Chapter 7 - THE CHILD’S DRAWING
Matteo was on his knees.
His bespoke suit was ruined, torn and soaked in blood. His face was bruised, but his dark eyes burned with an unyielding, terrifying defiance as he looked at Dominic.
“Dad!” Ava screamed, trying to run to him.
I grabbed her arm, pulling her back forcefully. “No, Ava! Stay behind me!”
Dominic chuckled, pushing himself off the Ferrari and limping forward. He kept his gun aimed squarely at Ava. Two of his heavily armed mercenaries stepped out from the shadows of the garage, their rifles trained on me and Alessandra.
“The loyal maid,” Dominic sneered, looking at the gun trembling in my hands. “You took down my best man in the greenhouse. I’m impressed. But if you raise that weapon, my men will cut you in half. Drop it.”
I looked at the two mercenaries. I looked at Matteo, who gave me a sharp, almost imperceptible shake of his head.
Don’t fight.
I slowly lowered the gun to the oily concrete floor and kicked it away.
“Smart girl,” Dominic said.
He hobbled over to Matteo, grabbing a handful of his brother’s dark hair and yanking his head back.
“I told you I’d find her, Matteo,” Dominic mocked. “You can’t protect anyone. You couldn’t protect Elena. You couldn’t protect this house. And you can’t protect your daughter.”
Matteo didn’t flinch. He looked up at his brother with absolute disgust.
“What do you want, Dominic?” Matteo gritted out. “You have the house. You have me. Let them go.”
Dominic released Matteo’s hair and wiped his bloody hand on his suit jacket.
“I want what was promised to me,” Dominic stated, his voice turning cold and professional. “I want the legitimate businesses. The real estate. The ports. The legal money.”
“I told you, the ledger is gone.”
“I don’t need the ledger anymore,” Dominic smiled. “I just need your signature.”
Dominic reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thick, folded piece of heavy parchment paper.
He threw it onto the concrete floor in front of Matteo.
It was a legal document. A transfer of power of attorney, granting full control of the DeLuca legitimate assets to Dominic.
“Sign it,” Dominic ordered.
Matteo looked at the paper, then back at his brother.
“And if I don’t?”
Dominic didn’t hesitate. He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a small, rectangular piece of cardstock. He held it up so Matteo could see it.
It was an airplane ticket.
“This is a one-way, first-class ticket to a private facility in Siberia,” Dominic said casually. “A very quiet, very secure boarding school for the children of inconvenient people. If you don’t sign this paper, Matteo, Ava gets on a plane tonight. She will disappear. She will never see the sun, she will never speak English, and you will never see her again.”
Ava sobbed quietly behind me, her small hands gripping my wet dress.
Matteo’s composure finally broke. The thought of losing his daughter to a gulag shattered the stone wall he had built around his emotions.
“You’re a monster,” Matteo whispered.
“I’m a businessman,” Dominic corrected. “Sign the paper.”
One of the mercenaries stepped forward and tossed a silver pen onto the floor next to the document.
Matteo stared at the pen. He looked at Ava.
“I love you, Ava,” Matteo said, his voice thick with emotion.
He reached for the pen with his zip-tied hands.
“No!” Alessandra shouted, stepping forward, pressing her hand against her bleeding side. “Matteo, don’t! He’ll kill you the second you sign it!”
Dominic glared at her. “Shut up, Alessandra. You’re lucky I haven’t shot you yet.”
Matteo ignored her. He picked up the pen. He clicked it open.
He leaned over the document.
I watched the pen hover over the signature line.
Alessandra was right. Dominic was leaving no witnesses. The second Matteo signed that paper, Dominic would kill him, and then he would kill the rest of us. He wouldn’t waste money sending Ava to Siberia. The ticket was just leverage.
I needed a distraction. I needed a miracle.
I looked around the brightly lit garage. My eyes scanned the tool chests, the luxury cars, the air compressors.
Then I saw it.
Right behind the mercenary on my left, mounted to the wall, was the heavy red control panel for the industrial hydraulic car lift. Suspended six feet in the air above us was a massive, three-ton armored Cadillac SUV.
The mercenary was standing directly underneath it.
I didn’t have a gun. I didn’t have a knife.
But I was the maid. I knew how every single machine in this house worked.
I took a slow, deep breath.
Matteo pressed the tip of the pen to the paper.
I lunged.
I didn’t run for Dominic or Matteo. I sprinted directly at the red control panel on the wall.
The mercenary turned, raising his rifle, completely confused by my movement.
“Hey!” he shouted.
I slammed my palm against the emergency release button on the panel.
The hydraulic locks instantly disengaged.
The three-ton armored Cadillac dropped from the ceiling like a boulder.
It hit the concrete floor with a deafening, earth-shattering CRASH that shook the entire foundation of the garage.
The mercenary standing beneath it wasn’t crushed, but the sheer force of the impact and the shattered glass threw him violently to the ground, his rifle skittering across the floor.
The sound and the shockwave momentarily stunned everyone.
But not Matteo.
The second the car hit the floor, Matteo moved.
Despite his zip-tied hands, he launched himself upward like a coiled spring, driving his shoulder directly into Dominic’s wounded knee.
Dominic shrieked in agony, his gun flying from his hand as he collapsed backward onto the concrete.
The second mercenary recovered from the shock and swung his rifle toward Matteo.
BANG.
The mercenary dropped to the floor, shot cleanly in the shoulder.
I whipped my head around.
Alessandra was standing with her legs braced, holding the gun I had dropped earlier. Her hands were shaking, her red dress was soaked in blood, but her eyes were fierce.
“Don’t touch him!” Alessandra screamed at the mercenary.
Matteo didn’t waste a second. He rolled over Dominic, grabbed the dropped gun with his bound hands, and pressed the barrel directly under Dominic’s chin.
The garage fell completely silent, save for the hum of the overhead lights and Dominic’s ragged, panicked breathing.
Matteo looked down at his brother.
“You’re right, Dominic,” Matteo whispered, his voice as cold as the grave. “It’s never over.”
Suddenly, the wail of police sirens pierced the night, growing rapidly louder as they rushed up the long driveway toward the estate. Dante must have broken through the jammer and called them.
Dominic laughed, a wet, bloody sound.
“You can’t shoot me, Matteo,” Dominic wheezed. “The cops are here. You kill me now, you go to prison for murder. Ava grows up an orphan anyway.”
Dominic was right. Matteo couldn’t pull the trigger. Not now.
Matteo stared at him, the conflict warring in his eyes.
Then, Dominic made his final mistake.
Thinking Matteo was hesitating, Dominic reached into his jacket, pulling a small, concealed combat knife. He thrust it upward toward Matteo’s stomach.
But Matteo had spent his entire life anticipating betrayal.
Matteo didn’t shoot. He shifted his weight, dodging the blade by an inch, and brought the heavy steel butt of the pistol down brutally against Dominic’s temple.
Dominic’s eyes rolled back, and he slumped into unconsciousness on the floor.
Matteo dropped the gun, gasping for air.
He looked at me. He looked at Alessandra, who had finally collapsed to her knees, dropping her weapon.
And then he looked at Ava.
Ava ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck, burying her face in his bloody suit. Matteo wrapped his bound hands around her, holding her tighter than he ever had.
The garage doors burst open.
A dozen police officers flooded into the room, their weapons drawn, flashlight beams cutting through the smoke and dust of the dropped car.
“Hands in the air! Nobody move!”
I raised my hands, my black dress soaked in rain, mud, and fertilizer. My heart was pounding, my hands shaking.
Matteo slowly stood up, keeping Ava behind him.
An older police captain pushed through the officers. He looked at the unconscious Dominic, the wounded mercenaries, and finally at Matteo.
“Mr. DeLuca,” the captain said respectfully, lowering his weapon. “We got a call about a home invasion. It looks like you handled it.”
Matteo nodded slowly. “My brother tried to kill my family, Captain. I defended them.”
“We’ll take it from here.”
Paramedics rushed in, immediately tending to Alessandra and Matteo’s wounds.
I stood near the wall, feeling completely out of place. The adrenaline was fading, leaving me freezing, exhausted, and terrifyingly aware that I was just a maid who had somehow survived a mafia war.
Matteo refused a stretcher. He walked over to me.
His face was bruised, his hands covered in zip-tie welts, but when he looked at me, his eyes were incredibly soft.
“You saved my daughter’s life, Sophie,” Matteo said quietly.
I shook my head, tears finally spilling over my cheeks. “You saved mine. A year ago. You protected me from the man who killed my father.”
Matteo reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a small, heavy object.
He gently placed it into my muddy, trembling palm and closed my fingers over it.
I looked down.
It wasn’t a gun. It wasn’t a document.
It was a heavy, solid gold ring. Etched with the DeLuca family crest.
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A family heirloom. A symbol of absolute protection and belonging within the organization.
“You’re not a maid anymore, Sophie,” Matteo whispered, holding my hand. “You’re family. And no one will ever hurt you again.”
