Chapter 6 - THE CRAYON DRAWING
“Grandma?” Kate repeated, her legs suddenly feeling like water. She took a step toward the doorway, desperate to bridge the distance between a grave she had wept over and the flesh-and-blood woman standing before her.
“Stay behind him, Katie,” Margaret ordered, her voice sharp, never taking her eyes off Roman. “He is a DeLuca. You do not step out of cover when dealing with his kind.”
Roman slowly lowered his pistol, placing it carefully on the wooden table next to the music box. He raised both hands, palms open.
“I am not your enemy, Margaret,” Roman said quietly, the tension in his shoulders betraying his calm tone. “I didn’t even know Leo existed until tonight.”
Margaret stared at him for a long, agonizing moment. Then, with a fluid motion that belied her age, she broke the barrel of the shotgun, rendering it safe, and stepped into the cabin, kicking the door shut behind her.
Kate couldn’t stop herself. She rushed forward and threw her arms around the older woman. Margaret stiffened for a second before dropping the shotgun to the floor and pulling her granddaughter into a fierce, desperate embrace.
“I’m so sorry, my sweet girl,” Margaret whispered into Kate’s hair. “I had to make you believe I was gone. It was the only way to keep Silvio from using you to get to Sofia.”
“She’s really gone, isn't she?” Kate choked out, the final, desperate hope dying in her chest.
Margaret pulled back, her weathered hands framing Kate’s tear-stained face. “Sofia died a hero, Katie. She sacrificed herself so the boys could live.”
“The boys,” Roman interrupted, stepping closer. “Where is Leo? Do you have him?”
Margaret’s face hardened. She walked over to the sofa where Eli was sleeping, gently brushing a lock of hair from the five-year-old’s forehead.
“I had him,” Margaret said bitterly. “For four years, Leo lived with me off the grid in Vermont. Sofia visited when she could. But three days ago, Silvio’s men found us. I managed to get out, but they took the boy.”
Roman’s eyes darkened with a terrifying wrath. “They have my son.”
“Silvio is keeping him alive as leverage,” Margaret said, turning back to Roman. “He knew Sofia hid the ledger proving his treason. He thinks you have it, Roman. He’s going to trade the boy’s life for your silence.”
“I don’t have it,” Roman said. He pointed to the mahogany music box on the table. “We opened it. There was no ledger. Only a hospital bracelet.”
Margaret walked over to the table. She looked at the music box, then at the hand-drawn map of the Pier that Kate had found in the coat.
“Sofia was brilliant,” Margaret murmured. She reached into the pocket of her heavy cardigan and pulled out a folded piece of construction paper. “I found this stuffed under Leo’s mattress after Silvio’s men took him.”
She unfolded it and laid it next to the map.
It was a child’s crayon drawing. It depicted a large, gray building with water next to it—the Pier. In the center of the building, drawn in bright red crayon, was a massive metal box. And standing next to the box were two stick figures. One tall, one small.
“Leo drew this?” Kate asked.
“Look closer,” Margaret pointed.
Kate leaned in. The taller stick figure had a jagged scar drawn over its left eye. Sofia. But it was the smaller figure that made Kate’s breath hitch. The small stick figure wasn't Leo. It had bright blonde hair, just like Eli.
Roman stared at the drawing. “Eli has never been to the Pier. I would know.”
“He has,” Margaret corrected softly. “Sofia took him there. Once. The day before she died.”
Roman turned sharply toward the sofa.
Eli’s eyes were open. The five-year-old was sitting up, clutching the moth-eaten blanket, staring at the adults. He hadn't been asleep.
“Eli,” Roman said, his voice softer now. He knelt in front of the sofa. “Buddy. Did Mommy take you to a big building near the water?”
Eli nodded slowly. “It was cold. Mommy was crying.”
“Did she put something inside a metal box?” Roman asked, keeping his tone gentle so as not to spook the traumatized boy.
Eli shook his head. “No.”
Roman closed his eyes, frustration mounting.
“She didn't put it in a box,” Eli whispered, his small fingers pulling nervously at the edge of the blanket. “She put it in the monster’s mouth.”
Kate frowned, exchanging a confused look with her grandmother. “What monster, sweetie?”
Eli pointed a trembling finger at the hand-drawn map on the table. Specifically, at a faded corporate logo printed in the bottom corner of the stationary Sofia had drawn on.
It was the logo of the shipping company that owned the Pier. A massive, stylized iron gargoyle.
“The gargoyle,” Roman breathed, realization dawning. “The old furnace in the basement of the shipyard. It has a cast-iron gargoyle on the grate.”
“That’s where the ledger is,” Margaret said, her eyes flashing with determination. “She hid it at the transfer point.”
“If Silvio has Leo at the Pier,” Roman said, standing up, the terrifying aura of the mafia Don fully enveloping him once again, “then we are walking into an ambush.”
“We have no choice,” Margaret said, picking her shotgun up off the floor. “He wants the ledger. We give it to him, and we take the boy.”
“No,” Roman said coldly, picking up his own weapon and racking the slide. “We give him nothing. I am going to tear my uncle apart.”
Roman turned to Kate. “You stay here. Keep Eli safe.”
“No,” Kate said firmly, grabbing her coat. “If you die down there, Silvio will hunt us down next. I know the lullaby. I know the combination. I am going with you.”
Roman opened his mouth to argue, but the sheer defiance in Kate’s eyes stopped him. She wasn't just a waitress anymore. She was Margaret Miller’s blood. She was Sofia’s sister.
“Get in the car,” Roman ordered.
The drive to the Boston Pier was tense and silent. Roman parked the sedan a quarter-mile away, hidden behind a stack of rusted shipping containers.
The shipyard was massive, a sprawling complex of decaying warehouses and rusted cranes jutting out into the freezing harbor. It was heavily guarded. Silvio’s men were patrolling the perimeter with flashlights and assault rifles.
“The basement entrance is on the north side,” Roman whispered, pointing through the chain-link fence. “I will draw their fire. You get to the furnace. Get the ledger.”
“Roman, that’s suicide,” Kate hissed.
Before Roman could answer, a floodlight snapped on, illuminating the central courtyard of the shipyard.
A heavy, metal door rolled up.
A man walked out into the harsh white light. He was older, leaning on a silver-tipped cane, wearing a pristine white overcoat. Silvio DeLuca.
And standing next to him, a gun pressed directly to his small head, was an eight-year-old boy.
Leo.
Silvio grabbed a megaphone from one of his guards.
“Roman!” Silvio’s voice echoed across the shipyard, dripping with malice. “I know you’re out there! I gave Marco the wrong location on purpose, knowing you’d follow the breadcrumbs!”
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Roman gripped his pistol so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“You have sixty seconds to walk out into the light with the music box, nephew!” Silvio barked. “Or you can watch your firstborn son die right in front of you!”
