Chapter 20 - The Open Ending
|
Alessandro skidded to a halt in the doorway, his gun drawn, breathing heavily.
The room was in shambles. The lamps were overturned, the bedding ripped from the mattress. In the center of the room, Matteo lay unconscious on the floor, bleeding from a severe, jagged wound on the back of his head. He was alive, groaning softly, but completely incapacitated.
Alessandro swept the room, his weapon raised, but it was empty.
The window leading out to the low roof of the garage was shattered, the cold lake wind howling through the broken glass, blowing the heavy silk curtains wildly into the room.
“Fatima!” Alessandro yelled, rushing to the bathroom door, hoping they had locked themselves inside.
He kicked the door open. Empty.
He looked down at the floor near the shattered window.
Lying in the center of a pile of broken glass was a small, gray stuffed lamb. It was torn at the seams, abandoned in the struggle.
Alessandro slowly knelt down, picking up the small toy. His hands, which had remained perfectly steady while holding a gun to an assassin’s chest hours earlier, were now trembling violently.
He raised the phone back to his ear. The line was still open.
“You took our money, Rienzi,” the distorted voice said, a cruel, victorious smile evident in the tone. “But we took something else. We took the one thing you actually care about.”
Alessandro squeezed his eyes shut, the image of Amara’s small face looking up at him, warning him of the danger, burning into his mind. She had saved him, and he had failed to protect her.
“If you touch one hair on that child’s head,” Alessandro whispered, a demonic, terrifying promise of violence bleeding into his voice, “I will not just kill you. I will wipe your entire bloodline from the face of the earth.”
“We’ll be in touch, Alessandro,” the voice mocked softly. “Don't call the police. Or the little bird doesn't come home.”
The line went dead.
May you like
Alessandro stood up, the stuffed lamb clutched tightly in his fist. He looked out the shattered window into the pitch-black Chicago night.
The wedding was over. The heist had failed. But the war had just begun.
