Chapter 6 - THE ATTORNEY'S BRIEFCASE
“Give me the boy, Claire.”
Charles Whitmore stood under the flickering fluorescent lights of Platform 4, his gun pointed steadily at my chest. The two thugs flanked him, their hands resting on the grips of their own weapons.
The rain drummed loudly against the metal awning above us. I squeezed Leo’s small hand, pulling him slightly behind me.
“Charles?” I gasped, my mind reeling. “What are you doing? Victoria said you were helping raise the ransom to save him.”
“Victoria is an idiot who believed whatever I told her to believe,” Charles replied coldly. “I wasn't raising money to send the boy away. I was stalling. Keeping him in the city long enough for Rossi’s rivals to intercept the handoff.”
Answer one: Victoria wasn't the mastermind; she was a pawn manipulated by Charles to stall the boy’s escape. Open two: Why does the family attorney want the boy dead, and who is actually paying him?
Rossi stepped in front of me, shielding both me and Leo. Despite his illness, he moved with the lethal grace of a man who had survived thirty years in the mafia.
“You sold me out, Charles,” Rossi spat, gripping his walking cane tight.
“It’s strictly business, Marco,” Charles said, checking his watch. “You’re dying. Your syndicate is fractured. Hand over the Romano bastard, and my clients will let you walk away to die in a hospital bed.”
“I’m not giving him up to be slaughtered to end the Romano bloodline,” Rossi growled.
Charles laughed softly. The reversal of his character—from a nervous, bullied attorney in the dining room to a cold, calculating orchestrator—was terrifying.
“You think this is about ending a bloodline?” Charles asked. He slowly lowered his briefcase to the wet concrete and clicked it open. “My clients don't want the boy dead, Marco. They want him alive.”
Charles reached into the briefcase and pulled out a thick stack of legal documents tied with a red ribbon.
“Eleanor Romano was a very thorough woman,” Charles explained, holding up the papers. “When she brokered the peace treaty, she didn't just hide the boy. She secretly amended the Romano family trusts. If Dominic dies without an heir, the entire empire—the properties, the accounts, the legitimate businesses—defaults to the next surviving blood relative.”
My stomach plummeted as the pieces snapped into place.
“Leo,” I whispered.
“Exactly,” Charles smiled. “If my clients take the boy, they have the ultimate leverage. They can assassinate Dominic tomorrow, and place this child on the throne as a puppet boss. They take the whole empire legally.”
The stakes had shifted from a rescue mission to a fight for the entire Romano dynasty.
Rossi didn't waste another second. He lunged.
With shocking speed, Rossi swung his heavy silver-topped cane, smashing it across the face of the thug on Charles’s left. The man crumpled.
Gunfire erupted.
The sound was deafening in the enclosed platform. I screamed, wrapping my arms around Leo and throwing us both to the wet concrete behind a heavy steel luggage cart.
“Run, Claire!” Rossi roared, firing his suppressed pistol at the second thug.
I scrambled to my feet, dragging Leo by his jacket collar. We sprinted toward the open doors of the train car. Bullets sparked against the steel pillars around us.
I threw Leo onto the train and dove in after him just as Charles fired, shattering the glass window of the door inches from my face.
I hit the floor hard, scrambling backward and slamming the heavy metal door shut, locking the deadbolt.
Outside, I heard a terrible, wet thud, followed by silence.
I peeked through the shattered window. Rossi was on his knees, clutching his chest. Charles stood over him, aiming his gun down.
“A noble effort, Marco,” Charles said, pulling the trigger.
I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled Leo tightly against my chest to muffle his scream.
Footsteps approached the train door. The handle jiggled violently.
“Open the door, Claire,” Charles demanded through the broken glass. “The train leaves in two minutes. There is nowhere to run.”
I backed away down the narrow sleeper car corridor. We were trapped.
“Claire,” Leo sobbed, gripping my apron. “What do we do?”
I looked around frantically. Then I remembered Dominic’s words: Once it departs, my men will intercept it at the next stop.
I just needed the train to move.
I grabbed Leo’s hand and ran to the end of the corridor, reaching the emergency brake override panel. I didn't know how to drive a train, but I had watched the conductors lock the doors and signal departures.
But as I reached for the communication intercom to yell at the conductor, the train jolted violently.
Not forward. Backward.
The carriage detached with a loud metallic clank.
I looked out the side window in horror. The locomotive and the front passenger cars were pulling away from the station, leaving our sleeper car behind, completely unhitched and dead on the tracks.
Charles had uncoupled the car.
The cliffhanger wasn't an explosion. It was the terrifying sound of Charles’s heavy boot kicking through the shattered door glass, reaching in, and unlocking the deadbolt from the inside.
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“End of the line,” Charles said, stepping into the corridor.
And then, a black SUV smashed straight through the chain-link fence at the end of the platform, roaring directly toward the train car.
