Chapter 8 - The Shadow King's Wrath
The warehouse went deadly quiet, save for the patter of rain against the corrugated tin roof. Luca stood up from behind the crate, completely unmindful of the danger. His face was no longer that of a businessman, nor a protector.
He looked like the devil himself.
"Vance," Luca said into his radio, his voice dropping into a register so chilling it gave me goosebumps. "If you touch a single hair on that boy’s head, I will burn down every building your family owns in North America. I will dig up your ancestors and scatter their bones in the ocean."
A cruel laugh sounded over the speaker. "Come and get him, Luca. Top floor of the Old Atlantic Shipyard. You have twenty minutes before the place goes up in smoke. Just you. No security. Bring the girl."
The speaker cut off with a harsh burst of static.
Luca turned to Marco, who had just caught up to us, his sidearm raised. "Marco. Take six men, seal the perimeter here. Clean up this mess."
"Boss, you can't go alone," Marco urged, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead. "It’s a execution trap."
"He has Noah," Luca said simply. He grabbed my arm, gently but firmly, and pulled me toward the rear exit. "He wants me. He’s going to get me."
We sped through the storm in Luca’s private, unmarked sedan, driving at breakneck speeds toward the dilapidated Old Atlantic Shipyard on the edge of the harbor. The rain was falling so hard the windshield wipers could barely keep up.
"Rachel," Luca said without taking his eyes off the dark road. He reached out with his right hand and grabbed mine, squeezing it tightly. "When we get inside, Vance is going to try to break me. He thinks I brought you because you're a weakness. He doesn't know that you are the only reason I am keeping my sanity tonight."
"Luca, I’m scared," I whispered, holding his hand with both of mine.
"Don't be," Luca said softly, turning his head briefly to meet my eyes. "I spent my whole life building an empire of fear. Tonight, I fight for love."
The words hit me like a physical shock. Love.
We pulled up to the abandoned shipyard—a decaying, four-story brick structure looming over the black ocean waves. Luca retrieved two concealed handguns, handing a small, compact pistol to me.
"Do you know how to use this?" he asked.
"Point and pull," I said, my hands shaking as I took the cold weapon.
"Good girl," Luca murmured, slipping his primary weapon into his shoulder holster. "Keep it hidden. Let me do the talking."
We kicked open the heavy iron doors of the shipyard. Inside, the air smelled of salt, rust, and oil. High above us, on a rusted metal catwalk hanging four stories over the dark water below, stood Julian Vance.
And tied to a wooden chair beside him, gagged with tape, was Noah.
"NOAH!" I shrieked.
Noah’s eyes went wide, his small legs kicking against the chair legs. He muffled a cry through the tape.
"Ah, the happy family arrives," Vance called down, stepping into the dim light of a hanging industrial lamp. He held a detonator switch in his left hand and a heavy silver revolver in his right. "You took your time, Luca."
"Let the boy go, Julian," Luca said, walking slowly down the center aisle, holding his hands out to his sides, showing he wasn't pulling a weapon. "This is between you and me. The girl and the child have nothing to do with syndicate business."
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"They have everything to do with it!" Vance shouted, his face twisted in madness. "You soft bastard! You spent two weeks playing daddy to a waitress's brat while the New York families were waiting for a decision on the harbor lines! You disgraced the Romano name! I took this boy to prove that you are weak!"
"I am not weak," Luca said, his voice echoing through the hollow building as he took another step forward. "I am patient. And you just ran out of time."
