Chapter 4 - THE CHILD’S DRAWING
Victor slowly racked the bolt of his rifle. The metallic clack echoed off the concrete walls.
“I have to admit, Roman,” Victor said, walking confidently toward us. “I didn’t think you were smart enough to figure it out before the flight. But Isabella is sloppy. She always was.”
I pushed Eli behind my mother, shielding them both with my body. I didn’t have my weapon drawn. If I reached for it, Victor would fire.
“You think you can shoot us in my own house and walk away?” I asked, keeping my voice perfectly level to buy time.
Victor laughed. “Your security cameras in the garage have been looping the same fifteen minutes of footage for an hour. And the guards? They work for me now.”
“You’re a coward, Victor,” my mother said. Her voice didn't shake. “You hide behind a woman’s skirts and kill people in their sleep.”
Victor’s smile faded. “Toss the bracelet to me, old woman. Now.”
My mother looked at me. We had a silent, instantaneous conversation. I knew exactly what she was going to do.
She didn't toss the bracelet to Victor.
She threw it as hard as she could across the garage, sending it skittering under a massive row of steel toolboxes.
Victor cursed and instinctively tracked the movement, his rifle barrel swinging away from us for a fraction of a second.
It was all the time Elena needed.
From the shadows of the stairwell, Elena lunged. She didn't fire her gun; it was too risky with Eli so close. Instead, she drove a tactical knife straight into Victor’s shoulder.
Victor screamed, dropping the rifle. He backhanded Elena brutally across the jaw, sending her crashing into the side of the SUV.
I charged.
I tackled Victor to the concrete. He was heavy, but I had a lifetime of rage fueling my fists. I struck him twice in the jaw, hearing the satisfying crunch of bone. He scrambled backward, pulling a small silver pistol from his ankle holster.
Before he could aim it, I kicked his wrist, sending the gun sliding across the floor.
I grabbed him by the throat, pinning him against the concrete.
“Where is Isabella?” I snarled.
Victor choked, blood spilling from his lip. He grinned, a sickening, red-stained smile.
“She’s upstairs,” he gasped. “Packing her bags. Getting ready to play the grieving fiancée when the feds arrest you. You can’t stop it, Roman. The drugs are already on the plane. The federal agent is already dead in the cargo hold.”
I tightened my grip on his throat until his eyes rolled back, and he passed out.
I stood up, breathing heavily. Elena was groaning, pulling herself up by the bumper of the car. My mother was kneeling next to Eli, holding the terrified boy tight against her chest.
“Elena, get him in the car,” I ordered. “Take my mother to the safe house in the mountains. Marcus will meet you there.”
“What are you going to do?” my mother asked, her eyes wide with fear.
“I’m going to have a conversation with my fiancée,” I said.
I walked over to the toolboxes and retrieved the sapphire bracelet. The micro-SD card was still safely tucked inside. The key to destroying Isabella’s family.
As I turned to leave the garage, I felt a small tug on my pant leg.
It was Eli.
He didn't look scared anymore. He looked incredibly sad.
He reached into his pajama pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to me.
“I drew this for you,” the five-year-old whispered. “Because I want you to be my real dad.”
My chest tightened painfully. I unfolded the paper.
It was a crayon drawing of me, Eli, and Elena standing together outside a house. We were holding hands. My mother was sitting in a chair nearby, smiling.
But it was the bottom of the drawing that made my blood run cold.
In the corner of the picture, Eli had drawn a woman hiding behind a tree, holding a red box with a wire coming out of it.
“Eli,” I knelt down, pointing to the red box. “What is this? Did you see someone with this box?”
Eli nodded innocently. “Miss Isabella. She put it in your big black car yesterday. She said it was a surprise for your trip to the airport.”
I looked up at my armored SUV. The one Elena was about to drive away in.
A bomb. Isabella had planted a bomb in my vehicle. She was never going to rely solely on the feds arresting me. She was tying up loose ends.
If Eli hadn't drawn that picture, my mother, Elena, and my little brother would have been blown to pieces the moment they turned the ignition.
I looked at the drawing, then at Eli.
“You just saved our lives again, buddy,” I whispered, kissing his forehead.
May you like
I stood up, my eyes locked on the ceiling above us, directly beneath the master suite where Isabella was packing.
She wanted a war. She was about to get a massacre.
