Chapter 6 - THE SWISS ORPHANAGE
The private jet cut through the freezing night sky over the Swiss Alps.
I sat near the window, a cup of untouched coffee in my hands. Luca sat across from me, staring blankly at the crayon drawing of his son. He hadn't slept in twelve hours.
"Mr. Moretti?" I asked softly.
He looked up. The ruthless mafia boss was gone. In his place was a grieving father and a traumatized brother.
"Why did you ask me to come, really?" I asked.
Luca sighed, rubbing his temples. "Because Antonio doesn't know me as a man. He remembers me as a five-year-old boy. He’s been raised by monsters, Emma. If I walk into that facility with my armed guards, it will end in a bloodbath. I need someone who doesn't look like a threat to approach the child."
We landed in Geneva just as the sun rose over the snow-capped mountains. A black SUV was waiting on the tarmac.
The facility wasn't a prison. It was a sprawling, pristine boarding school nestled in a valley. It looked idyllic. It looked like a very expensive cage.
"Stay close," Luca told me as we approached the heavy iron gates.
The guards at the gate recognized Luca's name and the Bellini credentials we had seized from Vanessa. They let us through, assuming Luca was there on Victor Bellini's orders.
We walked into the main courtyard. Dozens of children in neat uniforms were playing in the snow.
My eyes scanned the crowd. Then, I saw him.
A little boy sitting alone on a wooden bench, drawing with a red crayon on a piece of paper. He had dark, curly hair and familiar, intense dark eyes.
"Luca," I whispered, pointing.
Luca stopped walking. He stared at the boy. The resemblance to the photograph of twelve-year-old Luca in the lunchbox was undeniable.
"Leo," Luca breathed.
He took a step forward, but before he could reach the child, a massive shadow stepped out from behind a stone pillar.
It was a man in his late thirties. Tall, heavily scarred, wearing a dark wool coat. His eyes were cold, dead, and focused entirely on Luca.
"That's far enough," the man said. His voice was gravel and ice.
Luca stopped. He looked at the man's face, searching for the brother he lost thirty years ago.
"Antonio," Luca said softly.
The man didn't flinch. "My name is Marco. I work for Victor Bellini. Step away from the boy."
"Your name is Antonio Moretti," Luca said, taking another step. "You survived the fire. Victor took you."
Antonio pulled a heavy pistol from his coat, aiming it directly at Luca's chest. "I don't know what lies you've been fed, but if you take another step, you die."
Little Leo looked up from his drawing, terrified. He dropped his red crayon.
I didn't think. I stepped between Luca and the gun.
"Stop!" I yelled. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the black onyx rosary beads. "Do you remember these?"
Antonio's eyes locked onto the silver cross. His hand trembled slightly.
"Where did you get that?" he demanded.
"From Valerie," I said. "Vanessa Bellini. She had it hidden in her trunk. Because Victor kept it as a trophy."
Antonio lowered the gun an inch. "Victor told me my family abandoned me in the fire. He told me he rescued me."
"He started the fire, Antonio," Luca said, his voice breaking. "He burned his own son to cover his tracks, and he stole you to hurt our father. He stole my son six years ago for the same reason."
Antonio looked at little Leo, then back at Luca. The heavy wall of brainwashing was cracking, but it hadn't broken.
"Words are easy to fake," Antonio said, his grip tightening on the gun. "Prove it."
I looked around desperately. My eyes landed on little Leo's drawing on the bench. I slowly walked over, keeping my hands visible, and picked it up.
It was a drawing of a red plastic circle with a name scratched on it.
May you like
"Leo," I asked the little boy gently. "Why did you draw this?"
The six-year-old looked at me with big, nervous eyes. "The nice lady in the kitchen gave it to me. She said my dad used to have one."
