Chapter 7 - THE HOTEL KEY
The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating.
Sal didn’t make it.
The man who had driven Luca to kindergarten. The man who had stayed awake with him in the hospital. The man who had been more of a father to him than his own flesh and blood.
Gone.
Murdered by Dominic’s bomb.
Luca didn’t scream. He didn’t punch the wall.
He just stood there, staring at the hotel room phone, completely motionless.
It was worse than anger. It was the terrifying calm of a man who had nothing left to lose.
I walked over to him and gently placed my hand on his arm.
He was shaking. A deep, violent tremor beneath his tailored suit.
“Luca,” I whispered.
He didn’t look at me.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the blood-stained brass key.
He stared at it for a long moment.
Then, he closed his fist around it, his knuckles turning white.
“Get up,” Luca said, his voice devoid of any human emotion.
He was talking to Vanessa.
She scrambled to her feet, wiping the mascara from her face.
“We’re going to the rail yard,” Luca said.
He walked out the door.
We followed him through the lobby and back to the car in silence.
The rain had turned into a torrential downpour, washing the Chicago streets slick and black.
Luca drove like a madman.
He wove through the midnight traffic, pushing the sedan to its absolute limit, his jaw locked in a terrifying grimace.
The private rail yard was located in the industrial district, surrounded by towering chain-link fences and rusted shipping containers.
Luca killed the headlights a block away.
He parked in an alley and pulled his gun.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
“No,” Vanessa said, her voice shaking but resolute. “That’s my son on that train.”
Luca looked at her.
“If you get in my way, Vanessa, I won’t hesitate to shoot you myself.”
She swallowed hard, but she didn’t back down.
We moved through the shadows of the rail yard.
The rain masked the sound of our footsteps.
At the far end of the tracks, a sleek, silver private train car sat idling, steam hissing from beneath its wheels.
Two armed men in black raincoats stood guard at the rear door.
Luca didn’t hesitate.
He raised his gun and fired twice.
Both men dropped before they even knew what hit them.
Luca stepped over their bodies and opened the heavy metal door.
We slipped inside.
The interior of the train car was pure luxury. Mahogany panels, leather seats, a full bar.
But it was quiet.
Too quiet.
We crept down the narrow hallway toward the main lounge.
Luca held his hand up, signaling us to stop.
He peeked around the corner.
Sitting at a large oak table in the center of the lounge was Dominic.
He looked older than I imagined. Silver hair, perfectly tailored suit. He was pouring a glass of scotch, completely at ease.
Sitting across from him, tied to a chair with thick rope, was a little boy.
He was four years old. Dark hair, terrified brown eyes.
Leo.
Sitting on the table between them was the ledger.
“You know, Leo,” Dominic said, taking a sip of his scotch. “Your father was a very stubborn man. He didn’t understand that in this family, power isn’t inherited. It’s taken.”
The little boy just cried silently.
Luca stepped around the corner, his gun raised, aimed directly at his uncle’s head.
“Let him go, Dominic.”
Dominic didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look surprised.
He slowly put down his glass and turned in his leather chair.
“Luca,” Dominic smiled. “I was wondering when you’d catch up.”
“Let the boy go.”
Dominic sighed.
“You’re too emotional, Luca. It’s always been your weakness. Just like your father.”
He snapped his fingers.
Suddenly, the door at the far end of the lounge slid open.
Six men stepped out, rifles raised, completely surrounding us.
We had walked into a trap.
Luca didn’t lower his gun. He kept it dead center on Dominic’s forehead.
“Shoot me, and you die,” Dominic said calmly.
“I don’t care if I die,” Luca said, his voice cold. “As long as I take you with me.”
Dominic smiled.
He reached into his jacket pocket.
But he didn’t pull out a gun.
He pulled out a folded piece of paper.
He tossed it onto the table next to the ledger.
“I don’t think you want to shoot me, Luca,” Dominic said. “Not until you read that.”
Luca’s eyes flicked to the paper.
“What is it?”
“It’s a birth certificate,” Dominic said softly.
He looked past Luca, straight at me.
“It belongs to your lovely housekeeper, Emma.”
My heart stopped.
“What?” I breathed.
May you like
Dominic smiled, a cruel, satisfied grin.
“Tell him, Emma,” Dominic purred. “Tell him who your father really is.”
