Chapter 6 - The Service Corridor And The Heavy Coat
I ran faster than I ever had in my life.
The service corridor was dark, lit only by flickering emergency bulbs. It smelled of ozone and damp concrete. Ahead of me, the heavy thud of Carlo’s expensive leather shoes echoed against the walls, accompanied by the terrified cries of a six-year-old boy.
“Let me go!” Leo screamed, his small voice breaking.
“Shut up, you little brat!” Carlo snarled.
I rounded a corner, my stockinged feet slipping on the slick floor. The corridor ended in a set of heavy steel double doors leading to the loading docks.
Carlo kicked the doors open.
I burst through them a second later.
We were outside again, standing on a massive concrete loading platform covered by a corrugated tin roof. The rain hammered against the metal deafeningly. Below the platform, the service road was empty.
Carlo had nowhere left to run.
He spun around, letting go of Leo’s collar, and drew his weapon.
I slammed on the brakes, throwing my hands up. My chest heaved, pulling in jagged breaths of cold air.
Leo stumbled backward, tripping over his own boots. He fell hard onto the wet concrete, scrambling away until his back hit a stack of wooden pallets. He curled into a tight ball, his yellow raincoat shivering violently.
“Don’t take another step, sweetheart,” Carlo warned, aiming the gun directly at my chest. He wasn’t out of breath at all. He looked perfectly composed, his silver hair barely out of place.
“Let the boy go, Carlo,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You can’t get him on a train now. It’s over.”
Carlo laughed. A dry, hollow sound that barely cut through the rain.
“Over?” he mocked. “It’s just beginning. You think I need a train to get rid of this problem? The river is right over there. It worked for his father. It’ll work for him.”
My blood turned to ice. He was going to kill the boy right in front of me.
“Why?” I asked, desperate to keep him talking. “Luca trusted you. He called you family.”
“Luca is a soft, sentimental fool!” Carlo spat. “He took over the Commission and tried to turn us into legitimate businessmen. Shipping manifests? Taxes? We are the Chicago syndicate, not an accounting firm! I sold the boy because the West Side promised me the throne when Luca fell.”
He raised the gun, adjusting his aim toward Leo.
“No!” I screamed, diving forward.
Before I could reach him, a thunderous crack echoed through the loading dock.
It wasn’t Carlo’s gun.
A bullet shattered the brick wall inches from Carlo’s head, showering him in red dust.
Carlo flinched, dropping to a crouch and swinging his weapon toward the service doors.
Luca stood in the doorway.
He had shed his trench coat. His tailored suit was soaked, his white shirt clinging to his massive frame. He held his suppressed handgun with both hands, his dark eyes burning with a rage so absolute it felt physical.
“Step away from the boy, Carlo,” Luca commanded.
Carlo sneered, grabbing Leo by the arm and dragging him up to use as a human shield. He pressed the barrel of his gun against the boy’s temple.
“Drop the gun, Boss,” Carlo taunted. “Or the kid’s brains paint this dock.”
Luca didn’t lower his weapon. He didn’t blink.
“You kill him, and I will spend the rest of my life making sure every person who shares your bloodline suffers,” Luca promised, his voice devoid of all humanity.
“I don’t care about my bloodline,” Carlo smiled. “I care about winning.”
He cocked the hammer.
It was the ultimate escalation. Luca couldn’t shoot without risking Leo. I was too far away to tackle Carlo in time.
But we didn’t have to.
From the dark service road beneath the loading dock, the roar of a massive engine shattered the night.
Blinding, high-beam headlights flared to life, washing the concrete platform in stark, blinding white light.
Carlo cursed, squinting and raising his free hand to shield his eyes.
In that split second of distraction, Luca fired.
He didn’t aim for Carlo’s head or chest. He aimed low.
The bullet shattered Carlo’s kneecap.
Carlo screamed, a horrific, guttural sound, and collapsed, dropping his gun.
Leo broke free, stumbling forward.
I ran, scooping the little boy up in my arms. He buried his face in my neck, sobbing uncontrollably. I held him so tightly my arms ached, backing away toward Luca.
The armored SUV from the alley screeched to a halt right below the platform. My father was behind the wheel.
Luca walked slowly toward Carlo, who was writhing on the wet concrete, clutching his shattered knee.
Luca kicked Carlo’s gun off the edge of the dock. Then, he stood over his former friend.
“You were my father’s right hand,” Luca said quietly. “You held me when I was baptized.”
“Finish it, Luca,” Carlo spat through gritted teeth, blood bubbling on his lips. “You don’t have the stomach for this life anymore. Finish it!”
Luca looked down at him. The rage was gone, replaced by a profound, exhaustion.
“You’re right,” Luca said softly. “I don’t have the stomach for it.”
Luca didn’t shoot him. He turned his back on Carlo and walked over to me.
He reached out and gently touched Leo’s curly hair. The boy peeked up, looking at the massive, terrifying man towering over him.
Luca unbuttoned his suit jacket, took it off, and wrapped the heavy, dry wool around the boy’s shivering shoulders, covering the wet yellow raincoat.
Leo looked at him, his dark eyes wide.
“You look like my daddy,” Leo whispered.
Luca closed his eyes, a single tear escaping to mix with the rain on his cheek.
“I’m your uncle, Leo,” Luca said, his voice cracking. “And I am never going to let anyone hurt you again.”
He looked at me, a silent ocean of gratitude in his eyes.
“Let’s go home,” Luca said.
We climbed down the metal stairs to the idling SUV. I buckled Leo into the back seat and slid in beside him. Luca got into the passenger seat, and my father hit the gas.
We left Carlo bleeding on the dock, waiting for the police sirens that were already echoing in the distance.
The drive back to the mansion was silent. The adrenaline was fading, leaving me completely drained. Leo fell asleep instantly, his head resting against my side, enveloped in Luca’s heavy coat.
When we finally pulled through the massive iron gates of the Moretti estate, it felt like we had crossed a finish line. The traitor was defeated. The heir was safe. Vanessa was gone.
But as we parked in the underground garage, my father turned off the engine and didn’t move to get out.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, ornate silver key.
“Thomas?” Luca asked, noticing the tension in my dad’s posture. “What is it?”
My father looked at Luca, his face completely pale.
“Carlo wasn’t working alone, Luca,” my father said quietly. “He didn’t have the authority to bypass the Commission.”
He held up the small silver key.
“Isabella gave this to me before she died,” my father said. “It opens a safety deposit box in a private bank downtown. It contains the true ledgers of the Moretti family. The ones that prove the Commission has been stealing from you for a decade.”
He looked at me, then at Luca.
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“Carlo didn’t betray you for money, Luca. He betrayed you because the Commission ordered him to. And tomorrow morning, when they find out he failed, they are going to come for all of us.”
TITLE: The Safety Deposit Box And The Ambush
