Chapter 6 - The Photograph
A deafening crack echoed through the glass walls of the greenhouse.
I didn't feel pain. I just felt a massive, immovable force slam into me, driving me back into the wet dirt.
It was Roman.
He had thrown his entire body over mine the split second Adriana fired. The bullet shattered a pane of glass behind where I had just been kneeling, showering the mud with sharp, glittering rain.
Before Adriana could cock the small pistol for a second shot, Marco was on her. He struck her wrist with the heavy metal flashlight. A sickening snap rang out, followed by Adriana’s piercing scream. The gun fell into the mud.
"Get her out of my sight," Roman roared, rising from the ground. His suit was ruined, covered in mud and shards of glass, but his eyes were pure, terrifying fire.
The guards dragged a sobbing, cursing Adriana out of the greenhouse, leaving Roman, Marco, Maria, and me in the damp darkness.
Roman turned to me, his chest heaving. He reached out a large, dirt-stained hand.
I took it. His grip was warm and solid, pulling me effortlessly to my feet.
"Are you hit?" he demanded, his eyes scanning me frantically.
"No," I breathed, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "No, I'm okay. You pushed me out of the way."
Roman didn't let go of my hand immediately. He stared at me for a long moment, a strange, unspoken emotion passing behind his dark eyes. Then, he cleared his throat and turned to Marco.
"Empty the rest of the bag," Roman ordered.
Marco upended the duffel bag on a relatively dry wooden potting bench. Bundles of cash spilled out.
But tucked inside a side zippered pocket, Marco pulled out a thick manila envelope.
"Boss," Marco said, handing it over.
Roman tore the envelope open. A stack of 8x10 photographs slid into his hand.
He looked at the first one, and all the color drained from his face.
I stepped closer, looking over his arm.
It was a surveillance photo. It showed a dark alleyway, illuminated only by a streetlamp. Two men were standing next to a black Mercedes. One of the men was handing the other a thick envelope.
The man receiving the envelope was Adriana’s father, Carlo Moretti.
The man handing it to him was Roman’s cousin, Silvio DeLuca.
"Silvio," Roman whispered, the betrayal carving deep lines into his face.
Roman flipped to the next photo. It was the same night. But it showed Silvio walking away, and Carlo Moretti leaning under the black Mercedes with a pair of heavy wire cutters.
The black Mercedes belonged to Roman’s older brother. The car that had crashed three days later, killing him and his wife, leaving little Leo an orphan.
"It wasn't an accident," Roman said, his voice completely hollow. "Silvio paid the Morettis to cut his brake lines. My own blood."
Adriana hadn't just been marrying Roman for power. It was a hostile takeover orchestrated by Silvio. Silvio gets the empire by eliminating the true heirs, and Adriana gets the money.
"Boss," Marco said urgently. "Silvio is in the house right now. He's mingling with the guests."
Roman’s grief instantly hardened into something sharp and lethal. He folded the photographs and shoved them into his jacket pocket.
"Marco," Roman said softly. "Lock the gates. Nobody leaves. Not a single car."
We rushed back to the main house. The rain was torrential now.
When we pushed through the kitchen doors, the house was eerily quiet. The thirty guests in the dining room had been moved to the grand salon by the remaining security.
But Silvio wasn't in the grand salon.
"Where is he?" Roman demanded to a guard in the hallway.
"He went upstairs, boss. Said he needed to use the restroom."
Roman’s eyes widened in horror. "Leo's room."
We sprinted up the grand staircase. My lungs burned, but I couldn't stop. Little Leo was upstairs.
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We burst into the west wing hallway just in time to see Silvio stepping out of Leo’s bedroom, holding the terrified six-year-old by the collar of his pajamas. Silvio had a gun pressed to the boy's head.
"Don't take another step, Roman!" Silvio shouted, his eyes wild with panic. He had seen the security moving outside. He knew he was caught.
