The Man Standing In The Driveway

I stared at the crayon drawing.

The house was lopsided, colored in bright blue, with a yellow sun in the corner and three stick figures holding hands in the front yard.

“What is it?” Luca asked, leaning over my shoulder.

My hands began to tremble.

“It’s a drawing,” I whispered. “Isabella drew this when she was five years old.”

Answer One: The immediate threat was gone, but someone from the past was watching us.

Luca frowned, picking up the paper. “Bella lost this years ago. I remember Clara tearing the house apart looking for it because Bella wouldn’t stop crying. Where did it come from?”

I pointed to the bottom right corner of the drawing.

There, scrawled in faded blue ink, was a signature.

It wasn't Isabella's handwriting.

It was my father's.

Thomas Sullivan.

“My father died twelve years ago,” I said, the room suddenly spinning. “He died in a hit-and-run accident when I was fourteen. He had nothing to do with this family. How is his signature on a drawing Isabella made five years ago?”

Luca’s expression hardened. He took the drawing from my hands, his jaw tightening.

“Emma,” Luca said softly. “Your father didn’t die in a hit-and-run.”

I froze. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Luca sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “Clara didn’t just choose you because she liked you at the diner. She chose you because of who your father was.”

Open Two: Who was my father, and what was his connection to the Moretti empire?

“My father was a mechanic,” I said, panic rising in my chest. “He worked at a garage on the south side. He was a good man.”

“He was a great man,” Luca corrected. “He was the best getaway driver the syndicate ever had.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. I stumbled backward, gripping the edge of the sofa.

“No,” I shook my head furiously. “No, that’s impossible. My father wasn’t a criminal.”

“He drove for my father,” Luca explained gently. “Thomas Sullivan saved my father’s life during a cartel ambush in 2012. He took three bullets to the chest to ensure my family got away safely. The syndicate covered it up as a hit-and-run to protect you and your mother from retaliation.”

Reversal: My entire life, my tragedy, my poverty—it was all built on a lie orchestrated by the mafia.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The father I had mourned, the man who had taught me to ride a bike, was a mob soldier.

“Clara knew the debt my family owed yours,” Luca said. “That’s why she paid for your textbooks. That’s why she brought you here. She was trying to repay the life your father gave for us.”

Tears burned my eyes. “Who sent the drawing, Luca?”

Luca flipped the drawing over.

Written on the back, in sharp black marker, were two words.

Debt Unpaid.

“Victor Vance,” Luca whispered.

“But Victor helped us,” I argued. “He gave us the ledgers. He wanted Clara’s justice.”

“Victor is a debt collector, Emma,” Luca said grimly. “He works for the High Table. The supreme council that oversees all the syndicates in the country. By stepping down and dismantling my empire yesterday, I cost the High Table billions of dollars in future revenue.”

“So they sent Victor to collect,” I realized.

Luca nodded. “Victor didn’t give us the ledgers out of the kindness of his heart. He did it to eliminate Marcus and Bianca so he could take over the territory himself. And now that I’ve walked away, he’s coming to finish the job.”

The peace we had felt just twenty minutes ago shattered into a million pieces.

“We have to run,” I said, grabbing Luca’s arm. “We have to take Isabella and disappear.”

“No,” Luca said, his eyes turning cold and dark. “If we run, they’ll hunt us forever. I have to end this tonight.”

“How?”

Luca reached into a hidden compartment beneath the coffee table and pulled out a heavy black lockbox. He keyed in a combination, and it popped open.

Inside were stacks of pristine, untraceable passports. And a matte black handgun.

“I’m going to meet Victor,” Luca said, loading the magazine. “I’m going to buy you and Bella enough time to get on a plane to New Zealand. Dante is waiting at the airstrip.”

“I’m not leaving you to die!” I shouted.

“You have to, Emma!” Luca grabbed my shoulders, looking deeply into my eyes. “You are the only person I trust with my daughter. Please.”

Before I could answer, my cell phone rang.

It was Victor’s number.

I answered it, putting it on speaker.

“Hello, Emma,” Victor’s smooth voice echoed in the living room.

“If you touch her, Victor, I will tear you apart,” Luca snarled.

“I have no interest in the girl, Luca,” Victor replied calmly. “But I think Emma might have an interest in me.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.