Chapter 6 - THE CALL
Dante reached the safe house in fourteen minutes.
Three guards were dead.
One was still breathing.
The front door had been kicked inward.
Leo’s shoes lay beside the couch.
Dante stared at them.
Small black sneakers.
One untied.
Marco approached carefully.
“Dante.”
“Where were you?”
“Checking the perimeter.”
“You were supposed to protect him.”
“I know.”
“You had one job.”
“I KNOW!”
The room went silent.
Marco lowered his voice.
“I know.”
Dante looked away.
He wanted somebody to blame.
Marco.
Luca.
Salvatore.
Javier.
Himself.
Mostly himself.
A phone began ringing on the kitchen counter.
Javier’s phone.
Dante picked it up.
“Where is he?”
Javier laughed.
“You always skip hello.”
“Put my son on.”
“You brought your father a gun this morning.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
“You were watching.”
“I watch everything.”
“Where is Leo?”
“Remember the old packing plant?”
Dante did.
Romano Packing had closed fifteen years earlier.
A giant concrete building near the river.
No cameras.
No neighbors.
No reason for anyone to be there.
“You have one hour,” Javier said.
“For what?”
“The recorder.”
“You think I’m trading Elena’s voice for you?”
“No. You’re trading it for your son.”
Dante gripped the phone.
“If he has one bruise—”
“He already had bruises when I picked him up. Remember?”
Dante’s face hardened.
Javier’s tone changed.
“Bring the recorder. Come alone.”
“No.”
“Then bury Leo next to his mother.”
Dante heard movement.
Then Leo’s voice.
“Dad?”
Dante shut his eyes.
“Leo.”
“I’m okay.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
Javier said something in the background.
Leo continued quickly.
“Dad, don’t give him the real—”
A slap.
Dante exploded.
“JAVIER!”
Leo cried out.
The call cut.
Dante hurled the phone across the room.
It smashed against the wall.
Marco didn’t speak.
Dante turned.
“Get the recorder.”
“Dante—”
“Get it.”
Ten minutes later they were driving toward the river.
Marco had copied every recording onto three drives.
One went to Luca.
One went to a lawyer Dante trusted.
The third stayed in Marco’s pocket.
The recorder Dante carried was real.
But the memory card inside was not.
Dante checked his pistol.
Marco glanced over.
“He said alone.”
“He took my nephew.”
Dante looked at him.
Marco shrugged.
“I’m bad at following instructions.”
The packing plant appeared through the rain.
Broken windows.
Rusting loading docks.
Dark water behind it.
Dante parked.
“No headlights.”
Marco nodded.
They entered through different doors.
Inside, water dripped from the ceiling.
A bare lightbulb glowed twenty yards away.
Leo sat in a chair beneath it.
His hands were tied.
Javier stood behind him with a gun.
“Stop there.”
Dante stopped.
“You look terrible,” Javier said.
“Let him go.”
“Recorder first.”
Dante held it up.
Javier smiled.
“Throw it.”
“No.”
“Dante.”
“You get it when he’s beside me.”
Javier pressed the gun against Leo’s head.
The boy closed his eyes.
Dante’s heart stopped.
Javier said, “Throw it.”
Dante tossed the recorder.
It slid across the concrete.
Javier stepped away from Leo.
He bent to pick it up.
Leo opened his eyes.
And smiled.
Javier frowned.
“What?”
Leo lifted both hands.
The rope fell away.
“You tie knots like Grandpa.”
Then the boy ran.
Javier raised the gun.
May you like
Dante charged.
A shot cracked through the building.
