Chapter 5 - THE WAREHOUSE OF BROKEN TOYS
The warehouse was a massive, decaying brick structure that used to house carnival equipment in the 1980s.
Luca didn't wait for backup.
He ordered two guards to stay with the SUV and marched directly toward the rusted steel doors of the building.
I couldn't stay in the car. The anxiety was suffocating.
“Lock the doors,” I told the guards, leaving Sophie safely secured inside the armored vehicle.
I ran after Luca, my breath turning to white vapor in the freezing fog.
“Mr. Moretti! Wait!”
He didn't stop, but he didn't send me back either.
We reached the side entrance of the warehouse. The padlock had been cut with bolt cutters.
Luca pushed the heavy metal door open.
It was pitch black inside, smelling of engine oil and rotting wood.
Moonlight filtered through the broken skylights, illuminating massive, dust-covered shapes. Old carousel horses. Broken bumper cars. Deflated canvas tents.
It was a graveyard for forgotten childhoods.
The perfect place to hide a stolen child.
We moved silently through the maze of carnival debris.
Then, we heard it.
A soft, ragged coughing sound.
Luca froze.
He raised his hand, signaling me to stay behind him.
We crept around a stack of wooden crates.
In the center of the warehouse, illuminated by a single, battery-powered camping lantern, was a small clearing.
Sitting on a wooden crate, clutching his chest and coughing violently, was the little boy I had seen in the hospital.
Leo.
He was wearing thin pajamas. He had no coat.
And he was completely alone.
“Leo,” Luca whispered, dropping his gun to his side and stepping into the light.
The little boy jerked his head up.
His eyes were wide with terror. He scrambled backward, falling off the crate and scrambling beneath the shadow of a broken carousel horse.
“Stay away from me!” Leo screamed, his voice raspy and weak.
Luca stopped. He held his hands up, tears glistening in his dark eyes.
“It’s okay, buddy. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m your dad.”
“No you’re not!” Leo cried, shivering in the cold. “My grandpa said you’re the bad man! He said you killed my mommy and you want to kill me too!”
The lie was like a knife to Luca’s chest.
Marcus Bellini hadn't just stolen the boy; he had poisoned him against his real family.
“Leo, please,” Luca pleaded, taking a slow step forward. “Your grandpa lied. Your name is Moretti. You have a sister. Sophie. She’s outside waiting for you.”
“Don't touch me!” Leo shrieked, clutching the front of his pajamas as another wave of agonizing coughs hit him. His heart couldn't take the stress.
I couldn't stand it anymore.
I stepped out from behind the crates.
“Leo?” I said softly.
The boy looked at me. He recognized me from the hospital ward.
“The nurse lady’s daughter,” he whispered.
“That’s right,” I smiled, slowly crouching down so I was at his eye level. “My name is Hannah. I saw you yesterday. Do you remember?”
He nodded slowly, still trembling.
“Leo, the man next to me isn't a bad man,” I said gently. “He’s a good dad. He makes pancakes on Sundays. He checks for monsters under the bed.”
Leo looked at Luca, uncertainty flickering in his dark eyes.
“My grandpa said he’s a monster.”
“Your grandpa left you in a freezing warehouse all alone,” I pointed out softly. “Does a good grandpa do that?”
Leo looked down at the concrete floor.
“He said he had to go get the money. He told me to wait for the train.”
Luca stepped closer, kneeling beside me.
He didn't try to grab the boy. He just reached into his pocket and pulled out the old, worn photograph we had found in Sophie’s suitcase.
The picture of Clara holding the baby.
Luca slid the photograph across the dusty floor.
“That’s your mommy, Leo. She loved you very much.”
Leo reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the photo.
He stared at the woman’s face.
For the first time, the boy didn't pull away.
But before Luca could reach out and comfort him, the sharp, metallic click of a rifle bolt echoed from the catwalk above us.
“Step away from the boy, Luca.”
We both looked up.
Standing on the rusted metal catwalk, thirty feet above us, was Marcus Bellini.
He was a heavy-set man in his sixties, wearing a camel-hair coat.
And he was aiming a high-powered hunting rifle directly at Luca’s head.
“I told you he was a bad man, Leo,” Marcus yelled down. “Close your eyes. Grandpa is going to protect you.”
Marcus rested his finger on the trigger.
But before he could pull it, something small and heavy hit the concrete floor right between Luca and the crates.
It was a brass lighter.
And it was lit.
I looked down.
The floor around us wasn't wet with water.
May you like
It was covered in gasoline.
“Nobody shoots,” a new voice echoed from the shadows. “Or we all burn together.”
