Chapter 7 - THE CHILD’S DRAWING
The torn piece of paper on the carpet felt like a live wire against my foot.
Duck on three.
Luca had known. He had known the moment Vanessa knocked on the front door that this was a trap. He had slipped this note under Leo’s door before sending me upstairs, anticipating that someone else was already inside the house.
The first question was answered: Julian was the ultimate architect of the night’s horrors, using Marcus’s decades of bitterness and Vanessa’s greed to clear his path to the throne.
But two new questions screamed in my mind: How was Luca planning to take down an armed man while trapped downstairs with a hysterical traitor? And how was I supposed to protect a zip-tied six-year-old in a bathtub when a gun was pressed against my spine?
“Move,” Julian hissed, shoving his pistol harder against my back. “We’re walking down those stairs slowly. You make a sound, and the kid in the tub gets the next bullet.”
“Okay,” I breathed, forcing my voice to tremble more than it already was. I needed to act terrified. I needed to make him overconfident. “Please, just don't hurt him.”
“Walk.”
I stepped out of the bedroom and onto the thickly carpeted landing of the second floor. The grand staircase spiraled down to the foyer below. From my vantage point, I could see the heavy oak front door and the entrance to the kitchen.
Downstairs, the silence was agonizing. Vanessa’s sobbing had stopped.
“Luca!” Julian called out, his voice echoing smoothly through the cavernous house. “Come out, cousin. Leave the gun on the floor. I have your lovely housekeeper up here. And little Leo is currently gift-wrapped in the master bath.”
Nothing. Silence.
Julian’s grip on my arm tightened painfully. He stepped closer to the edge of the railing, pulling me in front of him as a human shield.
“Luca, I’m not a patient man. I’m going to count to three. If you aren't standing in the center of that foyer on your knees, I’m putting a bullet through Claire’s skull.”
My heart hammered wildly against my ribs. Three. That was the number.
“One!” Julian shouted.
Still silence. I shifted my weight slightly, planting my feet firmly on the soft carpet. I needed perfect balance.
“Two!” Julian sneered, cocking the hammer of his gun. The sharp, mechanical click right next to my ear was deafening.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I thought of my mother sitting in a hospital room, waiting for me. I thought of little Leo cowering in the bathtub.
“Three!”
I dropped.
I didn't just duck; I threw my entire body weight forward, collapsing completely to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
BANG!
A gunshot rang out—but not from Julian’s gun.
A high-caliber bullet shattered the massive crystal chandelier hanging perfectly level with the second-floor landing. A thousand shards of jagged glass exploded outward, raining down like daggers.
Julian screamed as a massive piece of crystal sliced across his cheek and shoulder. He staggered backward, his gun firing blindly into the ceiling.
Before he could recover, Luca burst from the shadows of the upstairs hallway—he hadn't been downstairs at all. He had used the secondary servant stairs in the back of the house to circle up behind us while Vanessa distracted the main floor.
Luca moved with terrifying, predatory speed. He didn't fire his weapon. He hit Julian like a freight train, tackling him violently against the oak railing.
The railing cracked loudly. Both men grappled for the gun.
“Get Leo!” Luca roared, driving his knee into Julian’s ribs.
I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the searing pain in my back, and sprinted back into the guest bedroom. I slid into the bathroom, grabbed a pair of grooming scissors from the vanity, and frantically sawed at the thick plastic zip-tie around Leo’s wrists.
“It’s okay, buddy, it’s okay,” I panted, tears blurring my vision. The plastic snapped. I scooped the terrified boy into my arms.
Outside in the hallway, the sound of bone crunching and heavy grunts echoed violently. I crept to the doorway, holding Leo tight against my chest.
Luca had Julian pinned to the floor, his forearm pressed brutally against his cousin’s throat. Julian was gasping for air, his pristine suit torn and soaked in blood from the shattered chandelier. Julian’s gun lay kicked away, halfway down the stairs.
“You think you won?” Julian choked out, a bloody, arrogant smile spreading across his face. “Kill me. It doesn't matter. The Petrovs are already en route to this safe house. Thirty men, Luca. They’re coming to finish the job. You’re a king with no army.”
Luca’s expression was ice cold. He didn't look angry. He looked like a man who had already solved the puzzle.
“You’re right, Julian,” Luca said softly, leaning closer. “I am a king with no army. But I’m also the only man who knows the code to the Cayman offshore accounts holding Vincenzo’s two hundred million dollars. The money you promised the Petrovs for this coup.”
Julian’s smile faltered.
“Do you really think the Petrov syndicate is coming here to kill me?” Luca whispered. “I called Ivan Petrov ten minutes ago from the kitchen landline. I told him Marcus was dead, and that you were orchestrating a hostile takeover using their men, but you had no access to the funds to pay them.”
Julian’s eyes widened in sheer panic. “You’re lying.”
“I transferred fifty million into Ivan’s private account as a gesture of goodwill,” Luca continued, his voice void of any emotion. “I bought your army, Julian. They aren't coming here to kill me. They’re coming to collect you.”
Julian thrashed violently, screaming in pure desperation, but Luca’s grip was iron.
Downstairs, the sound of heavy tires crunching on the gravel driveway echoed through the house. Doors slammed. Heavy footsteps marched onto the front porch.
The front door burst open.
A dozen men in tactical gear flooded the foyer. But they didn't raise their weapons toward the stairs. They stood in perfectly disciplined silence.
At the bottom of the stairs, standing in the center of the foyer, was Vanessa.
She was looking up at the balcony, her face pale, completely surrounded by the Petrov soldiers.
And in her hand, she was gripping something tightly.
It was the heavy, silver rosary Luca had left on the kitchen island.
“Luca!” Vanessa screamed, holding the cross up like a weapon. “I have the microfiche! The ledger! Let me walk out of here right now, or I’ll destroy it!”
Luca slowly stood up, dragging Julian up by his collar and shoving him toward the stairs. He looked down at his former fiancée.
“Go ahead, Vanessa,” Luca said calmly. “Break it.”
Vanessa hesitated. Then, with a frantic scream, she threw the silver rosary violently onto the marble floor of the foyer.
The cross shattered.
But there was no microfiche film inside.
There was nothing but empty space and a tiny, folded piece of paper.
One of the Petrov soldiers bent down, picked up the paper, and unfolded it. He looked up at Luca and laughed harshly.
“What does it say?” Vanessa shrieked, dropping to her knees.
The soldier held it up. Written in neat, elegant cursive were the words:
Nice try.
Luca looked at me, standing in the bedroom doorway with Leo. He gave me a slow, exhausted nod.
May you like
I reached into my apron pocket and felt the tiny, genuine microfiche film safely tucked inside. I had switched it when I checked the kitchen before running upstairs.
The nightmare was finally over.
