Chapter 5 - The Smoke in the Safe Room
The words hung in the cold, dusty air of the cabin, freezing the blood in my veins.
“These aren't bird feathers, Anna. These are GPS coordinates.”
I stared down at the small tattoo on my inner wrist. Michael had told me it was a symbol of our freedom. That once the wedding was over, we would fly away from the dark shadow of his family’s empire.
He hadn't just given me a promise. He had tattooed the map to his insurance policy directly onto my skin.
“The cartel doesn't want you dead, Anna,” Vanessa mocked, pressing the cold barrel of her silver pistol harder against my chest. “They just want the girl with the map. And once I hand you over to them, they will give me the money to rebuild my family’s empire.”
“They’ll kill my baby,” I choked out, tears of absolute terror spilling over my cheeks.
“Probably,” Vanessa shrugged, devoid of any human empathy. “But that’s not my problem.”
She shoved me backward with the gun, forcing me toward the heavy wooden door of the cabin.
“Move. There’s a car waiting on the access road,” she commanded.
I stumbled, my hand instinctively bracing my swollen belly. I looked frantically around the small, cluttered cabin. There had to be something—a tool, a heavy object, anything. But Vanessa was too close, her finger resting firmly on the trigger.
“I said move!” she shrieked, her patience snapping.
Before I could take another step, a deafening, thunderous CRASH shattered the stillness of the woods outside.
Vanessa jumped, swinging her gun toward the window.
The heavy oak front door of the cabin didn't just open. It was violently kicked off its iron hinges, sending splintered wood flying across the room.
Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the moonlight, was a towering, terrifying figure.
His expensive white shirt was covered in soot and blood. He held a massive tactical shotgun in one hand, pumping the action with a terrifying, metallic clack.
It was Luca.
He had survived the explosion in the safe room.
Vanessa screamed, wildly firing her pistol toward the doorway.
Bang. Bang.
The bullets missed wildly, shattering the window frame behind Luca.
Luca didn't flinch. He didn't even raise the shotgun.
He moved with the terrifying, blinding speed of a predator. He crossed the small cabin in two massive strides, his free hand lashing out and grabbing Vanessa by the throat, hoisting her off the floor and slamming her brutally against the log wall.
Her pistol clattered uselessly to the floorboards.
Vanessa gagged, her legs kicking frantically in the air as Luca’s massive, tattooed hand squeezed her windpipe.
“You left my brother to burn in a car,” Luca roared, a sound so primal and full of agony it shook the dust from the rafters. “And you thought I would let you take his child?”
“Luca, wait!” I screamed, terrified he was going to snap her neck right in front of me. “The tattoo! She said Michael hid the cartel’s account numbers in my tattoo!”
Luca froze, his eyes darting to my wrist, then back to Vanessa’s purple, choking face.
He slowly lowered her until her feet touched the ground, but he didn't release his iron grip on her throat.
“Is it true?” Luca demanded in a lethal whisper.
Vanessa gasped for air, tears of genuine terror streaming down her face. She nodded frantically. “Yes! Yes, the cartel knows! They’re looking for her, Luca! If you kill me, they’ll just send a hundred more men!”
Luca stared at the woman he had almost married, his expression shifting from blind rage to a cold, calculating disgust.
He released her throat. Vanessa collapsed to the floor, coughing violently, clutching her neck.
“The cartel wants the coordinates,” Luca stated calmly. “So we’ll give them the coordinates.”
I looked at him in shock. “You want to give them Michael’s insurance policy?”
“I want to give them a grave,” Luca corrected softly.
He pulled a heavy zip-tie from his pocket, yanking Vanessa’s arms behind her back and securing them tightly.
“Get up,” Luca ordered her, prodding her with the barrel of the shotgun.
He turned to me, his dark eyes softening instantly. He reached out and gently touched my face, wiping a smudge of dirt from my cheek.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice thick with a fierce, protective emotion.
“No,” I breathed, leaning into his touch for just a fraction of a second. “How did you survive the blast?”
“Victor is arrogant,” Luca replied grimly. “He thought a grenade would kill me. He forgot I built that safe room. I dove into the reinforced weapons locker.”
He looked down at my wrist, inspecting the beautiful, abstract swallow tattoo.
“Can you read it?” he asked.
I shook my head. “It just looks like feathers to me.”
Luca pulled a small UV flashlight from his tactical belt—a tool he always carried for checking forged currency. He clicked it on and shined the purple light over my skin.
Under the UV light, the black ink of the feathers disappeared, revealing a hidden layer of ultraviolet ink glowing brightly beneath the surface.
It was a string of numbers. Longitude and latitude.
Luca’s eyes widened. “He didn't hide it in a bank, Anna.”
“Where did he hide it?” I asked, my heart pounding.
“St. Jude’s Church,” Luca breathed. “The coordinates lead to the crypt beneath the old cathedral downtown.”
“That’s where he told me to go!” I realized. “The last thing he said before he died... ‘Trust only Father Thomas at St. Jude’s.’”
Luca nodded, his mind working with terrifying speed.
“Victor and the cartel don't know where the coordinates lead,” Luca deduced. “They only know you have the map. We have the advantage.”
He grabbed Vanessa by the collar of her tactical shirt, hauling her toward the door.
“We go to St. Jude’s,” Luca commanded. “We get whatever my brother hid. And then we end this.”
We rushed out of the cabin, the cold night air biting at my skin. Luca led us to the old hunting truck parked behind the shed. He threw Vanessa roughly into the back seat, locking the doors.
He opened the passenger door for me, his large hand gently supporting my back as I climbed in, mindful of my pregnancy.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, a promise that felt heavier than anything he had said tonight.
He jumped into the driver’s seat, hot-wiring the old truck in seconds. The engine roared to life, and we tore down the dirt access road, leaving the burning chaos of the mansion miles behind us.
The drive to downtown Chicago was a tense, agonizing blur. The rain had started to fall, slicking the dark streets and washing the dirt from the windshield.
I sat in the passenger seat, staring out into the night, my hand resting protectively over my belly.
“Luca,” I said softly, breaking the silence.
He glanced at me, his eyes full of shadows. “Yes, Anna?”
“Why didn't Michael just tell you about Vanessa?” I asked, the question gnawing at my heart. “Why hide the proof? You’re his brother. You would have believed him.”
Luca gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white.
“Because he knew I wouldn't have just called off the wedding, Anna,” Luca said, his voice laced with a profound, agonizing guilt. “He knew I would have killed her. And her father. And anyone else involved.”
He looked at me, his expression shattering with vulnerability.
“Michael was the good one,” Luca whispered. “He hated the violence. He hated the life. He was trying to build an airtight case to give to the Commission, to legally strip the Bellini family of their power without starting a bloody street war. He died trying to keep my hands clean.”
Tears spilled over my lashes. Michael had always been a protector. Even in death, he was still trying to save his brother.
“He loved you, Luca,” I cried softly.
Luca didn't answer, but I saw a single tear slip down his cheek, reflecting in the dim dashboard light.
We pulled up to the towering, gothic structure of St. Jude’s Catholic Church just as the clock struck 3:00 AM. The massive stained-glass windows were dark, the heavy oak doors shut tight against the storm.
Luca dragged Vanessa out of the back seat, keeping his shotgun raised.
We hurried up the stone steps. Luca banged heavily on the thick wooden doors.
A moment later, the door creaked open.
An elderly priest with kind, tired eyes peeked out. He saw the shotgun and Vanessa’s bound hands, and his face went pale.
“Father Thomas?” I asked, stepping into the light.
The priest looked at me, then down at my pregnant belly. His eyes widened in recognition.
“Anna,” Father Thomas breathed, opening the door wider. “Thank God. Michael told me you would come.”
We rushed inside, the heavy doors slamming shut behind us, locking out the storm.
But as we stood in the dim, candlelit nave of the massive cathedral, a slow, mocking applause echoed from the shadows near the altar.
“Bravo, Luca,” a smooth, accented voice called out.
From behind the pews, stepping into the flickering candlelight, was Victor.
The traitorous security chief wasn't alone. He was flanked by six heavily armed mercenaries wearing the insignia of the Reyes Cartel.
“You really think you could outrun me in my own city?” Victor sneered, raising an assault rifle.
May you like
He pointed the barrel directly at Father Thomas.
“Give me the girl, Luca,” Victor demanded, “or I paint this holy altar with the priest’s brains.”
