Chapter 6 - THE MUSIC BOX
“Good evening, Nicholas,” David said, stepping into the grand foyer.
The sniveling, cowardly manager I’d known for two years was gone. In his place stood a cold, arrogant man holding a silver pistol.
Margaret gasped and stepped in front of Leo, shielding the boy with her own body.
Nicholas didn't flinch. He didn't even reach for a weapon. He just stared at David with a chilling calmness that made the temperature in the room plummet.
“David,” Nicholas said smoothly. “I didn't realize you were stupid enough to walk into my house uninvited.”
“I was invited,” David sneered, gesturing behind him.
From the shadows of the porch, another man walked in. He was older, walking with a silver-tipped cane, his face scarred and weathered.
“Hello, Nephew,” the old man rasped.
Nicholas’s jaw tightened. “Uncle Vincent.”
My stomach bottomed out. This was the man who murdered my sister. The man who ordered my father’s death.
Vincent’s cold, dead eyes swept the room, lingering on Margaret before finally landing on me.
“Ah,” Vincent smiled, a grotesque twisting of his scarred lips. “Thomas Russo’s little girl. You have his stubborn eyes.”
Then, his gaze shifted to the little boy hiding behind Margaret’s lavender cardigan.
Vincent stopped breathing. The cane in his hand trembled.
“Well, well,” Vincent whispered, his voice dripping with venom. “My brother lied to me. The bastard child lived after all.”
Nicholas stepped smoothly between his uncle and the boy, completely blocking Vincent’s view.
“Get out of my house, Vincent.”
“You’re in no position to give orders, Nicky,” Vincent laughed, tapping his cane on the hardwood floor. “Your father is dead. The Commission is fracturing. And you’ve been hiding a rat’s grandson in the family estate.”
Vincent looked directly at me.
“Your father stole something from me, Anna. A little black book. I want it back.”
“I don't have it,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though my knees were shaking so badly I could barely stand.
David chuckled. “She’s lying, boss. I watched her at the restaurant for two years. She’s poor. Desperate. She’s just waiting for the right time to sell it.”
“I don’t have it!” I shouted, the grief and anger finally boiling over. “You killed my father for nothing!”
Leo, terrified by my shouting, accidentally dropped the stuffed bear he was holding. But he also dropped something else.
It hit the wooden floor with a heavy thud and rolled right to the edge of Nicholas’s shoes.
It was a beautiful, intricately carved wooden music box.
My breath caught.
I recognized it instantly. It used to sit on my father’s desk. It was a heavy, custom-made puzzle box he’d carved himself.
David’s eyes widened. He pointed his pistol directly at the box on the floor.
“Where did you get that?” David demanded, his voice cracking with sudden desperation.
Leo peeked around Margaret’s leg. “Grandpa Tommy gave it to me. He said never to open it until I found Aunt Anna.”
The entire room went completely silent.
David let out a breathless laugh. “The ledger. It’s inside the box.”
David lunged forward.
Everything happened in a blur of terrifying violence.
Nicholas moved faster than any human being I had ever seen. He kicked the music box backward, sending it sliding across the floor toward me, and simultaneously grabbed David by the throat, slamming him violently against the mahogany wall.
The three armed men raised their weapons.
“Don't!” Vincent barked, holding up a hand. “Don't shoot the boy. I need him alive to prove Henry’s betrayal.”
I scrambled to the floor, grabbing the music box and pulling it against my chest.
Nicholas had David pinned, his forearm crushing the manager’s windpipe. But David, desperate and gasping for air, blindly raised his pistol and pulled the trigger.
Bang.
The suppressed gunshot was quiet, but the impact was deafening.
Nicholas grunted, stumbling backward as blood immediately blossomed across his left shoulder, staining his crisp white shirt.
“Nicky!” Margaret screamed.
Using Nicholas’s moment of weakness, David scrambled forward, grabbed Leo by the arm, and yanked the screaming boy toward the door.
“Let him go!” I screamed, dropping the box and lunging for David.
But one of Vincent’s men slammed the butt of his rifle into my shoulder, sending me crashing to the floor.
Vincent looked down at me, his scarred face twisted in triumph.
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“Bring the boy to the shipyard,” Vincent spat at Nicholas, who was kneeling on the floor, clutching his bleeding shoulder. “You bring me the book, Nicky, or I’ll throw the boy into the same freezing water where Thomas Russo died.”
They dragged a screaming Leo out the door, disappearing into the rainy night.
