Chapter 6 - THE RUSTED SHIPYARD
“He’s alive?” I repeated, staring at the small piece of paper in Luca’s hand. “How do you know?”
Luca placed the note on the console so I could see it.
Written in sharp, familiar handwriting were coordinates, followed by a single sentence:
The wolves are hunting, brother. Meet me at the old shipyard.
“Marcus couldn’t have written this,” Luca said, his voice vibrating with adrenaline. “Matteo called me ‘brother’ only when we were kids. Marcus wouldn’t know that. Matteo must have intercepted Marcus’s men tonight when they went for your mother. He hijacked the ferry, set the autopilot, and left this for me.”
“Why didn’t he just wait for us?” I asked, desperate to believe my mother was still breathing.
“Because Matteo knew Marcus was on board,” Luca explained, pulling his phone out to check the GPS coordinates. “He left Marcus for us to deal with, and he took your mother somewhere safe.”
Luca grabbed the heavy wooden wheel of the ferry, disengaged the autopilot, and spun the boat hard to port. The massive vessel groaned, cutting sharply through the dark, freezing water back toward the mainland.
Twenty minutes later, we abandoned the ferry at a desolate cargo pier.
Luca didn’t call for backup. He didn’t trust a single man wearing his crest.
We drove in silence to the coordinates. It was an abandoned, rusted shipyard on the northern edge of the city. Towering steel cranes loomed in the fog like metal skeletons.
Luca parked the SUV a block away.
“Stay close,” Luca whispered, handing me a small, compact handgun from his glove compartment. “Safety is off. Point and pull the trigger. Do not hesitate.”
The cold metal felt heavy and terrifying in my hand, but I gripped it tight. My mother’s life depended on it.
We moved silently through the labyrinth of rusted shipping containers. The fog was thick, muffling our footsteps.
As we rounded a massive stack of crates, we saw a dim, flickering light coming from a rusted warehouse in the center of the yard.
Luca raised his weapon, stepping cautiously through the open loading doors.
The warehouse was massive, smelling of motor oil and saltwater. In the center of the room, illuminated by a single portable lantern, sat two figures.
One was an older woman, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, holding a thermos.
“Mom!” I screamed, dropping the gun and sprinting across the concrete floor.
My mother looked up, her eyes wide with confusion, but a soft smile touched her lips.
“Mia, darling,” my mother said gently, as I threw my arms around her neck, burying my face in her shoulder. “You’re working late tonight.”
She was safe. She was entirely unharmed. The dementia kept her blissfully unaware of the nightmare we were standing in.
I looked up at the man standing beside her.
He was tall, wearing a heavy, dark coat. His face was scarred, deeply lined with exhaustion and pain. He walked with a heavy limp, favoring his left leg.
But his dark eyes were exactly like Luca’s.
“Matteo,” Luca breathed, stepping into the light, lowering his weapon.
Matteo looked at his older brother. The tension between them was thick enough to choke on.
“You look terrible, little brother,” Luca said, his voice cracking with emotion.
Matteo didn’t smile. He reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy black pistol, aiming it directly at Luca’s chest.
“Stop right there, Luca,” Matteo commanded, his voice a raspy, damaged growl.
Luca froze. “Matteo, what are you doing?”
“You sent them to kill us,” Matteo accused, his hands shaking slightly. “Three years ago. You ordered Marcus to cut the brakes. You ordered the hit on Elena.”
“No!” Luca shouted, tossing his weapon onto the concrete to prove he wasn’t a threat. “Matteo, listen to me! It was Sophia! Sophia and Marcus orchestrated the whole thing. I thought you were dead!”
“Don’t lie to me!” Matteo roared, stepping closer. “I heard Marcus on the radio that night! He said, ‘The Boss wants them gone.’ You were the only Boss, Luca!”
“Sophia was giving orders in my name!” Luca pleaded, holding his hands up. “Matteo, she wanted the crown. She wanted Elena out of the way. She manipulated everything. Why would I order the death of my own wife? My own son?”
At the mention of the son, Matteo’s expression fractured.
He slowly lowered the gun, staring at Luca, searching for the truth.
“If you didn’t order it…” Matteo whispered, the devastating weight of three years of exile crashing down on him. “Then I’ve been hiding from a ghost.”
“Where is Leo?” Luca begged, taking a step forward. “Matteo, the drawing. Sophia had it. Where is my boy?”
Before Matteo could answer, a chilling, echoing laugh bounced off the rusted walls of the warehouse.
“How touching.”
We all spun around.
Standing in the loading doorway, flanked by ten heavily armed men, was Sophia.
She wasn’t wearing her elegant evening gown anymore. She wore a sleek black trench coat, holding a silver revolver.
“I have to admit,” Sophia smiled, stepping into the light. “I didn’t think you’d make it this far, Luca. But I suppose I should thank you for bringing all my loose ends into one convenient room.”
“Sophia,” Luca growled, shielding me and my mother with his body.
“Kill them,” Sophia ordered her men, her eyes flashing with pure malice. “Kill them all.”
But as the men raised their assault rifles, a small voice echoed from the shadows behind Matteo.
“Uncle Teo?”
A little boy, no older than five, stepped out from behind a stack of wooden crates. He had dark curly hair, holding a battered stuffed bear.
He looked exactly like Luca.
Leo.
May you like
Sophia saw the boy and her smile vanished.
“Don’t shoot!” Sophia screamed at her men, panicked. “Don’t shoot the boy! I need him alive!”
