Chapter 11 - THE RECKONING
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Marco had overpowered the men Luca sent to dispose of him. He had returned to the estate.
“Emma?” Leo whispered, his voice trembling. “I don’t like that sound.”
I rushed over to the bed, grabbed him, and pulled him into the walk-in closet at the back of the room. I shut the heavy wooden door behind us, plunging us into darkness.
“Hide behind my coats, Leo,” I whispered fiercely. “Do not make a sound. No matter what you hear.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know. But Mr. Moretti is going to keep us safe. I promise.”
I sat on the floor of the closet, clutching Leo to my chest, straining to hear through the walls.
Downstairs, a voice roared. It was Marco.
“Where is she, Luca?! Where is the boy?!”
“You’re a dead man, Marco.” Luca’s voice was ice-cold, echoing up the grand staircase.
Two suppressed gunshots cut through the air. Pfft. Pfft.
A heavy thud followed.
Then, silence.
I held my breath. One second. Two seconds. Ten seconds.
Footsteps began walking up the stairs. Heavy. Deliberate.
Not running. Walking.
They reached the second-floor landing. They moved down the hallway, stopping right outside the door to our suite.
The brass doorknob rattled.
Click. Click.
The door was locked.
“Emma,” a voice called out from the hallway.
It was Luca.
I let out a gasping sob of relief. I stood up, leaving Leo in the closet, and ran to the bedroom door. I pressed my ear against the wood.
“Luca?” I breathed.
“Open the door, Emma. It’s safe.”
I reached for the deadbolt.
But my hand stopped in mid-air.
I looked down at the sliver of space between the door and the floor. The hallway light cast a shadow into the room.
The shadow of the man standing outside the door didn’t look right. The silhouette was too wide. The posture too slouched.
And then, I noticed it.
Through the tiny gap beneath the door, I could see the man’s shoes.
They weren’t Luca’s polished black oxfords.
They were scuffed brown leather boots.
It wasn’t Luca. Marco was mimicking his voice.
“Open the door, Emma,” the voice repeated, this time losing the refined cadence, the gravelly, ugly undertone of Marco Vane bleeding through. “Don’t make me break it down. I just want to see my son.”
I backed away from the door, my hands over my mouth to muffle my screams.
BAM!
The heavy oak door shuddered as Marco kicked it.
BAM!
The wood around the hinges began to splinter.
“You can’t keep him from me!” Marco roared. “I’m his father!”
BAM!
The lock gave way. The door flew open, crashing against the wall.
Marco Vane stood in the doorway. He was bleeding from a gunshot wound in his left shoulder, holding the heavy iron fireplace poker he must have grabbed downstairs. His eyes scanned the empty room, locking onto the closed closet door.
He smiled.
He took a step into the room.
“Marco.”
The voice came from the hallway behind him.
Marco spun around, raising the iron poker.
Luca was standing in the doorway, blood dripping from a cut above his eye, his black suit ruined. He didn’t have his gun. Marco must have knocked it away downstairs.
“You just don’t know when to stay down, do you, old man?” Luca said softly.
Marco lunged at him.
Luca side-stepped the swing of the heavy iron poker with brutal efficiency. He grabbed Marco’s extended arm, twisted it sharply, and drove his knee into Marco’s ribs with a sickening crunch.
Marco dropped the poker, howling in pain.
Luca didn’t stop. He grabbed Marco by the throat, spun him around, and slammed him against the wall so hard the plaster cracked.
“I told you,” Luca growled, his face inches from Marco’s terrified eyes. “He is not your son. He is my family.”
Luca pulled Marco away from the wall and drove a devastating punch into his jaw.
Marco’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the floor in a lifeless heap.
Luca stood over him, breathing heavily. He looked up, his eyes finding mine across the room.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice instantly softening.
I nodded, tears streaming down my face. I ran across the room and threw my arms around his neck.
May you like
Luca caught me, holding me tight against his chest, burying his face in my hair.
“It’s over,” he whispered fiercely. “It’s finally over.”
