Chapter 7 - THE ROSARY
The red emergency lights cast long, bloody shadows across Richard Sterling’s face. The barrel of his gun was perfectly steady, aimed right at my heart.
Lily buried her face in my shoulder, her small body trembling violently. I tightened my grip on her, my mind racing. I was a waitress. I didn't know how to disarm a gunman. I didn't know martial arts.
But I knew how to carry heavy, unbalanced loads.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a towering stack of wooden shipping pallets loaded with heavy steel pipes, resting on a hydraulic jack directly beside Richard.
“I said put her down!” Richard roared, taking a step closer.
“Okay! Okay!” I cried, feigning absolute panic. I slowly bent my knees, lowering Lily to the concrete floor. “Run to your dad, sweetie.”
As Lily darted away toward Tony, Richard’s eyes tracked her for a fraction of a second.
It was all I needed.
I lunged to my right, not at Richard, but at the hydraulic release lever of the jack. I kicked it with my heavy, rubber-soled work shoe.
The pressure released instantly. The massive stack of pallets violently tilted forward.
Hundreds of pounds of steel pipes cascaded off the wood like an avalanche, crashing directly onto Richard Sterling.
Richard screamed as the steel crushed his legs, pinning him to the concrete. His gun skittered across the floor.
I didn't wait to watch. I spun around.
Roman had just knocked the last guard unconscious with the butt of his pistol. He ran to Tony, slicing the thick zip-ties binding his friend’s wrists with his pocket knife.
Tony immediately scooped Lily into his arms, weeping as he kissed the top of her head.
“Go!” Roman shouted, pushing Tony toward the basement stairwell. “Get her out of here!”
Tony didn't argue. He vanished down the dark stairs with his daughter.
Roman turned to me, his chest heaving, his face covered in sweat and grime. He looked at the pile of steel pipes crushing Richard Sterling.
Charlotte was kneeling beside her father, screaming hysterically, trying desperately to lift the impossibly heavy steel.
Roman walked slowly over to them. He kicked Richard’s dropped gun out of reach.
“Roman, please!” Charlotte begged, her perfect hair matted with sweat, her designer coat ruined. “He’s my father! Help him!”
Roman looked down at the woman he was supposed to marry. The woman who had called me worthless. The woman who was willing to let a seven-year-old girl die to save her trust fund.
“You wanted a life without my family, Charlotte,” Roman said, his voice cold and hollow. “Congratulations. You have it.”
Roman turned away from her and grabbed my hand. “Let’s go.”
We sprinted back down into the basement, through the storm drains, and emerged into the freezing rain. Tony and Lily were already huddled in the back of the SUV.
Roman threw the car into drive and we tore away from the waterfront, leaving the Sterlings to the police sirens that were finally beginning to wail in the distance.
Ten minutes later, we pulled into the underground parking garage of a nondescript apartment building in the West Loop. Roman’s private safe house.
We ushered Tony and Lily inside. The apartment was sparsely furnished, but it was warm and safe. Tony took Lily into the bedroom to calm her down, locking the door behind them.
Roman collapsed onto the leather sofa in the living room. He leaned his head back, his eyes closed.
I walked into the kitchen, found a first-aid kit, and brought it to him.
“You’re bleeding,” I said softly.
Roman opened his eyes. He looked down at his left arm. A bullet had grazed his bicep during the firefight, slicing through his tuxedo jacket and staining his white shirt crimson. He hadn't even noticed.
I knelt in front of him, gently peeling the ruined fabric away from his skin. I cleaned the wound with antiseptic. He didn't flinch. He just watched my face with an intensity that made my heart flutter.
“You could have died tonight, Grace,” Roman whispered, his voice incredibly gentle. “Why did you stay?”
“Because you stayed for Tony,” I said, wrapping a white bandage tightly around his arm. “Because loyalty is rare. And I guess... I believe in you.”
Roman reached out with his good arm. His large, warm hand gently cupped my cheek. His thumb brushed a streak of dirt and rain from my jaw.
The air in the room suddenly felt electric, heavy with unspoken things.
Roman reached into his uninjured jacket pocket. He pulled out a heavy, beautiful rosary made of black onyx beads and silver wire.
He pressed it into the palm of my hand and folded my fingers over it.
“This belonged to my mother,” Roman said, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “It’s the most valuable thing I own. I want you to hold onto it for me.”
My breath hitched. “Roman, I can’t take this.”
“I’m not giving it to you,” Roman smiled, a genuine, beautiful smile that completely transformed his dangerous face. “I’m trusting you with it. Because tonight, you proved you’re the only person outside of that bedroom who truly understands what family means.”
Before I could answer, the heavy steel door of the safe house violently burst open.
Roman was on his feet in a microsecond, pushing me behind him, his gun drawn and aimed at the doorway.
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Standing in the frame, dripping wet and breathing heavily, was Daniel Ferraro.
But he wasn't alone. Standing behind him, wielding meat cleavers, heavy cast-iron skillets, and baseball bats, were twenty men and women in white chef coats and stained aprons.
