Chapter 5 - The Woman in the Storm
Rocco slammed Vincenzo against the hood of a black SUV, his forearm pressed firmly against the old man's throat.
“I will ask you once more, Vincenzo,” Rocco snarled, his eyes blazing with furious intensity. “Where is she?”
Vincenzo choked, struggling for breath under the crushing weight of his nephew’s arm. “In... in the old warehouse by the industrial docks... my men were holding her until... until the jet was ready to take off...”
Rocco released him, letting the old man slump to the wet pavement, coughing violently.
“Thomas,” Rocco ordered sharpely. “Put him in the back of the truck. Bring him back to the estate. Put him in the cellar right next to Valentina. Let them reflect on their legacy together.”
“Understood, Boss,” Thomas replied, signaling the guards to drag Vincenzo away. “What about the docks?”
“Take half the men and follow me,” Rocco said, already turning toward his SUV. “We have a life to save.”
Ten minutes later, three armored SUVs sped down the deserted, rain-slicked avenues of the city’s industrial shipping district. The warehouses here were decaying monuments to old manufacturing, rust-eaten structures surrounded by overgrown barbed-wire fences and towering stacks of shipping containers.
The lead SUV rammed through the rusted chain-link gate of Warehouse 14.
Inside the cavernous, dimly lit building, water dripped from the high corrugated steel roof, echoing in the vast empty space. In the center of the concrete floor, tied to a wooden chair beneath a single hanging lightbulb, was a young woman.
Her clothes were disheveled, her pale face bruised, but her dark eyes burned with an fierce, defiant light.
Two of Vincenzo’s low-level enforcers stood nearby, smoking cigarettes. When the heavy SUV headlights illuminated the space, the two men reached for their handguns, but they were vastly outmatched. Within seconds, Rocco’s captains had vaulted out of the vehicles, disarming and securing the two guards before they could even pull their triggers.
Rocco stepped into the circle of harsh light, holstering his gun.
Clara Vance flinched, pulling against the thick ropes securing her wrists to the chair. Her breath came in ragged, terrified gasps.
“Who... who are you?” she demanded, her voice hoarse from hours of screaming. “Where is my baby? What did you do to my baby?!”
Rocco walked up to her slowly, dropping to one knee so he was at eye level with her. The harsh, terrifying demeanor he maintained for his enemies instantly melted away, replaced by a deep, genuine gravity.
“Your baby is safe,” Rocco said softly. “He is in my house. He is wrapped in warm clothes, fed, and sleeping peacefully in a mahogany crib.”
Clara searched his face, her lip trembling as tears cut clean trails through the grime on her cheeks. “You’re... you’re Rocco Moretti.”
“I am,” Rocco acknowledged. “And I am his father.”
Clara let out a ragged sob, her shoulders shaking violently as the adrenaline and sheer terror of the past twenty-four hours finally released their grip on her. “They told me... they told me he died at birth. When I was in the clinic, I heard the doctor talking to a woman in an ivory robe. They said they were going to get rid of him... so I hid him in my coat and ran!”
Rocco’s heart swelled with profound respect for the fragile woman sitting bound before him. She had faced down the most dangerous syndicate in the city, risking her own life to save an innocent child she had carried for nine months.
“You saved my son’s life, Clara,” Rocco said gently, taking out a small pocket knife and carefully cutting the ropes that bound her hands and feet. “You showed more bravery than twenty armed men in this city.”
Clara rubbed her chafed wrists, looking at Rocco with wide, uncertainty-filled eyes. “Are you going to take him away from me?”
Rocco stood up, extending a large, warm hand to help her up from the wooden chair.
May you like
“You brought him into this world,” Rocco said, his voice firm and absolute. “You protected him when no one else was there. You will never be separated from him again unless you choose to be. You have a home in my estate for as long as you live, Clara.”
Clara took his hand, pulling herself up, weeping tears of pure relief as the storm outside began, at long last, to lose its violent edge.
