Chapter 4 - THE AIRSTRIP CONFRONTATION
The tires of Luca’s armored SUV screamed as we tore through the iron gates of the private airstrip. Rain had begun to fall, slicking the tarmac and blurring the runway lights. I sat in the backseat, my hands gripping the leather handles. I had insisted on coming. Sophie knew me, trusted me. If there was a crossfire, she needed a familiar face. Surprisingly, Luca hadn’t argued. He had just handed me a bulletproof vest and told me to stay low.
Through the rain-streaked windshield, we saw it. A sleek white Gulfstream jet, its engines already whining, preparing for takeoff. And parked near the boarding stairs was the black SUV. “Block the runway!” Luca shouted to Carlo, who was driving. Carlo slammed his foot on the gas, cutting the wheel hard. Our heavy vehicle skidded across the wet tarmac, slamming directly into the nose gear of the private jet. The screech of metal on metal was deafening.
Luca kicked his door open before the SUV had even fully stopped. He raised his weapon, stepping into the freezing rain. “Dominic!” Luca’s voice roared over the sound of the jet engines. The door of the black SUV opened. Dominic Moretti stepped out. He was a younger, slightly leaner version of Luca, but his face was twisted in a bitter, arrogant sneer. He wasn’t holding a gun. He was holding a heavy, leather-bound ledger. The contents of the wall safe. “You’re too late, big brother,” Dominic shouted, holding the book up in the rain. “I have the offshore account numbers. I have the blackmail files on the politicians. The Commission is going to make me the head of the family by morning!”
Luca kept his gun trained on his brother’s chest. “I don’t care about the ledger. Where is my daughter?” The back door of the SUV slowly opened. My heart leaped into my throat. Sophie stepped out into the rain. She was clutching her pink suitcase, her dark curls plastered to her forehead. She looked terrified, but she wasn’t crying. “Sophie, come here!” Luca yelled, lowering his weapon slightly. But Sophie didn’t run to her father. She stood frozen, looking between Luca and Dominic.
Answer One, Open Two. Dominic hadn’t dragged Sophie into the car kicking and screaming. He had convinced her to come. But how? What could make an eight-year-old girl run away from a father who loved her? “Tell him, Sophie,” Dominic said smoothly, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Tell your father why you packed your bags.” Sophie looked at Luca, her bottom lip trembling. “Daddy,” she cried, her little voice breaking. “Vanessa said... Vanessa said you were going to hurt Grandma Teresa. Just like you hurt Mommy.” The air seemed to get sucked out of the night.
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Luca physically recoiled, as if he had been shot. “What?” “Vanessa told her the truth, Luca,” Dominic sneered. “She told Sophie how your late wife really died in that car crash. How you ordered the hit because she wanted to leave you. And she told her Teresa’s stroke wasn’t an accident either.”
“That is a lie!” Luca roared, pure agony tearing through his voice. “Sophie, look at me! I would never hurt you, or your mother, or your grandmother!” Sophie took a step back, gripping her pink suitcase tighter. She looked toward our armored SUV. She saw me sitting in the backseat. “Hannah?” Sophie whimpered. I couldn't stay in the car. I threw the door open and stepped out into the rain. “I’m here, sweetheart! I’m right here!” Sophie ran toward me. But she didn't make it. A massive hand reached out and grabbed the collar of her coat, jerking her backward. It wasn’t Dominic. It was Carlo. Luca’s trusted head of security. Carlo pulled a heavy silver pistol from his shoulder holster and pressed it directly against Sophie’s temple. “Drop the gun, Luca,” Carlo said, his voice stripped of all loyalty. “Or the little girl dies right here on the tarmac.”
