Chapter 7 - THE PHOTOGRAPH
The gunshot was deafening in the enclosed space of the brownstone.
Wood splintered from the doorframe an inch from my head. I dropped to the floor, covering my ears as Luca tackled Daniel into the glass coffee table.
The glass shattered like a bomb going off.
The two men rolled across the expensive rugs, a brutal tangle of limbs and fury. Daniel was younger, but Luca had the strength of a father who had just been robbed of ten years with his son.
“Get under the stairs!” I screamed at the boy, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the alcove beneath the staircase.
Daniel—the bodyguard—managed to throw a heavy left hook, catching Luca in the jaw. Luca staggered back, and Daniel scrambled for the gun that had slid across the hardwood floor.
I didn’t think. I didn’t plan.
I grabbed a heavy bronze lamp from a side table, ripped the cord from the wall, and swung it as hard as I could.
The heavy base connected with the side of Daniel’s head just as his fingers brushed the grip of the gun. He grunted, his eyes rolling back, and collapsed onto the floor, out cold.
I stood there, gasping for air, still gripping the bloody lamp.
Luca slowly pushed himself up from the ruined floor. He wiped a smear of blood from his mouth, staring at his unconscious right-hand man. Then, he looked at me.
For a second, the mafia boss looked entirely stunned by the maid in the stained apron.
“Are you hurt?” Luca asked, his voice rough.
“No,” I breathed, dropping the lamp. My hands were shaking uncontrollably. “Is he…?”
“Alive. Unconscious.” Luca stepped over Daniel’s body and kicked the gun away.
He knelt beside his former friend, checking his pockets. He pulled out Daniel’s phone, his keys, and finally, he reached into the inner pocket of Daniel’s tailored coat.
He pulled out a folded manila envelope.
Luca opened it. Inside were documents. Birth certificates. Bank statements.
And a photograph.
Luca stared at the photo for a long time. The anger slowly drained from his face, replaced by a profound, hollow shock.
He turned the photograph around and held it up for me to see.
It was a picture of Daniel—the bodyguard—standing in a park. He was smiling, his arm wrapped around a woman.
The woman was Elena.
They weren’t just standing together. They were holding hands. She looked happy. Pregnant.
My breath caught in my throat. “I don’t understand.”
“He didn’t hide her to protect me,” Luca whispered, the betrayal finally breaking something inside him. “He loved her. He used the threat of Vanessa’s family to convince Elena to run away with him.”
I looked at the documents in Luca’s hand. “Then why didn’t he stay with her?”
“Because he wanted the syndicate, too,” Luca said, his voice hardening into steel. “He couldn’t have both. So he kept her hidden on the South Side, feeding her lies about me, while he played the loyal soldier by my side, waiting for me to step down or get killed.”
Luca looked toward the alcove. The boy was peeking out, his dark eyes wide, taking in everything.
“He wasn’t waiting to hand over the heir,” Luca realized, his voice chilling the room. “He was waiting to use my son against me.”
Suddenly, the heavy steel door of the brownstone shuddered.
Someone was pounding on it from the outside.
“Luca!” Vanessa’s voice rang through the thick metal, shrill and demanding. “Open the door! I know she’s in there with you!”
My stomach dropped. Marcus hadn’t just tracked us; he had brought Vanessa.
Luca calmly folded the photograph and put it in his pocket. He picked up Daniel’s dropped gun from the floor. He checked the magazine, the metallic click sounding impossibly loud.
He looked at me.
“Emily.” His voice was different now. It wasn’t the voice of an employer. It was the voice of a man entrusting someone with his absolute everything. “Take my son upstairs. Lock the master bedroom door. Do not come out until I tell you to.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. I held my hand out to the boy.
He didn’t hesitate this time. He ran from the alcove and grabbed my hand, his small fingers gripping mine like a vise.
As I pulled him up the stairs, I heard the deadbolt of the front door click open.
I reached the landing and looked back down.
Luca pulled the door open.
Vanessa stood on the porch, flanked by her brother Marcus and three armed men in gray suits.
She smiled, a venomous, triumphant sneer.
“It’s over, Luca,” Vanessa said smoothly.
May you like
Luca raised the gun, pointing it directly at the diamond necklace resting against her throat.
“You’re right,” Luca said. “It is.”
