Chapter 4 - THE HOUSE ON THE HILL
The old Moretti house sat on a hill two hours north of Manhattan.
It looked abandoned.
It wasn’t.
“Stay in the car,” Adrian said.
“No.”
“Emma.”
“Stop saying my name like it’s an order.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You have nine stitches in your back.”
“And you have terrible parenting instincts.”
His security chief coughed into his fist.
Adrian glared at him.
I continued.
“Victor specifically wants you angry and alone. So walking in angry and alone seems stupid.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you don’t care.”
That hit something.
He looked away.
Rain rolled down the windows.
Finally he said, “My father died in that house.”
I waited.
“My uncle shot him at the dinner table.”
“Why?”
“Power.”
His voice turned flat.
“My father controlled the family businesses. Victor believed he deserved them. He shot him twice and blamed a rival crew.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw him.”
I stared at him.
“You were there?”
“I was nineteen.”
Silence filled the SUV.
“What happened to Victor?”
“He disappeared before I could prove it.”
“And now he’s back.”
“Yes.”
“With your son.”
Adrian looked at me.
“Which is why you’re staying here.”
I opened the door.
“Absolutely not.”
His jaw flexed.
“You are the most exhausting woman I have ever met.”
“Great. Stay alive long enough to complain about it later.”
We approached the property from the tree line.
Adrian’s men spread out.
The house was enormous, half-rotted, with boarded windows and weeds swallowing the stone steps.
Inside, a single light burned.
A child cried.
I moved.
Adrian caught my arm.
“Wait.”
“That’s Leo.”
“I know.”
“He’s crying.”
“I know.”
His voice cracked.
That was enough.
We entered.
The front hall smelled like dust and mold.
“Papa!”
Leo’s voice came from upstairs.
Adrian ran.
I followed.
A man stepped out from behind a doorway.
Gun.
I screamed.
Adrian turned.
Too late.
I threw the metal flashlight in my hand.
It struck the gunman’s wrist.
The shot went into the ceiling.
Adrian hit him hard enough to put him through a side table.
“Stay behind me!”
“I tried that once. Didn’t work.”
We reached the second floor.
Leo sat tied to a chair.
Alone.
“Papa!”
Adrian rushed to him.
“Wait!”
I saw it.
A thin wire beneath the chair.
“Don’t touch him.”
Adrian froze.
Leo started crying harder.
“What?” Adrian demanded.
I pointed.
The wire ran toward a wooden box near the wall.
Adrian’s face changed.
“Bomb.”
Leo whimpered.
“Papa?”
Adrian crouched.
“I’m here.”
“Can you get me?”
“Yes.”
He said it with absolute certainty.
I knew enough about fear to recognize a lie.
Then slow applause came from the darkness.
Victor Salvi stepped into the hallway.
Gray suit.
Silver hair.
Pleasant smile.
Gun in his hand.
“Well,” he said. “The famous Adrian Moretti finally came home.”
His eyes moved to me.
“And he brought the waitress.”
I stared at him.
He smiled wider.
“That’s convenient.”
“Why?” I asked.
May you like
Victor raised his pistol.
“Because she was supposed to die at Lumina.”
