Chapter 5 - THE HEAVY WINTER COAT
The world erupted into chaos.
Antonio didn't dive for cover. He moved with terrifying, lethal speed. He drew a sleek black handgun from his jacket and fired three rapid shots directly into the bushes where the sniper was hidden.
“Marcus!” Antonio roared.
Two of his bodyguards sprinted from the main path, guns drawn, charging into the foliage.
I lay on the cold stone, shielding Leo with my entire body. The little boy was trembling violently, his hands clutching my shirt.
“I’ve got you, Leo. You’re okay. I’m right here,” I whispered frantically, stroking his hair, trying to keep my own panic from bleeding into my voice.
The sound of branches breaking and a heavy struggle echoed from the bushes. Then, a sickening thud, followed by silence.
Antonio knelt beside me. His eyes, usually so cold and controlled, were wide with genuine terror as he looked at his nephew.
“Is he hit?” Antonio asked, his voice shaking.
“No, he’s okay. We’re both okay,” I said, slowly sitting up and lifting Leo into my lap.
Leo buried his face in my neck, sobbing silently. No tears, no sound. Just pure, silent trauma.
Antonio looked at me. His gaze shifted from Leo’s trembling form to my face. The realization of what had just happened settled between us.
I had just risked my life for a child I met twelve hours ago.
“You saved him,” Antonio breathed.
Before I could answer, Marcus emerged from the bushes. His expensive suit was torn, and his knuckles were bloody.
“He got away, Boss,” Marcus growled, looking disgusted with himself. “He had a motorcycle stashed on the other side of the perimeter wall.”
Antonio stood up, his fury returning instantly. “You let him get away?”
“He left this behind,” Marcus said, holding up a garment.
It was a heavy, dark green winter coat.
Antonio snatched it from Marcus’s hands. He checked the pockets with brutal efficiency.
He pulled out a piece of paper.
“What is it?” I asked, rocking Leo gently.
Antonio’s face went completely pale.
He held up a stiff, rectangular piece of cardboard.
It was a train ticket.
Specifically, a first-class ticket from New York to Montreal. Dated for exactly two weeks from today.
“It’s a ticket,” Antonio muttered, staring at the name printed on the front.
I squinted to read the bold black letters.
Passenger: Carlo Russo.
The name hit me like a physical blow. The story Maria had just told me flashed in my mind. The baby my grandmother had saved. Antonio’s younger brother.
“Carlo?” I whispered. “But… Maria said he was—”
“Dead,” Antonio interrupted sharply. His eyes were wild. “Carlo has been dead for five years. He died in a boating accident off the coast of Sicily.”
“Then why is his name on a train ticket in the pocket of a man who just tried to shoot your nephew?”
Antonio didn't answer. He stared at the ticket, his mind clearly racing through a thousand impossible scenarios.
“Marcus,” Antonio said, his voice dropping an octave. “Get the cars. We are going back to the estate. Now.”
The drive back was agonizingly silent.
Leo finally fell asleep in my arms in the backseat. Antonio sat in the front, staring out the window, his jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might shatter.
When we arrived, Antonio carried Leo upstairs to his room.
I followed them, making sure Leo was settled safely in his bed.
When I stepped out into the hallway, Antonio was waiting for me.
He grabbed my arm—not hard, but firmly—and pulled me into his private study, closing the heavy oak doors behind us.
The room smelled of leather and expensive whiskey. Antonio walked over to a crystal decanter and poured himself a generous glass. He downed it in one swallow.
“Tell me exactly what my mother told you this morning,” Antonio demanded, turning to face me.
“She told me about my grandmother,” I said, deciding honesty was my only shield. “She told me my grandmother saved her life when she was pregnant with Carlo.”
Antonio stared at me. “That’s it?”
“Yes. Why?”
Antonio set the glass down hard on the desk.
“Because Carlo wasn't just my brother, Sophie. He was a monster.”
The pain in his voice was palpable.
“Carlo didn't die in an accident,” Antonio confessed, stepping closer to me. The proximity made my heart race. “I ordered the hit.”
My breath caught in my throat. “You killed your own brother?”
“He was out of control. He was hurting people—innocent people. He was stealing from the families, starting wars we couldn't win. I gave him a choice to leave the life. He refused.”
Antonio looked down, the guilt of a five-year-old sin finally showing on his face.
“I made the hardest choice a boss can make. I protected my family by eliminating the threat inside it.”
He looked back up at me.
“But if Carlo is alive… if my men failed to finish the job… it means he’s back. And he wants revenge.”
“By killing your mother? By shooting at a six-year-old boy?”
“Carlo doesn't care about blood,” Antonio said bitterly. “He cares about power.”
Antonio reached into his pocket and pulled out the tarnished silver rosary—the one left next to Maria’s poisoned pills.
“This rosary,” Antonio whispered. “It was buried with my father. Only two people have the key to that crypt. Me. And Carlo.”
The pieces were falling into place in a horrifying picture.
Carlo had poisoned the pills. Carlo had left the rosary. Carlo had hired the sniper in the garden.
Suddenly, a loud, frantic knock echoed on the study door.
“Boss!” Marcus yelled from the hallway.
Antonio yanked the door open.
May you like
Marcus stood there, looking terrified.
“It’s Maria,” Marcus gasped. “She’s collapsed in the dining room.”
