Chapter 7 - Tangled Threads
The abandoned glass factory on the northern shore of Lake Como was a decaying relic of rusted iron and broken windows, looming like a giant skeleton against the gray morning light. Waves crashed violently against the concrete pier below.
Roman walked through the shattered entrance, carrying the heavy metal box in his left hand. His long dark coat snapped in the lake wind, his right hand resting near his side.
The interior of the factory was vast, echoing with the drip of rainwater from the high ceiling. In the center of the dusty floor sat four-year-old Mia, tied loosely to a wooden chair with a thick rope. Her red dress was stained with dust, but she wasn't crying. In her small hands, she held a single yellow colored pencil.
Standing ten feet behind her was Marco Bellini, holding a silenced pistol aimed directly at the floor near Mia's feet. Beside Marco stood two broad-shouldered mercenaries wearing tactical gear marked with the Valenti emblem.
"That's far enough, Roman," Marco called out, his voice echoing through the hollow building. "Set the box down on the crate."
Roman stopped twenty feet away. His expression was dangerously calm, his dark eyes locked onto Marco's face.
"You broke the cardinal rule, Marco," Roman said softly, his voice cutting through the wind. "You brought a child into a conflict between men."
Marco laughed, a bitter, harsh sound. "Don't lecture me about rules, Roman! You've been playing the noble king while I did the dirty work for fifteen years! I built half of this empire, and what do I get? Second place! A glorified lieutenant!"
"You had my trust. You had my brotherhood," Roman replied coldly. "You traded it for Valenti gold and a DIA shield."
Marco's eyes flared with anger. "The DIA offered me immunity and complete control of your northern territory once you were locked in a maximum-security cell! I was going to have it all!"
"Where is Grace's husband, Marco?" Roman asked suddenly.
The question hung in the air like a heavy strike. Marco's smile faltered slightly.
"What did you say?" Marco muttered.
"Grace's husband didn't disappear four years ago because of a gambling debt," Roman said, taking a slow step forward. "I checked the DIA files in this box on the drive over here. His name was Thomas Miller. He was a high-level accountant for the Valenti family... and you murdered him to steal his private ledgers before you joined my crew."
Inside her chair, Mia looked up, her brown eyes widening as she listened to Roman's voice.
Grace had lived for four years believing her husband had abandoned her and her unborn child. In reality, Marco had executed him to cover his own financial theft, then placed Grace in the Moretti estate as a housekeeper so he could keep tabs on her in case Thomas had left any secondary records behind.
Marco tightened his grip on his pistol, his knuckles turning white. "He was a liability! Just like this kid!"
"If you touch her," Roman said, his voice dropping to a whisper that echoed like thunder, "there is no place on this earth where you can hide from me."
Marco smirked wickedly. "You're in no position to make threats, Roman. Drop your gun and push the box over, or the kid doesn't leave this room."
Roman looked at Mia. The little girl looked back at him without fear. She slowly raised her small hand and pointed down at the wooden floorboards beneath Marco's boots.
May you like
Roman's eyes caught the gesture. He remembered Mia's drawing—the yellow sun, the deep water, and the weak support beams under the old glass factory pier.
"Mia," Roman said quietly. "Hold on tight."
