Chapter 7 - THE BULLET IN THE GLASS
The sound of the gunshot was swallowed by the roar of the wind, but the impact was deafening.
Crack!
A heavy caliber bullet slammed into the driver’s side window, directly next to Luca’s head.
I screamed. Margaret let out a terrified sob from the back seat.
But the glass didn't shatter. The bullet embedded itself deep into the thick, reinforced layers of the window, leaving a massive spiderweb of fractured safety glass.
"Armored glass," Luca said through gritted teeth, his eyes entirely focused on the road. "Thank God Thomas insisted on this vehicle."
The sedan swerved closer, trying to force us off the road and into the snow-filled ditch. Sparks flew as the two vehicles ground against each other at eighty miles per hour.
"Who are they?!" I yelled from the floorboards, my hands covering my head.
"The people Vanessa warned you about," Luca growled.
He slammed on the brakes.
The sudden deceleration threw me forward against the dashboard. The sedan, expecting us to keep accelerating, shot past us.
Before the sedan could correct its course, Luca cranked the steering wheel hard to the left and stomped on the gas. Our heavy, three-ton SUV slammed directly into the rear quarter panel of the sedan.
The impact sent the smaller car spinning wildly out of control. It slid across the icy highway, tires smoking, before crashing violently into the steel guardrail. The hood crumpled, and the headlights died instantly.
Luca didn't stop. He accelerated, putting distance between us and the wreck.
My heart was beating so fast I felt dizzy. I slowly pulled myself back up into the passenger seat.
"Are you hurt?" Luca asked, his chest heaving.
"I'm okay," I gasped. I looked in the back. "Mrs. Ellis? Margaret, are you alright?"
Margaret was trembling violently, clutching the cashmere blanket. "I... I'm unharmed, Natalie. What is happening?"
"Someone doesn't want me reaching Milwaukee," Luca said darkly.
He grabbed my phone from the cup holder and dialed a number with one hand.
"Thomas," Luca barked when the line connected. "We were hit on I-94 North. Unmarked sedan. They tried to run us off the road. They fired a shot."
I could hear Thomas swearing through the speaker. "Are you safe, boss?"
"We're fine. The armor held. I spun them into the guardrail. Send a cleanup crew to mile marker 42. Find out who is in that car, and find out who paid them."
"On it. Do you need an escort for the rest of the drive?"
"No," Luca said. "If they know my route, they have a tracker on my phone. I'm dumping it."
He rolled down his window an inch and tossed my phone out into the darkness.
"Sorry about the phone," Luca muttered.
"It was an old model," I whispered, still shaking.
Luca exited the highway at the next ramp, plunging us into the dark, winding backroads of southern Wisconsin. He drove in silence for another forty minutes, taking complex detours to ensure we weren't followed.
By the time we reached the outskirts of Milwaukee, the adrenaline was wearing off, replaced by a deep, aching exhaustion.
Margaret directed us to a modest, working-class neighborhood. The houses were small, close together, and covered in snow.
"It's the blue one," Margaret pointed softly. "With the porch light on."
Luca pulled the battered SUV into the narrow driveway. He cut the engine.
For a moment, nobody moved. The reality of what was waiting inside that house settled heavily over us.
Luca looked at the front door. The mafia boss, the man who had just run an assassin off the road without blinking, looked terrified.
"He's asleep," Margaret said gently, sensing his fear. "Mrs. Higgins probably put him to bed hours ago. You don't have to wake him tonight if you aren't ready."
"I'm ready," Luca said softly.
We walked up the creaky wooden steps. Margaret unlocked the door with a brass key.
The house was tiny but immaculately clean. It smelled like cinnamon and old paperbacks. A plump, older woman in a pink bathrobe was asleep in a rocking chair by the television.
Margaret gently woke her, thanked her, and paid her for the night. Mrs. Higgins gave Luca and me a curious look but didn't ask questions before hurrying out into the cold.
"He's in the back bedroom," Margaret whispered, slipping off her coat.
Luca took off his heavy sweater. He looked at me.
"Come with me," he asked quietly.
I nodded.
We walked down the narrow hallway. Margaret gently pushed open a door covered in glow-in-the-dark star stickers.
A small nightlight illuminated the room. In the corner, tucked beneath a thick quilt, was a little boy.
He was sleeping soundly, his dark hair messy against the pillow. One arm was thrown over a stuffed bear.
Luca stood in the doorway. He didn't step inside. He just stared.
Tears silently spilled down Luca's face. The resemblance to his dead brother was staggering. It was like looking at a ghost.
"Dominic," Luca whispered, his voice cracking.
I reached out and gently took his hand. His fingers immediately intertwined with mine, holding on tight.
"He's beautiful," I whispered.
"He looks exactly like him," Luca choked out.
Suddenly, the little boy shifted under the blankets. He rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly, confused by the shadows in his doorway.
He looked at Margaret. "Grandma?"
"I'm here, Leo," Margaret said softly, stepping into the room.
Leo looked past her. He looked directly at Luca.
The little boy frowned, tilting his head. He didn't look scared. He looked curious.
"Are you the man from the hospital?" Leo asked, his voice thick with sleep.
Luca froze.
Margaret stopped walking.
"What man, sweetheart?" Margaret asked, her voice trembling.
Leo pointed a small finger at Luca.
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"The man who came to see Mommy when she was sick last year. The one who gave me the envelope."
TITLE: THE ENVELOPE IN THE MATTRESS
