’s drawing I was still holding. The rain had started to smudge the crayon.
The tall man. The curly-haired woman. And the little girl with the red balloon.
I stared at the balloon.
It wasn't just a balloon.
The crayon lines were very specific. It was a red circle with a small black triangle at the bottom, and a squiggly line trailing down.
But as the water washed away a layer of the cheap red wax, something underneath began to reveal itself.
“Wait,” I whispered, wiping the wet paper with my thumb.
Underneath the red crayon of the balloon was ink. Small, precise numbers written by my father.
“Marco, look,” I said, holding it up to his tactical flashlight.
Marco squinted at the numbers.
41.882 - 87.623
“Coordinates,” Marco realized, his eyes widening. “Your father hid coordinates under the drawing.”
“What are they for?” I asked.
Marco pulled out a GPS device and rapidly punched the numbers in. The screen loaded a map of the city, placing a blinking red dot on the far industrial docks.
“Warehouse 44,” Marco read. “It’s an old Bellini smuggling hub that burned down twenty years ago. It’s been abandoned ever since.”
I looked at the ledger.
“The ledger in this book only covers the bribes,” I realized, my mind racing. “But Marcus didn't just bribe people. He stole millions from the Morettis. The money.”
Marco looked at me, a dangerous smile spreading across his scarred face.
“Your father didn't just steal the ledger, Emma. He found where Marcus hid the stolen cash.”
“If we find that money,” I said, my voice hardening, “we don't just have evidence. We have the one thing Marcus Bellini cares about more than his own life.”
May you like
Marco racked the slide of his assault rifle.
“Let’s go steal from the Devil.”
