Chapter 4 - Debts Paid in Blood
The rusted lockbox did not yield easily to her touch, but the dial combination had been burned into Saraphina's memory since childhood.
It was the date her mother had passed away in the humid summer of 1998, a date her father used for every vault, diary, and strongbox he owned.
When the brass latch finally gave way with a sharp metallic screech, the contents inside revealed something far more dangerous than cash or jewels.
Nestled inside the velvet lining was a handwritten ledger filled with dates, off-shore shipping routes, and the signatures of high-ranking Kentucky judges.
Beside the ledger lay a single, tarnished gold locket containing two faded black-and-white portraits.
One portrait showed a very young Alessio Romano standing beside his late father, the ruthless founder of the Louisville syndicate.
The other portrait showed Saraphina's mother as a smiling young woman, her arm affectionately looped through the elder Romano's shoulder.
Saraphina dropped the locket onto the scaffold planks as if the metal had burst into flames.
"What is this?" she demanded, backing away until the iron scaffolding pressed cold against her spine.
Alessio picked up the locket with immense care, his stoic expression darkening with an old, unhealed grief.
"Thirty years ago, our fathers were not enemies; they were blood brothers who built the riverfront docks together," he said quietly.
"Then jealousy tore them apart, and your father chose to run while mine chose to drown the city in blood to maintain control."
Before Saraphina could process the revelation, the loud shatter of glass exploded from the theater lobby below.
Shouts in foreign accents echoed through the corridors, accompanied by the distinct racking of automatic firearm slides.
Alessio reacted in a fraction of a second, tackling Saraphina to the wooden floorboards as a spray of high-caliber bullets tore through Saint Michael’s fresco.
The delicate plaster angels disintegrated into clouds of blinding white dust that showered over their huddled bodies.
Saraphina screamed as shards of stone cut into her palms, but Alessio’s massive frame shielded her completely from the lethal shrapnel.
He drew a customized matte-black pistol from beneath his jacket, his breathing terrifyingly steady despite the chaos.
"The Moretti cartel has been tracking this theater since the auction closed," he murmured near her ear, his warm breath cutting through the smoke.
"They don't care about the art, Saraphina; they want the names written in your father’s ledger to wipe out every Romano in Kentucky."
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He pulled her to her feet and shoved the ledger inside her heavy coat, his grip on her wrist bruising and unyielding.
"If you want to survive the night, you stay glued to my back and you don't look down."
