Chapter 4 - THE CHILD'S DRAWING
The man at the top of the stairs wore a black tactical vest.
He wasn't a street thug.
He was a professional hitman.
One of the men Adrian had hired.
“Kick the gun away, Luca,” the man ordered, gesturing with the barrel of his rifle.
Luca looked at his dropped weapon, resting five feet away in the dust.
He slowly kicked it further away.
“Who are you working for?” Luca asked, keeping his voice entirely calm.
“Your brother pays well.”
“I pay double.”
The man laughed.
“Adrian told us you’d say that. But Adrian promised us a seat on the Commission once Julian is gone.”
He aimed the rifle at Julian.
Julian whimpered, wrapping his good arm around Mia, trying to make himself as small as possible.
“Daddy,” Mia cried softly.
“Don't look, baby,” Julian whispered, burying her face in his chest. “Close your eyes.”
My heart hammered in my throat.
I was standing behind Luca, completely unarmed.
But I refused to watch a little girl lose her father.
I looked around the dark space beneath the stage.
Shelves of old props. Cans of paint. Coils of heavy rope.
And sitting on a dusty table right next to me was a stage lighting rig.
A heavy, industrial spotlight.
It was plugged into a heavy orange extension cord.
The hitman cocked his rifle.
“Nothing personal, Julian.”
“Wait!” I screamed.
The hitman’s eyes darted to me for a fraction of a second.
It was all the time I needed.
I grabbed the heavy spotlight and hurled it directly at the hitman’s face.
I wasn't strong enough to throw it far, but it didn't matter.
The heavy glass lens smashed into the wooden railing next to him, showering him in sparks and glass.
The man flinched, raising his arms to shield his face.
Luca moved like lightning.
He didn't go for his gun.
He lunged up the narrow wooden stairs, tackling the hitman around the waist.
The rifle fired wildly into the ceiling, the deafening sound echoing through the empty theater.
The two men crashed onto the main stage above us.
I heard the sickening sound of punches landing, heavy boots kicking against the floorboards.
I didn't wait to see who won.
I dropped to my knees beside Julian.
“Julian, we have to go!”
Julian was staring at the ceiling, terrified.
“He’s going to kill Luca!”
“No, he isn't. We have to get you out of here.”
I grabbed a clean prop towel from a nearby bin and pressed it hard against the bleeding wound on Julian’s arm.
He hissed in pain.
Mia looked up at me.
Her tear-streaked face was pale, but her eyes were remarkably brave.
She was clutching something tightly in her small hand.
A piece of crumpled paper.
“Who are you?” Mia whispered.
“My name is Emily,” I said. “I work for Teresa. We’re going to keep you safe.”
I pulled Julian to his feet.
He was heavy, leaning entirely on my shoulder, but the fear of losing his daughter pushed him forward.
We moved toward the loading dock doors.
Above us, the fighting stopped.
A heavy thud echoed through the theater, followed by complete silence.
I froze.
If the hitman had won, we were dead.
Heavy footsteps moved toward the edge of the stage.
A figure jumped down into the darkness.
It was Luca.
He was breathing heavily, his knuckles bloody, but he was holding the hitman’s rifle.
“He’s unconscious,” Luca said. “But Adrian hired two men. The other one is probably waiting outside.”
He looked at Julian.
“Can you run?”
Julian nodded weakly.
“I can run.”
Luca looked at me.
“Emily. Take Mia’s hand. Do not let go of her.”
I reached down and grabbed the little girl’s hand.
She squeezed my fingers tight.
We pushed the heavy loading dock doors open and slipped out into the alley.
The rain had stopped, leaving the city air thick and humid.
Luca led us down a narrow brick passageway, avoiding the main street.
“My car is three blocks away,” Luca whispered. “Marco should be arriving soon.”
We reached the end of the alley.
Luca peeked around the corner.
A black SUV was idling near the curb.
Standing beside it was the second hitman, scanning the street with a hand inside his jacket.
“We can't go that way,” Luca said, pulling back.
“We can use the subway,” Julian said, his voice slurring slightly from blood loss. “There's an underground maintenance tunnel. I know how to get in.”
Luca nodded.
“Lead the way.”
We hurried back down the alley, cutting across a small park toward the subway entrance.
Julian was growing weaker, his weight pressing heavier onto my shoulder.
We reached the concrete stairs leading down into the dark station.
Julian fumbled in his pocket with his good hand.
He pulled out a heavy ring of keys.
He unlocked an unmarked steel door hidden near the ticket booths.
We slipped inside, locking the heavy door behind us.
It was a maintenance tunnel.
Dark, smelling of ozone and damp earth.
Julian leaned heavily against the concrete wall, sliding down to sit on the floor.
He was pale, his breathing shallow.
“Julian, stay with me,” Luca said, kneeling beside him.
He took the bloody towel from my hands and pressed it harder against the wound.
“I’m okay,” Julian whispered. “Just... tired.”
Mia knelt beside her father, tears welling in her eyes again.
She opened her small hand.
She unfolded the crumpled piece of paper she had been holding.
She smoothed it out on Julian’s knee.
It was a child’s drawing.
Done in bright, messy crayons.
It showed a tall man, a little girl, and an older woman standing in front of a diner.
Russo's Diner.
“Look, Daddy,” Mia whispered. “We’re safe now. We’re with Teresa’s friends.”
Julian smiled weakly, resting his hand on her head.
Luca stared at the drawing.
His eyes traced the figures.
Then, his gaze stopped on something in the drawing.
Around the neck of the tall man—Julian—Mia had drawn a thick, yellow circle.
A necklace.
Luca looked at Julian’s actual neck.
Hidden beneath his blood-stained shirt was a heavy gold chain.
Luca gently pulled it free.
Hanging from the chain was a massive, solid gold medallion.
It was the Moretti family crest.
The original heirloom passed down to the firstborn son for four generations.
The proof that Julian was the true heir.
Luca stared at it in awe.
“Adrian was right,” Luca whispered. “You have it.”
Julian looked at the medallion.
Then, he said something that made the damp air in the tunnel feel freezing cold.
“Adrian doesn't want the necklace because it proves I’m the firstborn, Luca.”
Luca frowned.
“What do you mean?”
May you like
Julian’s innocent, gentle eyes filled with a profound sadness.
“Adrian wants it because he isn't a Moretti at all.”
