Chapter 6 - THE BURNED TICKET
The bullet tore through the expensive velvet of Isabella’s coat, sinking deep into her right shoulder.
She let out a piercing, agonizing scream, collapsing against the leather seats.
The driver froze in horror. He had just shot his boss.
In that split second of hesitation, I lunged forward. I kicked the partition glass, shattering it into the front seat, and grabbed the driver’s wrist. I twisted it sharply, forcing him to drop the weapon. A swift strike to his temple left him slumped over the steering wheel, unconscious.
The car was eerily silent, save for Isabella’s ragged, sobbing breaths.
She was clutching her bleeding shoulder, staring at me with pure, unadulterated hatred.
“You’re a monster,” she gasped, blood seeping through her fingers.
“I’m exactly what you made me,” I replied coldly.
I reached over her trembling body and fished the small iron key out of her coat pocket. I didn't know if her story about the Colombian vault was true, but I wasn't leaving any advantage behind.
“Where is Marcus taking the boy?” I demanded, pressing my thumb hard against her collarbone, inches from her bullet wound.
Isabella cried out, tears ruining her perfect makeup. “Hangar 4! He’s taking him to Hangar 4!”
I shoved her back against the seat, grabbed the driver’s gun, and stepped out of the town car into the cold night air. I left her bleeding in the back seat. She would survive, but she wasn't going anywhere.
The private airstrip was two miles down the road. I ran.
The cold wind whipped against my face, clearing my mind. Everything I knew had been a lie, but the mission was terrifyingly simple. Save Eli. Protect my family.
When I reached the perimeter fence of the airfield, I bypassed the main gate and slipped through a rusted drainage grate I had played in as a teenager.
Hangar 4 sat at the far end of the tarmac. The massive steel doors were cracked open, spilling a thin slice of yellow light onto the asphalt.
I crept toward the opening and peered inside.
My private jet sat in the center of the hangar. Marcus stood near the boarding stairs. He wasn't holding a gun.
He was holding Eli.
The little boy was terrified, crying silently, clutching something small and charred in his hands.
Standing opposite Marcus was a man in a pilot’s uniform. But he wasn't my pilot. He was one of Isabella’s cartel men.
“Put the boy on the plane,” the pilot ordered, checking his watch. “The boss wants this done before the feds arrive.”
Marcus looked down at Eli. A heavy, conflicted emotion passed over my trusted friend's face.
“Isabella said the boy wouldn't be harmed,” Marcus said, his voice tight. “She said he was just collateral to ensure Roman's cooperation.”
“Isabella lied,” the pilot sneered, pulling a suppressed pistol from his jacket. “The kid is a loose end. Put him on the plane. We’re throwing him out over the Atlantic.”
Marcus froze. He looked at the pilot, then down at the crying five-year-old in his arms.
I raised my gun, aiming steadily at the pilot’s head from the shadows. I was about to pull the trigger when Marcus moved.
He didn't hand Eli over. He shoved the boy behind a stack of metal crates and drew his own weapon.
“Nobody touches the kid,” Marcus roared.
The pilot fired.
Marcus grunted, stumbling backward as a bullet grazed his ribs. But he returned fire, striking the pilot square in the chest. The cartel man collapsed onto the concrete, dead.
I stepped out of the shadows, my gun still raised, aimed squarely at Marcus.
Marcus dropped his weapon instantly, putting his hands in the air. He was bleeding, panting heavily.
“Boss,” Marcus gasped. “I swear to God, I didn't know she was going to kill him.”
“You betrayed me,” I said, my voice empty of all emotion. “You sold my family to that viper.”
“She blackmailed me!” Marcus pleaded, tears welling in his eyes. “She found out I was skimming from the southern accounts. She said she’d go to you. She promised no one would get hurt if I just delivered the kid to the hangar!”
I stared at him. Fifteen years of loyalty, destroyed by greed and cowardice.
“Roman!” a small voice cried out.
Eli ran out from behind the crates and threw his arms around my legs. I lowered my gun, dropping to one knee to hug him tightly.
“I’m here, buddy,” I whispered. “You’re safe.”
Eli pulled back, holding out his small hands. “I found this on the floor. The bad man dropped it.”
I looked at what Eli was holding. It was a partially burned boarding pass.
But it wasn't for my flight.
The name on the ticket was Elena Rossi. The maid. My mother’s security chief. Eli's birth mother.
The destination was Bogota, Colombia.
And the date on the ticket was for tomorrow.
I stared at the burned ticket, my mind racing to catch up. Elena was flying to Colombia? To Isabella’s family stronghold?
“Why would Elena have a ticket to Bogota?” I asked Marcus, my voice sharp.
Marcus looked genuinely confused. “I don't know. Isabella said Elena was working for her.”
The world tilted on its axis.
May you like
“What?” I breathed.
“Elena wasn't protecting your mother, Roman,” Marcus said, holding his bleeding side. “Elena was the one who poisoned her. Isabella paid Elena to slip the neurotoxin into the tea.”
