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MICHAEL
Stocky Guy is Sonny Ricci—Anthony Ricci’s brother? Like a veil lifted, everything suddenly becomes clear. Lombardi has obviously done some serious digging by finding and recruiting Sonny into this kidnap plan, causing me emotional pain by taking Micah, giving Sonny free rein to cause me physical pain afterwards, possibly killing me, and both of them getting a massive chunk of Dante’s money into the bargain. I’m pissed at myself for not considering Lombardi a genuine threat before now, just thinking he was vying for Cecelia’s love. But this isn’t just about wooing Cecelia anymore. He wants me out of the picture completely, solving all his problems, and he has gone to extreme lengths to make it happen.
I stare down, considering my next move.
“Wait,” says Sonny. “We need the gloves and balaclavas.”
“I’ll get them from the office,” says Lombardi, walking towards the area under the mezzanine, below where I’m still lying.
I’ve got a minute, maybe less, to figure out what to do.
Sonny moves towards the back of the warehouse, to my left, to open the mechanical shutter door and I realize this is my chance. Leaving my phone where it is and still recording, I shuffle back, open the metal door, and grab the holdall of money from the staircase platform, then I step forward and launch it over the iron barriers at Sonny. I hit my target and he staggers sideways as the heavy bag crashes into him. I swing myself through the barriers onto the side ladder and begin my descent just as I hear Sonny shout, “What the fuck!”
As I reach the bottom few rungs of the ladder, Lombardi comes out of the small office in the corner of the warehouse, his head right next to my feet.
“Luciano!” he shouts. He throws the gloves and balaclavas onto the floor and reaches for my leg. I kick down with full force, making satisfying contact with his head and he collapses to the floor like a demolished building. I jump from the ladder and come face to face with Sonny.
We’re a match height-wise but he’s got about twenty pounds on me, pure muscle by the looks of him. His hair, eyelashes and eyebrows are so blonde they’re almost white and I find it hard to believe that he and Ricci share DNA.
He half sneers, half smirks. “Luciano. I’ve heard a lot about you. Good to finally meet you,” he says, the pleasant greeting incongruous in the circumstances.
I risk a glance over at Micah, who still hasn’t stirred, then put my palms up towards Sonny. “I’m not armed,” I say. “I’m here alone. I haven’t contacted the police. Lombardi’s out for the count. The ransom money is in that holdall. Take it all. Just let me walk out of here with my son.”
Appealing to the better nature of a criminal is impossible when a better nature doesn’t exist, I quickly realize as Sonny jabs me in the face.
The surprise element of it infuriates me more than the sharp pain now blooming in my cheekbone because I should have been prepared, and I wasn’t. However, I recover quickly, bringing my fists up to my face and ducking his next swing. I shake my head, knowing I need to keep my wits about me. Sonny and I lock eyes as we circle each other like wild dogs, moving away from Lombardi’s prone form. A puddle of dark red blood seeps out from underneath his head.
“So he really is your son, then?” The glint in Sonny’s blue eyes shines wickedly. “I wanted to make you pay by having a little fun with him before you got here. Maybe there’s still time.” He licks his lips and in one deft, smooth move, he reaches into his combat trouser pocket and pulls out a penknife, flicking open the blade. “Interesting that you’re not armed yourself.”
The thought that he might use that penknife on Micah causes my insides to liquify. I reach out to grab the knife with my left hand but deliberately aim high, causing Sonny to mirror the move before punching him in the stomach with my right. It costs me a flesh wound to my left forearm but when he bends due to the force of the punch, I bring my knee up to his face, the sound of bone cracking is music to my ears. He falls to his knees, dropping the knife, which I snatch from the floor. He brings his hands up to his damaged face, stunned, and I press the tip of the knife against his wide neck with enough force to draw a line of blood. I may have been at a weapons disadvantage when this fight began, but I learnt a lot of useful skills in the makeshift boxing ring in prison.
“Luciano.” I hear a thick, slurred version of my name from behind me, and I whip my head round to see that Lombardi’s conscious. In that split second, Sonny wraps his meaty arms around my knees and upends me. I land on the hard floor on my back with a groan, the penknife skittering away across the floor towards the corner where Micah is lying.
Sonny looms over me, grabbing my jacket in his fists. He lifts me clear off the ground then slams me against one of the pallet stacks and lets go. The loose towers of boxes scatter away, causing me to fall farther backwards. I land heavily again, against the slats but this time immediately roll, anticipating Sonny’s next move, then kick backwards against his knee. Unbalanced, he roars in pain and topples against the pallet behind him. Out of the corner of my eye I see Lombardi’s arm move and I’m aware I might not have much longer just one on one with Sonny. I run towards Micah, spotting the penknife and grabbing it, then twirling around with my arm already extended. Sonny’s already limping towards me, eyes wild and blood covering his nose and mouth. A red mask on his pale face. The man’s a machine. I glance behind me at Micah, moving left so Sonny hasn’t got a clear run at him and then, like a braying bull, Sonny charges at me, head down, grunting against the pain in his knee, opting for sheer force of will over stealth or strategy.
Being lighter and leaner than him, I’ve got stealth on my side, and just as his blonde head almost reaches me, I twist and plunge the small but sharp blade of the penknife into his ear while kicking his injured knee again. He falls, as heavy as a pile of bricks, mere feet away from Micah, bashing his head on the warehouse floor.
I stand, panting, looking down at Sonny, an enemy I didn’t know I had until today, and when I’m sure he’s not going to get up again anytime soon, I wipe the sweat out of my eyes, spit the blood out of my mouth and put the penknife in my pocket. I step onto the pallet serving as a makeshift bed for Micah and kneel next to him. I put my hand on his body and throw my head back, closing my eyes in relief. Hot tears immediately slide down my cheeks as I silently rejoice in the fact that he’s alive and he’s breathing. Whatever he’s been drugged with, we’ll deal with it, but he’s alive! I move the corner of the blanket off his legs and methodically but gently check his limbs and torso and face and head for any signs of abuse or injury, blessedly finding none. He’s just as perfect as he always was—and always will be, I’ll make sure of that—but I’ll get Carmello to give him a full examination first thing in the morning to make sure.
“I’ll be back in one minute, Micah,” I promise him, gently stroking the side of his face. “Papa needs to call for help then we’ll get you home to Mommy. She’s going to be so happy to see you.”
I step off the pallet and over Sonny’s body and run towards the ladder leading to the mezzanine to retrieve my phone. I need to call Cecelia and Gianni straightaway.
I freeze as I see the small pool of blood beneath the ladder without Lombardi lying in it and realize that I foolishly assumed Lombardi was still too out of it while I checked Micah over. For fuck’s sake! I look around the warehouse and see that the shutter door has been raised just high enough for a person to slip underneath. And there’s no sign of the holdall with the ransom money either. He’s gone. The cowardly bastard has taken the money and run rather than stay and face my wrath. I’m not surprised. Still, he can’t have gotten far, not with a probable concussion, and not on foot out of this warehouse district maze of streets and compounds. I’ll deal with him soon enough; he’ll get what’s coming to him.
I take the ladder two rungs at a time and quickly retrieve my phone from the mezzanine floor. I stop the recording and hurriedly climb back down, running straight back to Micah. As I do, I feel a hand reach out and grab my ankle. Sonny. I look down at his now swollen face, his right eye puffed up like a pus-filled blister, his blood-soaked ear and neck. He yanks my leg towards him, residual strength apparent, and I lose my balance. Like a cartoon character I helicopter my arms, desperately trying to keep myself upright, but I don’t succeed, and I fall awkwardly, screaming out as my elbow crunches into the floor. I want to vomit from the pain, but Sonny’s wriggled himself beside me and is pawing at my jacket, pulling himself on top of me. The weight of him is suffocating and the pain from my elbow is making me dizzy and nauseous. I push roughly at him with my other arm, but he’s determined; grunting and gurning as he reaches upwards with one hand and then wraps his long, strong fingers around my neck. I flop my good arm beside me, like a fish out of water, trying to make contact with anything I can use as a weapon, anything that will buy me some time. I can’t die here. I can’t leave Micah and Cecelia.
As Sonny squeezes my windpipe with more force, I suddenly feel the smooth plastic handle of the penknife and then I hear something so beautiful I think I’m already dead.
“Papa?”
My eyes snap towards the corner pallet and I see Micah, conscious, brown eyes wide, gaping at us in horror. Time stops. Sonny’s grip on my neck loosens a fraction. And I bring my hand up and stab Sonny in the neck with the penknife, simultaneously shoving him away with all my might and scrabbling out from underneath him.
“Run, Micah!” I say, pointing towards the open shutter door. “Now!” I shout. “I’ll be right behind you!”
My voice galvanizes him into action and he takes off, weaving through the slalom of pallets and boxes covering the warehouse floor. I don’t want him to witness any more than he already has.
As I did minutes before, I look down at Sonny Ricci, panting. The penknife is still embedded in his neck. I crouch down and twist it and a bubble of blood pops from his lips.
