Chapter 6 - THE BLOOD ON THE APRON
The click of the pantry door locking echoed like a gunshot. The temperature in the room was thirty-eight degrees, but a cold sweat broke out across my back.
Leo squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into my side, his small fingers gripping my uniform dress so tightly it hurt. I stepped in front of him, shielding him with my body.
Marco drew his gun. The black metal glinted under the harsh fluorescent bulb. He didn’t look rushed; he looked like a man doing a routine chore.
“Nothing personal, Sophie,” Marco said, checking the silencer attached to the barrel. “You’re just collateral damage. Julian said you were getting too nosey anyway.”
“You’re going to kill a six-year-old boy?” I asked, keeping my voice loud, hoping the thick metal door wasn’t entirely soundproof. “Luca trusted you. He pays you to protect his house!”
“Luca pays me well,” Marco agreed, stepping over a fallen box of apples. “But Julian promised me a seat at the table. Once the bombs go off at midnight, Luca, his loyalists, and this entire mansion will be ashes. Julian takes the syndicate, and I become his second-in-command.”
My eyes darted around the confined space. Shelves of canned goods, sacks of flour, hanging cuts of meat. Nothing I could use as a shield. Nothing I could fight a trained killer with.
Unless I didn’t fight him with strength.
“Wait!” I cried out, holding up my hands in surrender. “Just... let the boy go. He doesn’t know anything. He’s just a kid.”
“The kid is the only real heir,” Marco sneered. “Julian used him to keep the old mob bosses happy, proving the bloodline was alive. But once Julian takes over, the kid is a loose end. Boss’s orders.”
He raised the gun, aiming it squarely at my chest. “Close your eyes, Sophie.”
“Marco, wait! The security cameras!” I shouted, pointing toward the ceiling corner.
Marco instinctually glanced up. There was no camera in the pantry.
In that split second, I grabbed a heavy, ten-pound sack of bleached flour from the shelf beside me and hurled it directly at his face.
The thick paper sack exploded against his raised arm, sending a massive, blinding cloud of white powder into the air. Marco coughed violently, blinded, wildly firing a silenced shot. Thwip! The bullet shattered a row of glass pickle jars behind me, showering us in vinegar and glass.
“Run, Leo!” I screamed, shoving the boy toward the floor.
I didn’t run. I dove forward, grabbing a heavy cast-iron skillet hanging from the lower butcher rack. With every ounce of strength I had, I swung it upward.
The heavy iron connected with Marco’s knee with a sickening crunch. He roared in pain, dropping to one knee, but he was a trained enforcer. He backhanded me across the face with his free hand.
I crashed backward into the metal shelving, my vision exploding into white stars. I tasted blood. The skillet clattered out of reach.
Marco wiped the flour from his eyes, his face twisted in pure rage. He leveled the gun at my head.
“Stupid bitch,” he spat.
Suddenly, the heavy steel pantry door was violently kicked open from the outside.
Luca stood in the doorway, a ghost in a bespoke suit. He didn’t hesitate. Before Marco could pivot his weapon, Luca fired two shots from his own pistol.
Marco dropped his gun, clutching his shoulder as he collapsed to the floor, groaning in agony.
Luca stepped into the pantry, his eyes sweeping the chaos—the flour, the broken glass, Marco bleeding on the tiles, and me, slumped against the shelves with blood dripping from my lip.
Then, Luca saw the boy.
Leo was huddled under the lowest shelf, shaking uncontrollably. Luca froze. The cold, ruthless mafia boss vanished, replaced by a man looking at a ghost. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the broken glass cutting into his trousers.
“Leo?” Luca whispered, his voice cracking.
The boy peeked out, terrified. “Are you... my uncle?”
Luca’s eyes filled with tears. He reached out a trembling hand. “Yes. I’m your Uncle Luca. I’ve been looking for you for a very long time.”
Leo hesitated, then scrambled out from under the shelf and threw his arms around Luca’s neck. Luca buried his face in the boy’s shoulder, holding him so tightly it looked like he was afraid the child would evaporate.
I watched them, tears stinging my own eyes, ignoring the throbbing pain in my jaw. For a brief, beautiful moment, the nightmare was paused.
But then Marco started laughing. A wet, coughing laugh from the floor.
Luca’s head snapped up. His eyes turned murderous. He stood, pulling Leo behind him, and aimed his gun down at the bleeding bodyguard.
“Give me one reason not to put a bullet between your eyes,” Luca growled.
Marco coughed up blood, grinning with red-stained teeth. “Because killing me won’t stop it. You think I’m the only one? Half your security detail belongs to Julian now.”
Marco weakly tapped his watch. It read 11:51 PM.
“Nine minutes, Boss,” Marco wheezed. “The bombs are in the basement load-bearing pillars. The detonator is on a remote trigger. And Julian took it when your men locked him in the warehouse.”
Luca’s face went pale. The warehouse was fifty yards behind the main house. If Julian triggered the explosion from there, the entire mansion would collapse in on itself, burying us all.
Luca turned to me, his eyes wide with urgency. “Sophie. Take Leo. Get out through the service exit and run to the woods. Don’t look back.”
“What about you?” I asked, panic rising again.
“I have to get to the warehouse,” Luca said, checking his magazine. “I have to stop Julian.”
He turned to leave, but I grabbed his sleeve.
“Wait,” I breathed, staring at Marco’s bleeding shoulder. “Vanessa told me she had someone watching my mother. She used it to blackmail me into silence upstairs. If you kill Julian, whoever is watching my mother might hurt her.”
Luca stopped. He looked at me, realizing the impossible choice he was forcing me to make. Save the boy and his own life, or save my mother.
“I’ll fix it,” Luca swore, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. “I swear on my life, Sophie. I will fix it.”
He turned and bolted out of the kitchen.
I grabbed Leo’s hand. We had eight minutes to escape.
But as we ran toward the back exit, a terrifying thought stopped me dead in my tracks.
The detonator wasn’t in the warehouse.
Julian’s jacket had ripped in the study. I saw everything that fell out of his pockets. Papers. A pen. A lighter. There was no remote detonator.
Which meant Julian didn’t have it.
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I looked up toward the grand staircase.
Vanessa had it. And she was locked in the guest room on the third floor.
