Chapter 3 - The Midnight Raid on Maynard Street
“We have to get Emma right now,” I panicked, trying to swing my casted leg over the side of the bed. “If Jake knows where I work, he knows Mrs. Chen’s apartment! He could be there right now!”
Luca’s hand caught my shoulder, firm yet surprisingly gentle. “Dante and four tactical teams are already on site. They secured the building ten minutes ago. But we are going together. You will carry her out yourself so she isn’t frightened.”
Within five minutes, we were back in the armored SUV, speeding through the torrential Seattle downpour toward the Chinatown-International District. The sirens of distant emergency vehicles echoed off the brick buildings, but the street outside my run-down apartment complex was eerily still.
Two black Suburbans were parked at odd angles, blocking the alleyway. Men in dark tactical gear stood beneath the dripping fire escapes, umbrellas drawn, weapons concealed but ready.
Luca stepped out into the rain, not bothering with an umbrella, and reached in to lift me securely into his arms.
“I can use crutches—”
“You’re not walking up three flights of stairs in a tenement building, Ava. Stop arguing with me.”
His chest was broad, impervious to the biting cold, and despite the absolute nightmare unfolding around me, a strange, electric sense of safety bloomed in my chest. For eighteen months, I had carried every burden alone—the late rent notices, the empty pantry, the sound of Emma gasping for air in the middle of the night while I counted pennies for medicine. Now, an unstoppable force of nature was carrying me through the storm.
We reached the fourth floor. The hallway smelled of boiled cabbage, damp wallpaper, and old radiator steam.
Outside apartment 4B, Dante stood guard with a grim expression. “Building is clear, Boss. But we found this taped to the fire exit on the third landing.”
Dante held up a transparent evidence bag containing a crude Polaroid photograph of Emma sleeping in her toddler bed, taken through the window. Scrawled across the glass frame in red lipstick was a message: See you soon, Daddy’s little jackpot.
A choked sob tore from my throat. “He was right outside her window…”
Luca’s face went entirely dead. The air around him turned arctic. “He won’t live to see next week. Open the door.”
I unlocked the deadbolt with trembling fingers. Inside, the apartment was warm. Mrs. Chen, my sweet seventy-year-old neighbor, was dozing in the rocking chair, her knitting needles resting in her lap. In the corner, bundled in a faded pink fleece blanket, was my three-year-old daughter, Emma. Her curly brown hair was damp with sweat, her little chest rising and falling with that familiar, terrifying wheeze.
“Ava?” Mrs. Chen gasped, waking up and staring wide-eyed at the massive, dark-suited men filling the doorway. “What’s happening? Who are these people?”
“Mrs. Chen, it’s okay,” I said softly as Luca lowered me into an armchair. “These men are friends of my father. We have to leave immediately.”
Luca stepped forward, his imposing demeanor softening by a noticeable degree. He pulled a thick envelope from his coat and placed it on Mrs. Chen’s side table. “Mrs. Chen. For your kindness to Ava and the child. There is enough inside for you to relocate to a luxury retirement community in Bellevue tomorrow morning. Dante will escort you to a safe hotel for tonight.”
Mrs. Chen stared at the envelope, then at Luca’s sharp suit, and finally at me. She nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of the situation without another word.
I leaned over Emma’s crib, gently scooping my little girl into my arms. She stirred, blinking her big hazel eyes—eyes that looked so much like my own—and buried her face into my neck.
“Mommy?” she whispered, coughing lightly. “Are we going to the diner?”
“No, baby,” I choked back my tears, smoothing her curls. “We’re going to a big, beautiful castle where you’re going to get medicine that makes your chest feel all better.”
Emma peeked over my shoulder and saw Luca standing in the shadows of the doorway. To my astonishment, my daughter—who normally cried at the sight of strangers—didn't shrink back.
She stared at the tall, dark man with wide curiosity. “Are you the giant from Mommy’s story?”
Luca froze. For the first time since I had met him, the terrifying mafia don looked completely caught off guard. He slowly walked over, crouching down until he was at eye level with the three-year-old.
“I’m not a giant, little one,” Luca said, his deep voice miraculously gentle, like rumbling velvet. “I’m the keeper of the castle. And nobody will ever hurt you or your mommy again.”
Emma reached out a tiny, sticky hand and touched the sharp line of Luca’s jaw. Luca didn't move an inch, accepting the child's touch as if it were a sacred crown.
“Okay,” Emma whispered, yawning. “Carry me?”
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Luca looked up at me, an unreadable fire burning behind his dark eyes. With infinite care, he lifted Emma into his left arm, where she nestled against his broad chest, and wrapped his powerful right arm securely around my waist to support my weight.
As we walked out of the tenement building into the waiting motorcade, the Seattle night felt different. The rain still fell, but the crushing weight of helplessness was gone, replaced by the dangerous, intoxicating armor of the Castellano family.
