Chapter 5 - THE CHILD'S DRAWING
The heavy rain hammered against the roof of the SUV.
Lorenzo stared out the windshield at his son. The older man’s face was a mask of cold calculation, rapidly assessing the fact that his perfect plan had just been entirely dismantled.
“He isn't going to shoot us,” Lorenzo said quietly to the driver. “Throw it in reverse.”
The driver shifted gears, stomping on the gas pedal.
The tires spun wildly on the slick asphalt, but the SUV didn't move an inch.
“We’re blocked in, sir,” the driver panicked, looking in the rearview mirror.
I twisted around to look.
Two more armored trucks had silently pulled up behind us, boxing the SUV in completely. Adrian hadn't just intercepted us; he had cornered his own father.
Lorenzo sighed, a weary, frustrated sound. He dropped the fake study key onto the seat and looked at me.
“My son has always been overly dramatic,” Lorenzo muttered.
He reached for the door handle.
“Wait here,” he instructed the jeweler, who still looked terrified, holding the pistol loosely in his lap.
Lorenzo opened the door and stepped out into the freezing rain.
I didn't wait. The second the door was open, I scrambled across the seat and threw myself out behind him, stumbling onto the wet pavement.
“Claire!” Adrian shouted, dropping the megaphone and lowering his rifle.
He jumped down from the back of the armored truck, ignoring his father completely. He crossed the distance between us in three long strides, grabbing my shoulders.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded, his dark eyes frantically searching my face.
“No,” I gasped, shaking my head. “No, I’m fine.”
Adrian pulled me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me in a fiercely protective embrace. The smell of rain, gunpowder, and expensive cologne hit me, and for the first time all night, I felt completely safe.
He held me for a long moment, then slowly pulled back, keeping one hand firmly on my waist.
He finally looked at his father.
Lorenzo stood a few feet away, leaning on a silver-tipped cane, seemingly unbothered by the rain soaking his expensive coat.
“Hello, Adrian,” Lorenzo said.
“You let Carlo Falcone walk into my house,” Adrian said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. “You put my guests, my staff, and Claire in the crossfire.”
“I flushed out a traitor,” Lorenzo countered smoothly. “Vanessa was working for the Falcones. You needed to see it.”
“I already knew she was working for them,” Adrian snapped.
Lorenzo frowned. “Excuse me?”
“I knew Vanessa was a mole three weeks ago,” Adrian said, pulling a small, crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.
He tossed it onto the wet street at his father’s feet.
“I found this in her purse after she came back from a supposed 'shopping trip' in New York.”
Lorenzo looked down at the paper.
It was a child’s drawing. Crayon on lined notebook paper. It showed a tall man holding hands with a little girl. And scribbled at the bottom, in a child’s messy handwriting, was a phone number.
I recognized the drawing. It was pinned to the corkboard in Adrian’s kitchen. It had been drawn by his eight-year-old niece, Mia.
“I don't understand,” Lorenzo said, staring at the drawing.
“The phone number isn't Mia’s,” Adrian explained coldly. “It’s a direct line to Carlo Falcone’s private office. Vanessa used my niece’s drawing to hide the number, thinking I would never look twice at a child’s doodle.”
Answer one, open two.
Adrian hadn't been blind to Vanessa’s betrayal. He had known all along.
“Then why let the charade continue?” Lorenzo demanded. “Why let her stage the theft tonight?”
“Because I needed to know who was pulling her strings,” Adrian said. He looked directly at his father. “I thought she was just working for Carlo. Until Claire showed me the receipt for the copied key.”
Adrian stepped closer to Lorenzo.
“Vanessa didn't know about the locked study on the third floor,” Adrian whispered. “The only person who knew about that room—the only person who knew the pocket watch was inside the safe—was you.”
The Reversal hit me with dizzying speed.
“You hired her,” I breathed, staring at Lorenzo. “You set Vanessa up with Carlo Falcone.”
Lorenzo’s face hardened. He didn't deny it.
“The Falcones were getting too powerful, Adrian,” Lorenzo said, his voice dropping the polite facade. “You were negotiating with them. Making peace treaties. You were making us look weak. I needed to incite a war to wipe them out, and I needed you angry enough to fight it.”
“So you used my fiancée to orchestrate a fake break-in, hoping I would kill Carlo in retaliation?” Adrian asked, his voice trembling with a rage deeper than anything I had ever heard.
“It would have worked if you hadn't swapped the velvet boxes,” Lorenzo said bitterly.
“Where is the real watch, Adrian?” Lorenzo demanded.
Adrian didn't answer. He turned to me.
“Claire, get in the truck,” Adrian said softly.
“I’m not leaving you,” I said immediately.
“Get in the truck,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Reluctantly, I backed away, climbing into the passenger seat of the armored truck.
Adrian turned back to his father.
“The watch is gone, Dad,” Adrian said. “I destroyed it.”
Lorenzo’s eyes widened in sheer panic. “You did what? That watch contained the microdot! The routing numbers for the entire syndicate’s offshore accounts!”
“I know,” Adrian said calmly. “And I transferred every single cent to a blind trust an hour ago. The old syndicate is dead. Your money is gone.”
Lorenzo let out a primal roar. He raised his silver-tipped cane, twisting the ornate handle.
He didn't pull out a sword.
He pulled out a suppressed, single-shot derringer pistol hidden in the shaft.
He aimed it directly at Adrian’s chest.
“You ungrateful bastard,” Lorenzo snarled.
Before Lorenzo could pull the trigger, a gunshot echoed through the rainy street.
Lorenzo froze. He dropped the cane, looking down in shock. A dark red stain was blooming across his heavy winter coat.
He collapsed onto the wet pavement.
Adrian hadn't fired. His hands were empty.
May you like
I looked back at the SUV.
The jeweler from Oak Street was standing outside the open door, lowering his smoking pistol.
