Chapter 3 – THE DRAWING ON THE EMPTY BED

We didn’t take an army. An army would trigger Marcus Bellini’s guards to execute the boy before we reached the front doors.

Luca took Daniel and three elite guards in a single, blacked-out SUV. I sat in the passenger seat, navigating the dark, winding roads toward the Wisconsin border.

“Why didn’t you go home, Sophie?” Luca asked quietly from the backseat. He was loading a heavy tactical rifle, his hands moving with mechanical precision. “You don’t owe me this.”

“I owe Antonio,” I said, staring out the window. “And nobody deserves to be stolen from their family.”

Thirty minutes later, the iron gates of St. Jude Academy loomed in the headlights.

It wasn’t a normal school. The walls were topped with razor wire. Security cameras tracked our approach.

“Daniel, cut the power,” Luca ordered.

Daniel tapped his tablet. Ten seconds later, the entire estate plunged into total darkness. The perimeter alarms died.

“We have exactly four minutes before the backup generators kick in,” Daniel said.

Luca kicked the doors open. We moved through the darkness like ghosts. I led them to the service entrance I used to use for deliveries—a rusted cellar door the guards usually ignored.

Luca forced the lock. We slipped inside the sprawling, silent building.

We moved up the back stairwell to the dormitory wing. The halls were empty. Too empty.

We found the room matching the administrative records Daniel hacked. Room 412.

Luca kicked the door open, his weapon raised.

The room was empty.

The bed was made. The closet was cleared out.

“No,” Luca breathed, lowering his rifle. The devastation in his voice shattered the silence. “We’re too late.”

I walked into the room. The air felt cold.

But as I looked at the perfectly made bed, I noticed a piece of paper sticking out from beneath the pillow.

I pulled it out.

It was a child’s drawing. Crayon on notebook paper.

It was a drawing of a woman with dark hair, holding a little boy. And surrounding them were dozens of badly drawn white roses.

“Mr. Moretti,” I whispered, handing him the drawing. “He knows. Someone told him about the roses.”

Luca stared at the drawing, his hands trembling. “Who would tell him? Marcus wants him to believe he’s an orphan.”

Suddenly, a red laser sight swept across the wall and landed squarely on Luca’s chest.

“Drop the weapon, Luca.”

We spun around.

Standing in the doorway, wearing a sharp camel-hair coat and holding a suppressed pistol, was Marcus Bellini. He was flanked by four heavily armed mercenaries.

“You’re trespassing, son,” Marcus sneered.

“Where is my boy?” Luca roared, stepping in front of me to shield me from the guns.

“He’s gone,” Marcus smiled cruelly. “I knew Vanessa was weak. I knew she would fail. So I moved Leo an hour ago. He’s on a private jet heading to a clinic in Mexico.”

“Why Mexico?” I demanded, unable to keep my mouth shut.

Marcus looked at me with pure disgust. “Because the boy’s heart is failing. He needs a transplant. And the Mexican cartels don’t ask questions about where the donor organs come from.”

Luca lunged forward, but the four mercenaries racked their bolts.

“Ah, ah,” Marcus tutted. “You shoot me, my men shoot you, and Leo dies on an operating table tomorrow.”

Before Marcus could gloat further, my cell phone vibrated violently in my apron pocket.

It was a text message.

From my mother.

I glanced at the screen, and all the blood drained from my face.

Sophie, they broke into the house. They took me. A man named Marcus Bellini said he needs a pediatric nurse for a flight.

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