Chapter 6 - The Race to the Tenement
"Luca, please!"
The scream tore from my throat before Marcus even finished speaking. I scrambled to my feet, dropping the wooden boat, my bandaged wrist throbbing wildly.
Luca didn't hesitate. The empathy in his eyes hardened instantly into lethal purpose. He tossed the burner phone aside, grabbed a heavy Kevlar vest from the crate, and threw it over his dress shirt, securing the velcro straps with violent efficiency.
"Elias," Luca barked, tossing a fully loaded AR-15 to the old man. "Lock the heavy doors from the inside. Do not open them for anyone but me. If Daniel finds this place, you put a bullet between his eyes. Protect the boy."
Elias caught the rifle, his scarred face grim. "Go. Save her father."
Luca grabbed my uninjured arm, practically pulling me toward a black, armored SUV parked in the shadows of the warehouse.
"Get in the passenger seat," he ordered, throwing himself behind the wheel. "Put your seatbelt on and hold on."
The massive engine roared to life, echoing like thunder in the enclosed space. Luca hit the garage door opener clipped to the visor, and before the heavy metal door was even fully raised, he slammed his foot on the gas. The SUV shot out into the freezing rain, tires screaming against the slick pavement.
The drive to my father’s tenement building usually took twenty minutes on the L train. Luca made it in seven.
He drove with terrifying precision, weaving through midnight traffic, running red lights, the SUV taking corners so fast I was thrown against the door panel.
The contrast between Luca’s world and mine had never been starker. We pulled into the broken, trash-strewn street of my neighborhood. The streetlights here had been shot out months ago.
And parked directly in front of my building was a sleek, black Mercedes sedan.
"They're here," I gasped, pointing at the car.
Luca slammed on the brakes, the SUV skidding to a halt diagonally across the street, blocking the Mercedes in. He killed the headlights.
He unholstered his handgun, checking the chamber. Then he turned to me, his eyes dark and absolute.
"Stay in the car, Hannah. Lock the doors."
"No!" I argued, my voice shaking but fierce. "It's my father. I know the layout of the building. You don't."
Luca stared at me for a split second, weighing the risk. He saw the fire in my eyes, the same desperate fire that had made me hold a dining-room door shut against a grown man.
"Stay exactly two steps behind me," Luca commanded. "If I tell you to get down, you hit the floor and you don't move. Understood?"
"Yes."
We bolted from the car, sprinting through the icy rain toward the crumbling brick entrance of the tenement. The front door was already kicked open, the lock splintered.
We took the narrow, dimly lit stairs to the third floor. The hallway smelled of boiled cabbage and old cigarette smoke.
As we reached the top of the landing, I heard the sound of breaking wood from the end of the hall. Apartment 3B. My apartment.
Luca pressed his back against the peeling wallpaper, signaling me to stay behind him. He moved silently down the hallway, the gun raised.
Inside the apartment, a man was shouting. "Where is the ledger, old man? We know Thorne gave it to you!"
"I don't know what you're talking about!" my father’s voice cried out, frail but defiant. The sound of a heavy slap echoed into the hallway, followed by the clatter of a wheelchair tipping over.
A rage I didn't know I possessed surged through me. But before I could move, Luca pivoted around the doorframe and stepped into the apartment.
I peered around the corner.
Two Bellini enforcers were standing in our tiny living room. One was tearing apart the couch cushions. The other was standing over my father, who was sprawled on the cheap linoleum floor, bleeding from his lip.
"Drop it," Luca said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
The enforcer standing over my dad spun around, raising his weapon.
Luca fired twice. The silenced thwip-thwip was deafening in the small room. The man dropped instantly, clutching a shattered kneecap, screaming in agony.
The second enforcer scrambled for his gun, but Luca closed the distance with shocking speed. He didn't shoot. He slammed the heavy steel grip of his handgun directly into the man’s temple. The enforcer collapsed in a heap, unconscious before he hit the floor.
It was brutal, efficient, and over in three seconds. Luca had intentionally crippled them, avoiding a fatal shot in front of me, but neutralizing the threat entirely.
"Dad!" I screamed, rushing into the room and dropping to my knees beside him.
"Hannah?" my father gasped, his eyes wide with shock. He looked at me, then up at the man in the tailored suit holding the gun. Recognition flashed in my father’s eyes. "Mr. Moretti."
"Mr. Parker," Luca said respectfully, keeping his gun trained on the groaning man on the floor. "We need to leave. Right now."
I helped my father upright, struggling to lift him back into his wheelchair. Luca stepped in, effortlessly lifting the older man and securing him in the seat.
"Hannah," my father wheezed, grabbing my wrist with surprising strength. "He came for the evidence. Bellini knows I kept it."
"Kept what, Dad?" I asked frantically, wiping the blood from his chin.
My father reached into the lining of his old winter coat draped over the back of the chair. He pulled out a heavy, tarnished brass key with the number 104 stamped on it.
He handed it to Luca.
"Greyhound bus terminal downtown. Locker 104," my father rasped. "Eleven years ago, Carlo Bellini called me from a payphone to confirm the explosives were in place. I recorded the call on a cassette tape. It proves he acted alone. It proves he ordered the hit on your brother, Mr. Moretti."
Luca took the key, staring at it as if it were made of gold. This was the holy grail. The proof he needed to present to the Mafia Commission to legally execute Carlo Bellini without starting a city-wide war.
"Thank you, Arthur," Luca said, his voice thick with emotion. "I will protect your daughter with my life."
We rushed out of the apartment, Luca pushing the wheelchair down the narrow hallway toward the freight elevator at the back of the building.
We made it down to the ground floor and stepped out into the dark, rain-soaked alleyway that led to the street where the SUV was parked.
But as we stepped into the freezing rain, a figure stepped out from the shadows, blocking our path.
It was Vanessa.
She was wearing a soaking wet silk trench coat, her perfect hair plastered to her face. But she wasn't flanked by guards. She was entirely alone.
And she was holding a gun, pointing it directly at Luca’s chest.
Luca immediately stepped in front of my father and me, raising his own weapon.
"It's over, Vanessa," Luca said coldly. "Put the gun down. Daniel isn't here to save you."
Vanessa didn't shoot. Her hands were shaking violently. I looked closer. She wasn't angry. She was crying. Mascara ran in dark rivers down her cheeks.
May you like
Suddenly, Vanessa’s knees buckled. She dropped her gun onto the wet pavement, the metal clattering loudly. She covered her face with her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
"I didn't order the hit on her father, Luca," Vanessa wept, looking up at him with absolute devastation. "My father did. He took over my security detail. And Luca... he just took Leo."
