Chapter 6 - THE GOLD POCKET WATCH
The heavy, humid air of the greenhouse shattered with the sound of a gunshot.
But the bullet didn't hit Alessandro.
Dante gasped, his eyes widening in shock as a red bloom exploded across the front of his tailored shirt. He dropped his pistol, stumbling forward before collapsing into the dirt path.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
Matteo screamed, covering his ears.
“Matteo, come here!” I yelled, abandoning my hiding spot. I lunged forward, grabbing the boy by the waist and dragging him back behind the dense wall of ferns.
Alessandro immediately dove behind a heavy stone planter, his gun raised toward the balcony.
Footsteps echoed on the iron spiral staircase.
Vincenzo slowly descended. The family lawyer, a man who had eaten Sunday dinner at the Romano table for twenty years, looked completely unbothered. He wore a pristine gray suit, the jagged scar on his cheek catching the dim emergency lights.
He didn't bother raising his rifle again. He let it hang by the strap.
“A tragedy,” Vincenzo sighed, looking at Dante’s lifeless body. “A bitter, jealous brother murders the beloved mafia boss and his young son. The brother is killed in the struggle. And as the executor of the estate, I am forced to manage the empire until a suitable successor is found.”
“You orchestrated Florence,” Alessandro growled from behind the planter.
“I did,” Vincenzo admitted freely, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to dust off his sleeve. “Elena was asking too many questions about the offshore accounts. She noticed the missing millions. I had to silence her.”
I held Matteo tightly against my chest. The boy was sobbing silently into my uniform. I looked at the child’s drawing on the floor. Matteo had seen Vincenzo at the docks that night two years ago. The boy had known all along, but he didn't have the words to explain it.
“You used Serena and Dante,” Alessandro said.
“They were greedy, ambitious fools,” Vincenzo smiled. “Serena wanted the lifestyle. Dante wanted the title. I simply provided the resources for them to destroy you. And tonight, they served their final purpose. Dante brought you and the boy out here away from the house, exactly as I planned.”
Vincenzo reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a heavy, antique gold pocket watch. He flipped it open with a satisfying click.
“It is exactly eleven o’clock,” Vincenzo announced calmly.
“My men will tear you apart,” Alessandro promised.
“Your men?” Vincenzo chuckled. He closed the watch and slid it back into his pocket. “Alessandro, who do you think pays your men their bonuses? Who handles their legal troubles when they get arrested? I own your security team. Right now, there are twenty heavily armed men surrounding this greenhouse. You have nowhere to go.”
My heart hammered so hard it felt like it would break my ribs.
Twenty men. And Vincenzo still had people at the hospital with Leo.
“I have a proposal, Alessandro,” Vincenzo said, stepping closer to the stone planter. “Slide the bag with the bearer bonds and the ring out into the open. Surrender. I promise I will make it quick. A clean shot to the back of the head. No suffering.”
“And my son?” Alessandro demanded.
“The boy has to die. He’s the heir. You know the rules.”
Alessandro didn't answer. He looked across the dirt path, locking eyes with me through the fern leaves.
His face was a mask of cold calculation. He wasn't giving up.
He tapped his chest twice, then pointed toward a heavy metal door at the back of the greenhouse—the boiler room. He held up three fingers.
Three seconds.
I nodded, tightening my grip on Matteo.
“What is your answer, Romano?” Vincenzo demanded, losing his patience.
“My answer,” Alessandro roared, “is go to hell!”
Alessandro sprang up from behind the planter. He didn't shoot at Vincenzo. He shot directly upward, shattering the massive glass roof of the greenhouse.
Thousands of shards of heavy glass rained down like daggers.
Vincenzo screamed, throwing his arms over his head and diving for cover.
“Run!” Alessandro shouted.
I scooped Matteo into my arms. Despite being eight years old, adrenaline made him feel as light as a feather. I sprinted through the dirt, dodging falling glass and toppled orchids.
We hit the heavy metal door of the boiler room just as automatic gunfire erupted from outside the greenhouse. Vincenzo’s men were shooting through the walls.
Alessandro slammed into the door behind us, shoving us inside and throwing the heavy steel deadbolt closed.
It was pitch black inside. The air was thick with the smell of rust and old oil.
Bullets pinged off the thick steel door behind us.
“They’ll breach it in two minutes,” Alessandro breathed heavily in the dark.
“Where does this lead?” I asked, panic rising in my throat.
“Underground maintenance tunnels,” Alessandro said. “They connect to the main garage.”
He fumbled in the dark, grabbing my hand. His grip was strong and calloused, offering a terrifying comfort.
“We have to get to the cars,” he said.
We ran blindly down the damp, concrete tunnel. But halfway down, my foot kicked something heavy on the floor.
I stumbled, dropping the duffel bag of bonds.
“Wait,” I whispered, kneeling down.
My hands found the object. It was fabric. Heavy wool.
It was a winter coat.
“Someone is down here,” I warned, my blood running cold.
Suddenly, a flashlight clicked on, blinding us.
Standing ten feet away, blocking our path to the garage, was a man holding a shotgun.
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But it wasn't one of Vincenzo’s men.
It was the doctor from St. Jude’s Hospital.
