Chapter 5 - The Heir to the Valley
The entire central ceiling of the grand foyer collapsed in a thunderous avalanche of stone, iron, and burning timber.
The structural steel support beams on the second floor blew outward, bringing fifty tons of slate roof and oak flooring crashing down directly onto Marco Bellandi, Renato, and their assault team.
Damiano didn't look back. The moment his thumb hit the trigger, he threw himself backward through the shattered glass of the floor-to-ceiling sunroom windows, rolling out onto the wet, rain-soaked grass of the lawn as the explosion turned the grand mansion into a towering pillar of fire and smoke.
He hit the ground hard, rolling three times through the mud, sharp glass tearing through his trousers and coat. He dragged himself to his feet, gasping for air, the heat of the inferno behind him searing the back of his neck.
The Vitale estate—the fortress that had stood for three generations—was a roaring mountain of flames against the black midnight sky.
Damiano turned his back on the fire.
He didn't check for survivors in the rubble. He knew what fifty tons of falling concrete did to human bones. Renato and Marco Bellandi were buried beneath the very stone they had tried to steal.
He limped through the torrential rain, across the dark lawn, down the winding stone path that led toward the private boat dock at the river's edge.
The storm was howling now, whitecap waves crashing against the wooden pilings of the dock.
Floating in the dark water, its engine idling with a low, steady rumble, was a heavy, enclosed steel-hulled cabin cruiser—the family's emergency escape vessel.
Standing on the slippery wooden planks of the dock, holding a high-caliber rifle in one hand and clutching his bleeding shoulder with the other, was Enzo.
Beside him sat Clara Rossi, shivering beneath a heavy canvas tarp, holding a sleeping, exhausted Lily wrapped tightly in a wool blanket against her chest.
Enzo turned as he heard Damiano's heavy, limping footsteps approaching down the path.
"DAMIANO!" Enzo yelled over the roar of the wind and the river, his bloodied face splitting into a broad, wild grin. "YOU CRAZY BASTARD! YOU BLEW THE ROOF OFF!"
Damiano reached the dock, his body aching from a hundred cuts and bruises, his clothes soaked through with mud, blood, and rainwater. He stood on the swaying wooden planks, looking at his oldest friend.
"Renato?" Enzo asked, his grin fading into a grim, sharp look.
"Buried," Damiano said simply. "Along with Bellandi."
Enzo spat into the dark river, nodding once. "Good. May they rot in hell together."
Damiano walked up to Clara.
She looked up at him through her wet hair, her eyes filled with a mixture of profound terror and overwhelming awe. She shrank back slightly, clutching Lily tighter, still unsure if the monster of the Hudson Valley was going to kill her for her part in the betrayal.
Damiano slowly knelt down on the wet dock, bringing himself eye-level with the child.
Lily was awake now. The sound of the river and the wind had roused her from her sleep. She looked out from beneath the thick wool blanket, her dark, amber eyes reflecting the distant orange glow of the burning mansion up on the hill.
She looked at Damiano. She saw the blood on his forehead, the soot covering his face, and the torn dark wool of his coat.
Slowly, without a word, she reached her tiny, warm hand out from beneath the blanket. She didn't flinch from the blood or the dirt. She pressed her small palm directly against his cheek, her little thumb brushing away a streak of black soot near his eye.
"You lost your house, sleeping man," she whispered, her voice tiny and sweet against the howling of the storm.
Damiano reached up, his large, scarred, ink-covered hand gently covering her small fingers, holding her hand against his cheek.
"It was just stone and wood, little bird," Damiano said softly, his rough voice cracking slightly in the cold wind. "It wasn't a home anyway."
Clara let out a long, trembling breath, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek as she realized that they were truly safe. "Where... where will we go?" she asked quietly.
Damiano stood up to his full height, turning his back on the burning estate up on the cliff, and looked out across the vast, dark expanse of the Hudson River stretching toward the ocean.
"We have docks in Boston," Damiano said, stepping onto the deck of the boat and holding out his hand to help Clara aboard. "We have men in Europe. The city will spend thirty days trying to figure out who survived the fire. By the time they realize I'm still breathing, we will have built something new."
"And the captains?" Enzo asked, stepping onto the boat and casting off the thick hemp mooring ropes from the iron cleats. "The ones who were waiting to see if you'd survive?"
"They will learn what happens when they mistake my silence for weakness," Damiano said, his eyes burning with an ancient, unbreakable fire. "Enzo, take the wheel. Head south toward the bay."
"Yes, Boss," Enzo barked, stepping into the glass cabin and shoving the dual throttle levers forward.
The heavy diesel engine roared to life, the steel hull cutting smoothly through the dark, churning waves of the Hudson River, leaving the burning wreckage of the past behind them in the dark.
Damiano walked into the warm, dimly lit cabin, closing the heavy steel door against the wind and rain.
Clara was sitting on the leather bench near the navigation table, gently setting Lily down on a plush pile of cushions. The little girl gave a small, contented sigh, curling up into a ball, her thumb drifting toward her mouth.
Damiano sat down on the bench across from them. He unbuttoned his soaked coat, pulling the custom Kimber .45 from his holster, and laid it down on the table beside the navigation charts.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver watch. The casing was charred around the edges, the glass cracked across the face, but inside, the second hand was still moving with a quiet, steady, rhythmic click... click... click...
It no longer sounded like a countdown to death.
It sounded like a heart beating in the dark.
Lily opened her dark eyes, looking across the small cabin at Damiano. She pointed her small finger at the cracked watch sitting on the table.
"Does it tell the time?" she asked sleepily.
Damiano picked up the silver watch, looking down at the cracked face, then looked up at the little girl who had crawled over his gun beneath the old oak tree and changed his life forever.
May you like
"No, little bird," Damiano said, his voice quiet, warm, and steadier than it had been in twenty years. "It tells us that a new day is starting."
He closed the watch with a soft, decisive snap, setting it down beside his weapon, and for the first time in twenty years, Damiano Vitale leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes, and slept deeply in the company of another human being.
